Iverson's Vision Quest Chapter 4 (See the previous posts for the beginning of the story.)
Tim had hear enough, and, with screeching tires, he whipped around in his Edsel and high-tailed it down to the pound at twenty-two miles per hour. He counted out his pennies and nickels and sprung Iverson out of jail - I mean the pound, and triumphantly brought Iverson's cage back to his apartment - only to be met at the door by Saidy the landlady.
"I think not," said Saidy.
"But look how cute he is." Time gave her his little-boy-lost look, and held up Iverso's cage to prove his point.
Iverson's voice was high and squeaky, much like a cricket rubbing his hind legs together. "Un gateau, peut etre," said Iverson. (Translation - "a cookie, please." As a young nymph, he'd been adopted by a patriotic Quebec family of fairies.)
"Agh, kill it, eradicate it, quick before it multiplies,"said Saidy. "I just spent $742 on poisons, sprays, bombs, and baits, not to mention traps, glues, gloves, goggles, and a gas mask. I even bought a DDT-pellet blunderbuss on the Internet from a "Guy" whose address is 2.74 miles east of the village baobab tree."
Saidy paused and gulped for air. Her face alternated between Chinese New Years' red and bride-of-Frankenstein white. "We had cockroaches the size of coconuts. They organized an army in the sub-basement and practiced military maneuvers every night under cover of darkness. And I poisoned and squished and drowned, and bazookaed every last gushy, crunchy one of them, and now you think you're bringing another - thing . . . in here???? Not on my blunderbuss, you're not!!!" she screwed her face into a grimace resembling a baboon's behind.
Tim had hear enough, and, with screeching tires, he whipped around in his Edsel and high-tailed it down to the pound at twenty-two miles per hour. He counted out his pennies and nickels and sprung Iverson out of jail - I mean the pound, and triumphantly brought Iverson's cage back to his apartment - only to be met at the door by Saidy the landlady.
"I think not," said Saidy.
"But look how cute he is." Time gave her his little-boy-lost look, and held up Iverso's cage to prove his point.
Iverson's voice was high and squeaky, much like a cricket rubbing his hind legs together. "Un gateau, peut etre," said Iverson. (Translation - "a cookie, please." As a young nymph, he'd been adopted by a patriotic Quebec family of fairies.)
"Agh, kill it, eradicate it, quick before it multiplies,"said Saidy. "I just spent $742 on poisons, sprays, bombs, and baits, not to mention traps, glues, gloves, goggles, and a gas mask. I even bought a DDT-pellet blunderbuss on the Internet from a "Guy" whose address is 2.74 miles east of the village baobab tree."
Saidy paused and gulped for air. Her face alternated between Chinese New Years' red and bride-of-Frankenstein white. "We had cockroaches the size of coconuts. They organized an army in the sub-basement and practiced military maneuvers every night under cover of darkness. And I poisoned and squished and drowned, and bazookaed every last gushy, crunchy one of them, and now you think you're bringing another - thing . . . in here???? Not on my blunderbuss, you're not!!!" she screwed her face into a grimace resembling a baboon's behind.
No comments:
Post a Comment