Friday Guest Mock: A Wrenching Problem

This installment of our award-deserving Friday Guest Mock series is by our pal Chuck in Belpre.  Enjoy!

I see you out there in the driveway next door.  I see you have the hood up on that piece of shit Cavalier you bought last Spring from your brother-in-law.  It has one blue door even though the rest of the car is red.  That front driver’s side tire looks kind of low.  I wonder if you know that?  I notice that you have to prop the hood open with your snow shovel.  Is that the same one you don’t use to shovel your sidewalk?

I see you have your Super Pro 100 piece tool-kit.  The one you bought at Wal-Mart for about $15.  It has a nice plastic case and everything.  The tools look nice and shiny like they have never been used.  Ratchets and sockets in all sizes both metric and standard, each in its own fitted compartment.  Pretty.  But, I know you have no idea what you are looking at under that hood.  And you know I know.

So, I take it that the car won’t start. Again.  Could that have anything to do with the fact that it was close to zero last night with a light snow?  Or the fact that the battery that came with the car was pretty much dead when you bought it?  Probably.

Ah!  You turn to look toward my house…just like I knew you would.  You see me standing here in the kitchen window looking out.  You wave.  I don’t wave back.  I can’t fucking stand you.  What you can’t see is that I already have my battery charger in my hand.  But I’m not coming out to help you until you walk up here and knock on the door.  Then I will make you wait out there in the freezing cold another five minutes before I answer the door, that greasy mullet of yours blowing in the cold wind.

You also can’t see what’s tucked into the waistband of my pants at the small of my back.

So, we go out into the cold and I give you the battery charger and you hook it up to the battery and plug it into the outlet on the side of your single-wide with a long orange extension cord.  I tell you to get in and try it, but, of course it won’t start yet.  I walk around to your window and look down into your stupid eyes and watch them go wide as you see what I’m holding.

The sound of the shot echoes across the flat fields and I’m glad I bought this farm way out in the middle of nowhere.  The closest neighbor is over two miles away and I know no one is home this time of day to hear the sound.  I have just the spot for you and your rattle-trap Chevy, out in the middle of the apple orchard.  Every time I eat an apple next Fall I will think of you.  Down there among the roots and the grubs.  Good riddance.

I look up at your bedroom window and see your wife’s eyes and that shy smile she is so quick with.  The one that makes most men go all watery in the knees.  And before you are even frozen stiff I’ll have her bent over the arm of your favorite recliner.  It’s not like I haven’t done it before.