Today’s writing prompts for the 3TC over at The Haunted Wordsmith blog, are stupid, death, and humor.
George sat sprawled on the sofa with a can of whipped cream in his hand, flipping through the TV channels. Every so often he’d give the can a shake and squirt his mouth full of fluffy white goodness.
“George!” Mom hollered from the kitchen. “Are you wastin’ the whip cream again? How many times do I gotta tell ya? That shit don’t grow on trees!”
“I’m not wastin’ it, Mom; I’m eatin’ it.”
“Turn that damn TV off and bring me the whip cream.”
George roused himself from the sofa and wandered into the kitchen.
“Here ya go.” George handed the empty can to his Mom.
“Aw, come on!” Mom complained. “That’s the third can this week!”
George looked sheepish and shrugged his skinny shoulders.
“Go!” Mom hollered. “Go outside. Get some fresh air; do something! Play in the street — I don’t care. Just go!”
George flung the screen door open and let it bang shut.
Some people got no sense of humor.
He waited for his mother to yell at him about the door, but she didn’t.
George wandered around the neighborhood, looking for something to do. It was boring in the suburbs! The place was dead. Nothin’ ever goes on! George wished they still lived in the city. There was always something to do, plus, all his friends were there. Out here in the stupid suburbs, he had no friends.
George walked along lamenting his plight, when suddenly a boy around his age appeared right smack in front of George.
“Hey kid, you’re new here,” said the much larger boy.
“Yeah, so?” George put his hands on his hips, trying to look tough, even though the boy’s sudden appearance scared him nearly to death.
“So I run this ‘hood.”
“’Hood?” George laughed. “You call this a ‘hood?”
“Whaddaya laughin’ at? The kid took a menacing step toward George.
“Lemme explain somethin’,” George said. “I used to live in the city up until about two weeks ago. An’ I can tell ya that this ain’t no ‘hood.”
“Where in the city?” The kid eased-up on the tough-guy act.
“Ah, you’ve seen some action, then.” The kid looked at George, sizing him up.
“Yeah, I guess,” George replied casually.
“Hey, what’s your name?”
“George. And you?”
“Most people call me Lardo ‘cause I’m fat, but my real is Marvin.”
“So whaddaya want me to call ya?”
“One’s just as bad as the other. Lardo, I guess.”
“Hey, you wanna come over my house?”
“Nobody’s home so nobody can yell at us. Maybe you can tell me about life in the city.”
“Sure,” George replied. “Got any whip cream?”