The Painters

"This color is bunion ugly." Chuck rolled dark green paint on the white wall.

"The lady said she likes terrapin."

Chuck snickered. "I like Mexican food but you don't see tacos on my wall."

Howie rolled his eyes. He worked with an idiot. "I went to Miss Snark's website last night."

"For hot galleycat porn?" Chuck perked up at the prospect of other things spicy.

"No. Whatever the hell that is." When Chuck opened his mouth, Howie quickly held up a hand. "Don't tell me. Anyway, she happens to be a literary agent. I'm writing a book called The Muddle of Bat Segundo."

Chuck scratched his butt leaving green splotches on his white pants that looked like mutant boogers. "That's as queer as promenading poodles!"

"Oh yeah? Well, your mother wears Army boots," Howie retorted disappointed he couldn't think of a better comeback. Maybe next time. He was up pretty late last night working on his bestseller.

After a few minutes of silence, Chuck jabbed Howie in the ribs. "Is that snark chick like Hot?"

Howie looked around to make sure the homeowner was out of earshot. He didn't need Chuck getting him into trouble again. "I have this fantasy where she holds a glass of gin, presses her sharp stiletto against my chest real hard, and says, 'Drop everything and give me ten ... books, stud.' Then she licks--"

"Books!" Chuck interrupted with a loud bellow. He raised his arms and paint dripped like chunks of moldy cheese on the plastic tarp. "You got a hot chick and she wants you to give her books. Talk about lame-O. She'd want me to drop everything and give her--"

Howie was grateful when the sound of a woman humming stopped Chuck before he could unveil his twisted fantasy.

Chuck cleared his throat. "Writing is for wimps. I'll take the roar of the greasepaint, the smell of the crowd any old day. Broadway is where it's happening, dude."

Howie sighed. He loved Broadway too. "I wrote a play called The Will of the Wisp about a painter who dreams of making it on Broadway." He wasn't sure how Chuck thought there would be any plays without writers but whatever. The guy was clueless.

"That sounds like me. Dude, I could totally star in it." Excited, Chuck puffed up his scrawny chest like a rooster. "Everyone tells me I look just like George Clooney except I'm more handsome."

"Yeah," Howie replied dryly, "and I write just like Stephen King."

"So it's a freaking scary play?"

"Are you starring in it?" Howie raised an eyebrow.

"Totally, dude."

"Yep, it'll be freaking scary all right."

Galleycat porn featuring Miss Snark in her heels? Where is that bus to Boise when you need it?

Scoring to come


Sam said...

Hot galleycat porn? Scary!

California Jackson said...

Cute stuff. Liked the ending.

Anonymous said...

Excellent! Some folks over write (like a racecar driver over drives the car) in an attempt to be witty. Not so here. Bravo!

LJCohen said...

This one gets my personal award for the best opening line:

"This color is bunion ugly."