Home of: Prose, Poetry & Contests
rss feed
Prose-n-Poetry

Prose-n-Poetry.com

Email Us [e-mail]
Enter our Poetry Contest and Win a Cash Prize !
Tell your friends! We Pay You to Comment!
Welcome !

Please Sign In
MemberID

password
Save Cookie?  
Get lost password

Join Us

Points Reference

NEW! PnP Contests
Member Contests
Contest Winners

Sailor Moon Home
Games

Members
Moonatics
Gold Writers
Silver Writers
Free Members

Galleries
Sailor Moon

Music
Sailor Moon
Christmas
Read !
Poetry
Stories
Books
Columns
Recipes
MoonNotes
Write !
Poetry
Stories
Books
Recipes
MoonNotes
Workshops
Poetry Workshop
Stories Workshop
Books Workshop
Reference
Poetry Help
Stories Help
F.A.Q

Programs
Sailor Moon Episodes
Banners
Resources

On Line
Robert Betts
Eric Gasparich
Mary -BrytEyz- Ball
Frank Fields
4 Writers

Genevieve C.
1 Free Members

5 Members
60 Guests

Del Ray the Dufus
by Bob Church
copyright 06-19-2002


Age Rating: 13 to 127

 
Del Ray the Dufus

Does anyone know if there’s an after-market for iron lungs? I’ve, shall we say, acquired one of the things. Honestly, I took it in trade for a bunch of old baseball cards I found lying around in this shack I came across while hiking in the Adirondacks. They were totally worthless to me… who’s ever heard of Tris Speaker or Jimmy Foxx or Tyrus Raymond Cobb, anyway? There was one of Mickey Mantle in there, but it was his rookie card, so I figured it probably wasn’t worth much.

Well, I put them in a shoebox I found, and carried them all the way back to camp, where (being all smart and all) I hid them under my sleeping bag. I’m sure that if anyone had investigated, they’d probably just have decided that it was a small square pillow.

After supper, I went down to the pond to wash up my mess kit, and when I came back, I found Del Ray Finch sitting on my sleeping bag, going through those cards! He had this glazed look in his eyes and I think he’d been smoking crack or something, because all he did was ask where I got my box of cards over and over and over. When I finally got him calmed down, he says, “Bubba, these guys on these cards are all wanted by the FBI and if you get caught with these, you’re going to Leavenworth for sure!”

I looked at him and, of course, he’d taken on the persona of a gasping tuna, his eyes bugging out of his head and his mouth doing that little sucking thing… it was all I could do to get his attention. I tried to get him to make eye-contact with me, and he may have, I’m not sure, but I decided to press the issue a little.

“Uh-huh. Well, let me see if I understand this, Del Ray, since they’re such a problem, what do you propose I do with them? It wouldn’t require you holding onto them for me, would it?” (I was being real calm-like… and coy, too. I didn’t want him to smell fear.)

“Well, I don’t know, Bubba… I suppose I could… if you promise not to tell anyone else I have them. I don’t need the Feds showing up down at the cement plant!”

“Yea… of course not, Del Ray, of course not. Yea…”

I was still mulling it over in my mind, all scientific-like, making sure he wasn’t trying to break something off in my anal orifice, so to speak, when he says “Listen, Bubba, I tell you what…”

Here we go…

“I’ve… I’ve…” Now, he was looking down at the ground, stutterin’ like Mel Tillis trying to introduce Roy Clark on the stage of the Grand Ole’ Opry.

“Look, Bubba, just forget I offered. I shouldn’t have even gotten involved in this. I’ll just forget what I’ve seen and…”

“Whoa there, Del Ray! Hold your cotton-pickin’ horses just a stretch…” This poor, pitiful, absolute shell of a man was genuinely afraid, so I figured, you know, me being the sort of fearless guy that I am and all, I didn’t want to see him go through all this. I needed to bolster his confidence and keep him from losing face in the presence of one of his slightly-superior chums… an alpha-male, I guess you’d say…

“Listen, buddy (I always call him that when I’m talking down to him but don’t want to let him know)… let’s do this… why don’t you go ahead and hold onto those cards for me awhile, seeing as how you’re so nonchalant and all… and I’ll just act like nothing has happened. How would that be?”

The boy’s demeanor changed and he lost that fish-eyed look almost instantaneously! I thought he was going to kiss me full on the mouth! Then, just as quick, he got all serious-like, and looked around to make sure no one was watching us. “Bubba,” he whispered “I’ll do it, but there’s something you gotta do for me, too…”

Next thing I know, there’s an iron lung machine in my garage. It’s neat, too… even if I do have to park my car outside now. I think I’ll hold onto it awhile. It’ll make a nice warm incubator for my worms in the winter, and I’m having it put in my will that they should use it for my coffin, when the time comes. Besides, I doubt I could get much for it, these days, since they wiped out polio.

Funny, though… Del Ray disappeared with those cards. I hope the FBI didn’t get him, but that’s just his tough luck, isn’t it? A deal’s a deal. That poor dumb-bunny should never have negotiated with the master...




Spell Check Rhymer Poetry Analyst


Help Us Stop Plagiarism - Nearly all works at PnP are original. However a few people choose to plagiarize. To check, choose a phrase from the work, then either drag and drop to the search box or copy and paste. click on search and works at Google will be shown which match. Just to be sure, please do this before you recommend or rate the work highly...
Google
If you think this work is plagiarized please


Select a Random Work
from Stories


Comments on this Article/Poem:
Click on the commenter's name to see their Author's Page

10-10-2002 Esther Spurrill    

Rotfl!!!! I loved this!


06-24-2002 Bob Church    

George, you're absolutely right. Some people prejudize us and all, just because we're real smart and good lookin'... they don't stop to think that just because we was born at night, maybe it wasn't last night! I'm fixin' to trade my ninny neighbor this old 1956 Vincent Black Shadow motorcycle I've had laying around, taking up space in my garage since Granddaddy died. It's got all these ugly signatures painted on the gas tanks... some fellas named Ken Kesey and Tom Wolfe, I think... I never heard of either one. He wants to trade me his trollin' motor for it. I'm gonna wait a little while, though... I don't want to appear too anxious or he'll back out. What a sucker this idiot is!



Visitor Reads: 548
Total Reads: 688
Comments: 2

Author's Page

Email the Author

Add a Comment




Favorite of:





Send Page to a Friend
Points Reference Privacy
PnP Terms of Service Contact Us
  SEO Software

Visitors
View Stats