Of course, it was a tight fit going in, but it was well lubricated and chilled, which he liked.
Afterwards, he painted the dresser lime fucking green, even though he couldn’t sit, so they would always remember how much he hated her.
James’s grandmother, every time she sees it, can’t help but laugh.
The truth of it was that James’s grandfather didn’t think that Frey was his grandson. Sure, they came out of the same pussy, but that doesn’t prove anything. James, however, he proudly claimed as his own. James’s grandfather always said that Frey belonged to the old hag, meaning James’s grandmother.
There was no real reason why he chose one boy over the other. They looked exactly the same. They had the same voice and opinion. There was just something plain dumb about Frey that James’s grandfather couldn’t quite place. He’d say, “Must be that you’re part whore,” which Frey came to believe, although he didn’t know what part of the world whores came from.
James’s mother didn’t like the boys to go over to the grandparents’ house, but James’s father wanted them to have a “relationship” with their ailing grandparents.
“Ailing?”
“Honey, they’re old.”
“Fuck you. Don’t call me ‘honey.’ You know I hate it.”
“You know what I mean.”
“If they’re old, it means they’ll die soon, right?”
“I don’t understand this resentment you have towards them. I mean, what did they do to you?”
James’s mother had pretty but vacant eyes. Whenever his father tried to look her in the eyes — to try to guess what she was thinking — he’d become even more confused.
“My parents have been nothing but generous with you.” James’s father was neither a fool nor ignorant, and the only thing he’d inherited from his parents was their need for sexual adventure.
James’s grandparents’ house was a dump. It’s always been a dump, not because of the house itself or the neighborhood but because they didn’t care to maintain it.
Whenever James’s grandmother cooked, the house reeked for weeks.
James’s grandparents left stains where they’d fucked.
James’s grandfather refused to throw away his used tissues and Q-tips.
When James and Frey came over, they wouldn’t want to sit down or touch anything.
And their grandfather would say, “Frey, you little fucker, you look just like your fucking grandmother when she’s fucking another man.” It was like he just could not help thinking about his wrinkly wife in bed with another man when he looked at the boy, and this always made him a little excited.
James’s grandfather would call James over. He’d say, “Boy, do you know what a hard-on is?”
James would nod his head, since he’s had this conversation with his grandfather a million times.
James’s grandfather would say, “Boy, do you know where you put a hard-on?”
James would nod his head, since he’s had this conversation with his grandfather a million times. James would show his crooked teeth in something resembling a smile. Frey, however, had learned — a million minus one times ago — to start running.
a birder’s guide to the wibble-wibble (from Michael Stewart)
Every time a young Birder approaches me, inevitably, the conversation turns to the Wibble-Wibble. I am often asked about the first sighting, about my curious choice of names, and fear.
Because I am known to take great deliberations, I will not bore the reader with my answers, as you are probably already tired of reading about historic first encounters such as these.
I am writing to you today because of my concern over the growing interest in our beloved Wibble-Wibble. Clubs and organizations have formed at some local and regional universities with the singular goal of making a sighting. And while I applaud the enthusiasm exuding from these petite scholars, I grow increasingly concerned that the hordes of bungling, bumbling beginners traipsing around the Wibble-Wibble’s already limited habitat may make them retreat even further into oblivion, and our Birding community with lose them once again — and perhaps this time forever.
So rather than try to futilely use my nimble body as a roadblock to prevent young Birders from doing what young Birders desire most — to quote our motto: explore, learn, grow — I have instead written this guide in hopes that a more careful approach and an appreciation for this strange species may be enough to offset the blatantly irresponsible behavior we now see all to often from the youthful members of our community.
A Brief Clarification: I am not a writer or a decorated scientist. I am simply someone who loves the Wibble-Wibble. If my writing is not as smooth and error-free as it could be, please forgive my ignorance. If the terms I use are not scientific enough, at least they are comprehensible to all our Birding community, which is what I want most.
This is not a textbook on the Wibble-Wibble. I am quite sure by now there must be at least a couple of those, but textbooks will not help you identify the Wibble-Wibble the way this guide does. I was, after all, the first Birding to sight a Wibble-Wibble.
The Basics
When in the wild, there are several techniques a trained observer may use to identify a Wibble-Wibble. Be aware, however, that the Wibble-Wibble maintains all of these characteristics, and one of these traits — when observed on its own — should not be taken as an indication of a Wibble-Wibble, as there are many similar species that share these superficial traits. With that word of clarity and our mutual understanding, here are some of the known characteristics of the Wibble-Wibble:
1. The Wibble-Wibble is flightless, though through no fault of its own. It was perhaps never designed to be a flying creature.
2. The Wibble-Wibble has aggressive pubic hair, black to the point of anger (i.e. it curls with defiance).
3. When angered, the Wibble-Wibble is likely to take one of two courses of action (never both): a. It may squawk with such violence that it harms itself; or b. it will go for the eyes.
4. The Wibble-Wibble leaves no marks when it walks, although the creature itself can be quite large in volume.
5. The Wibble-Wibble often hides food under its tongue: peckable little treats, breadcrumbs and such.
6. For purposes of procreation, the Wibble-Wibble will mate in only one of three positions: a. horizontally; b. hanging upside-down; or c. in a position of authority.
7. For non-purposes of procreation, the Wibble-Wibble has been known to become rather creative.
8. The Wibble-Wibble prefers mates with the tendency to exaggerate.
9. The Wibble-Wibble enjoys succulent fruits and vegetables, although they cannot be lured out of hiding using these foods as bait.
Shape
Because the Wibble-Wibble’s natural camouflage allows it to blend into its surroundings, it is important for the enterprising, young Birder to focus more on shape than color. The Wibble-Wibble is unnaturally bent. It has rounded shoulders — something akin to an old hunchback — and crooked, knobby fingers. When shirtless, its ribs protrude like little flags. Its legs dip unpleasantly.
The Wibble-Wibble’s posture seems to indicate that it would prefer to be smaller.
(ED: A unique form of compression allows the St. Daniel to seem and not seem. As if a magician’s prop.)
Diet
The Wibble-Wibble is a natural vegetarian, but it will eat fish if forced.