Brother Hood: Or Else A Cherry, Double Grac’d (Two Homosexual Men Negotiate The Boundaries Of Domestic Bliss)
LL: If you hadn’t parked the car, we wouldn’t have been enveloped by that cloud of locusts.
WW: I didn’t park the car. I brought it to a full stop. Because of the two little girls running around in the street screaming in terror.
LL: They weren’t screaming in terror. They were screaming “¡Que impresionante!“ Which is, I believe, an expression of agreeable awe.
WW: Agreeable? Then why were they sobbing?
LL: Speaking of disturbing behavior, all of the waitresses are staring at you.
WW: Why? I don’t look like a locust.
LL: Because of that mess you’re concocting with the bread crumbs on the table.
WW: This is going to be delicious!
LL: I’m sure they can bring you more bread. You don’t need to hoard crumbs.
WW: I’m just mixing them with some salsa and the leftover butter in this little butter packet they gave us. I don’t see why everyone is making such a big deal about it.
LL: Why have you been so aggressive about your food lately? You act as though you’re literally starving to death. First you growl at me for asking for a taste of your lox fajitas, and now this? What’s gotten into you?
WW: Maybe the dysentery. I don’t know.
LL: We’ve been over this. You didn’t have dysentery. You got food poisoning from the soup you ate at that creepy Mayan ruin in the everglades. I told you it was made from tap water.
WW: They have no tap water there. Anyway, we’re nowhere near the everglades. And the old woman who handed me that coconut had such a kind, gentle face that I had every reason to trust her. How was I to know the coconut had soup in it?
LL: That was a coconut she handed you? It had a full head of hair!
WW: That wasn’t hair. It was moss. Besides, I was too worried about the crocodiles to pay attention to the coconut. The crocodiles and those snakes that can leap six feet in the air.
LL: The park ranger said the only recent attacks against tourists have been carried out by the pariah dogs roaming around the ruins. We could have saved that one cute little pariah dog if you could get over your irrational fear of dog-borne illness.
WW: That cute little pariah dog had a mohawk! It was like a troubled teen with a dry, hacking cough!
LL: A trip to the groomer’s and a vet’s visit and little Caprice could have been ours!
WW: Caprice… Caprice… Caprice… You’re always a step ahead of me, aren’t you?
LL: I certainly didn’t foresee that mess you’re making with your food.
WW: This “mess” is going to make us rich. The reason that all the waitresses are watching me is because the manager obviously called the restaurant chain’s CEO in the capital and told him that they basically had an appetizer genius on their hands. The CEO’s on a helicopter as we speak, roaring his way to this very restaurant, and when he gets here, he’s going to get down on his knees and beg me, BEG ME, to give him the recipe for my delicious Shakedown Butter ‘n Spice Spread. He’s going to command the pilot to take us back to the capital to stay in the presidential suite at the Four Seasons, which has its OWN POOL and towel warmers in the bathroom. He’s going bow down so deep that he’s going to split his forehead open on the marble floor, and he’ll tell us he’ll do anything, ANYTHING, if we give him the recipe. I’ll gladly offer him the recipe, but only if he flies back with us here to visit one of the many fine cosmetic surgeons on the north side of town and gets breast implants. Not just any breasts, but the kind of breasts you see on a hot-blooded twelve-year old girl, as rock hard as unripe cantaloupes, with stiff, perky nipples that are always poking through her shirt. She gets made fun of at school for her full-time erect nipples, but she doesn’t let it get to her, because those nipples are as big and solid as salt and pepper shakers. And why? Why? Because she wants it! She wants it so bad. She doesn’t know what it is, but she knows she wants it hours a day, hard and fast and dirty. Really dirty. Axel grease and BB guns dirty. The kind of thing that adolescent boys dream about all the time but don’t dare to even whisper to each other. The CEO needs breasts like that if he wants my recipe!
LL: I think I want someone to tell me about the frozen Key lime pie on the dessert menu.
TO BE CONTINUED…