Saturday, July 19, 2008

Vicious Pirate Trainees

Summer hasn't been all fun and games for Juice and me. One day we were just walking along the outskirts of a cemetery when little stars started bubbling out of the many scrapes on our arms. (The outskirts of that cemetery were a pretty hazardous trek, let me tell you.) Our predicament outraged me because it was so unrealistic, and I am consistently a realistic and logical person. Juice, currently in her Jewish gay man phase, said we were at fault for examining our nails so much, which prevented us from watching where we stepped. My response was to puke my grape popsicle all over my shirt.

When we reached my house we tried to scrub off the star-bubbling scrapes in the kitchen sink, but the boiling water splashed soap in Juice’s eyes, making her mad. Our efforts were only partly successful; the stars stopped bubbling for a while, but the scrapes remained. We sat outside on my front doorstep, hoping the scrapes would fade in the sun. Waiting for scrapes to fade away makes people pensive, so before long Juice said, “You know, we should stop slouching so much. We might suffocate and die.”

I didn’t respond. I was privately wishing Juice would stop scraping out her earwax with her fingers. I looked away from her and promptly groaned. “Oh no. Here comes Borel, trotting up to us like a twenty-year-old gymnast. Aren’t you annoyed that she copies off of your patented tendency toward stupid phases?”

“At least she has geeky boots,” said Juice with a smirk.

“Why the frowns?” Borel gushed. I don’t think we were frowning.

Suddenly I recognized her outfit: the red, horizontally-ribbed shirt, the blank name tag, the yellow tablecloths tied around her waist and head, the black pants, the onion ring jewelry, and the shoulder sling-shot. “Borel!” I gasped. “Are you one of those Vicious Pirate Trainees?”

“The ones that put glue on people’s toilet seats?” Juice asked.

“But of course!” Borel gushed. “I’ve also stolen people’s underwear for my own personal use, and killed a minor celebrity!”

“And probably put itchy powder in a hamburger!” Juice called after Borel as she strutted away. “Ooh, I’m so impressed.”

“Those stars are coming out of my cuts again,” I sighed, holding up my hands.

“I’ve always wanted to glue people’s butts to things like toilets,” Juice responded.

So we are Vicious Pirate Trainees for the time being, at least until Juice progresses to her next phase. We had to cook until we were promoted, but fortunately all our ingredients were stolen: suede shoes, pooper-scoopers, bumper stickers, etc. After a week of kitchen duty we got to moon people entering the cemetery, but Juice could never do it right. She blamed it on a force of habit; she wasn’t used to pulling down her pants without pooping or peeing, so her mooning victims got an extra bonus.

Saturday, July 5, 2008

Summertime

This summer has been a blast so far. I've been basking in the sun so long my arms developed super solar powers, enabling me to stretch them far enough to touch my house from our backyard hammock. Juice has been coming by every day, now in her “Save Saturn” phase complete with a T-shirt she had designed herself, depicting a cartoonish version of Saturn. I told her the shirt was ugly.

“Nothing compares to my magical powers from the solar rays,” I said to her one day after rejecting her suggestion of a round of potato golf. “I can change the colors of the sky and the house. Look, I even made a rosebush appear and a window by the back door vanish. I’m awesome all by myself. Who needs guys like Jiff and Smarty?” (Smarty is Juice’s equivalent to Jiff.)

“Not me,” said Juice, standing up and turning away from me. “However, I intend to go to King’s Opinion with them, let them pay for everything, and then ditch them cruelly. Have fun being uncruel to dorky guys . . . or would you like to come, Jolly?”

“Must come!” I panted. “Must be cruel to dorks!”

We've gone to King’s Opinion with those guys like twenty times this summer, and they just don't get it. Every time we went with them we ditched them, and we told them that we intended to do as much.

“They’re so stupid,” Juice laughed with me as we were visibly ditching them on one such occasion.

“We’re never going to sincerely enjoy their company.” I laughed loud enough for Jiff and Smarty to hear.

“Who’s going to pay for this floating popcorn, Smarty?” I could hear Jiff ask.

“I don’t have any money left,” Smarty said. “No wonder they keep ditching us.”

You see? I told you they don't get it!