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The Big Stupid Review

Archives

11-01-2008
A Splinter from the Devil's Mirror by Bryn Greenwood
Between You and the Man-Sized Prophylactic with the Zipper by Tom Bradley
Chief by Warren Buckles
09-01-2008
Routine by Felipe de Oliveira
Automatic Transmission by Warren Buckles
08-01-2008
The Axiom of Choice by Jim Chaffee
07-01-2008
A Pleasure Jaunt with One of the Sex Workers Who Don’t Exist in the People’s Republic of China by Tom Bradley
Making the Switch by George Sparling
06-01-2008
The War Prayer by Mark Twain
05-01-2008
About the Dog by Robert Aqunio Dollesin
04-01-2008
The Coup by Peter Schoenau
03-01-2008
Art School by Zach Plague
Consitutional Puppies by JR
02-01-2008
Selection from The Vicious Circulation of Dr. Catastrope by Kane X. Faucher
Party Pooper from Make Me by Eli Richardson
Una Noche Perfecta para Sanguijuelas por Jim Chaffee (tr. Sonia Ramos Rossi)
01-01-2008
A Night in Cameroon by Kelly Jameson
Missile by Jason Jordan
12-01-2007
Nothing by J.R.
Sacrament by Sonia Ramos Rossi
11-01-2007
Green Mountain Incumbent by D E Fredd
When Pacino's Hot, I'm Hot by Robert Levin
10-01-2007
The Book of Ancient Wisdom by Hugh Fox
09-01-2007
Dog Days by Robert Levin
Junk-Pure by Forrest Armstrong
08-01-2007
Beefsteak Mistake, Jake by Kelly Jameson
Sand by Jim Chaffee
07-01-2007
How to Make a Baby by Robert Levin
A Rude Little Monkey by Kelly Jameson
06-01-2007
Revolver by Sandra Ramos Rossi
Brian and Mona by Jim Chaffee
05-01-2007
El Castrator by Thomas Head
04-01-2007
Alone, As Always by Jennifer Gardner
03-01-2007
Polar Regions by Gayla Chaney
02-01-2007
Two Stories of Sex Beyond Erotica: Editor's Introduction by Jim Chaffee
Photo Finish by Anya Wassenberg
Mephisto and Me by Lily Edwards
01-01-2007
Management Case Study 17: Down East Chicken by D. E. Fredd
MoM by David Quinn
Full TEX Archive
Side Photo for The Big Stupid Review

Green Mountain Incumbent - 2

By D E Fredd

webfooted stinkbugl

I am saved by a young man probably just out of college. He got my name from Mae. He's in the computer field and admires my work. He wants to talk shop. We are shipwrecked loners in a sea of ultra-liberal environmentalists. He seems interesting. I think about inviting him to go for greasy burgers, onion rings and draft Rolling Rock down at Harlows. But then another seismic, carnal wave passes through my lower body. I cut him short and head for the stairs. It's not been ten minutes. Maybe there is a chance. The bathroom is down on the left. The door is closed. I hear a flush then the splash of water in the sink. When she comes out I'll ask if I can drive her home, maybe see if she wants a quick bite somewhere.

The door clicks and swings open. It's only the hemp lady. How could I have missed my no underwear woman? She wasn't downstairs, I'm sure. Further down the hall is a large bedroom laden with coats. She may be there. I walk down the hall only to find two small children (Gallagher grandkids?) diving onto then burrowing into the mound. They immediately deny they're doing anything, just keeping watch so no robbers come in. I go back down the hall and, as I pass by another bedroom door, I hear a playful shriek, the kind made when someone gets goosed, and then two people laugh softly. I stop and listen. There is more muffled giggling followed by silence and the door opens. It is Hugh Gallagher, the recumbent bicycle guru, tucking his sunrise yellow Lycra shirt into his sky blue Lycra tights. Behind him in the room is my no underwear lady adjusting her hair and Tammy Faye makeup in the bureau mirror. He is embarrassed but ignores me. He has me pegged as someone of little importance so no feeble excuses are needed.

She comes out, closing the door tightly behind her. It looks like it was once a teenager's room judging by the posters on the wall.

She pats me on the arm. "You know when people get caught doing something that looks improper they always say, 'It's not what it seems.' Well, I guess what you suspect happened during the last few minutes is actually what it seems. Hugh and I have an understanding; have had since my babysitting years. We'd appreciate your discretion."

I think about blackmailing her, having her prove to me that the non-underwear policy is not just a sham. That thought melts into a porn film of her and Hugh having at it in various acrobatic positions on his recumbent bike as they pedal toward the Townshend, Vermont Recycling and Reclamation center.

"I'm just a web designer."

"Isn't that a coincidence? My last name is Webster, Kelly Webster. I can work up a list of herbal teas that can ease tension. You must sit hunched over a lot so the neck and shoulders take a beating."

Downstairs some loyal souls begin to sing "For She's a Jolly Good Fellow."

She takes my hand. "I think we should go down and join in Mae's celebration."

"I'll be there in a minute; I need to use the bathroom."

“Please think about what I said. They are both great people. She can continue doing wonders for this state.”

I go into the bathroom. I think about peeing while sitting down, decide it's unnatural and deliberately leave the seat up after flushing. I wash my face with goat's milk soap with several organic additives. When I get downstairs I look for my computer geek buddy but don't see him. Out in the circular drive Hugh is letting those folks, who've yet to be converted, try riding his bike. No underwear lady, wearing a safety helmet, is off to the side, and I wonder if it's worth staying just to see if she dares to ride it. She waves momentarily at me, but is distracted when someone loses control and does a header into a pile of leaves.

I hop in the Ford, put it in all wheel drive and bump my way out to the main road. I peel out, burning rubber for a good fifty feet. I'll head for Harlows and pig out on potato skins. There's bound to be a few hunters there. Maybe I can get some pointers on the best way to nail Spotted Owls. Baby Harp seals are also high on my list.

toad at the base of the porch

© D E Fredd 2007