Frog Farts
Frog Farts and Witch Testicles
By Vince
There aren’t any clocks or windows in the space when I hear the metal slam of a door through the old ventilation system. Not everyone has arrived just yet, and I’m still nursing the bottle I picked out of the crates while Luke stands in the corner.
“I hope you’re happy, Nicky!” The growl is clogged, but no question, the voice blasting through as if there is a speaker in the room is a pissed off woman.
“Do you have....” The fogged voice of sleep is decidedly male, but still more croaks than octaves.
“Oh, I’m more than aware what time it is,” she says, cutting him off with another congested yowl. “You want a baby? Get used to being up at ungodly hours, such as four am. At least you got to sleep. I, on the other hand, get to work a full shift with no rest or food thanks to your latest nonsense.”
On any other day, I might be interested, considering there’s no mistaking the pair, regardless of the name change.
Today is not that day, though, and I search for a way to close or otherwise stuff the vent their argument is coming through. “So... what’s on the menu?” The man questions back in defeat.
Obviously, being pulled out of bed by obligation rather than curiosity as to what said ‘nonsense’ is.
“Frog farts and witch testicles!” Yep. No one else in the world talks like that. No doubt it’s who I think it is.
“Well, you sound like a Frog Fart, but testicles in a bakery ……..?” This is the more snazzy comeback, with the presumable whir of coffee beans being crushed in the background.
“In what world is a fuzzies convention a costume party, Nicky?!” Her voice breaks when she turns the conversation back on his head.
“Well, people do wear specific.........” ‘Nicky’s’ voice has pitched a bit like he’s holding back a laugh, and I wave to one of my guys, ready to send him up to put an end to the distraction.
Regardless of Rourke’s obvious interest, women have no place in business. Neither do kids, and every ounce of my focus is the matter at hand.
“Oh, I’m very well aware everyone there was dressed like an animal, and they took the song ‘like an animal’ to a whole new level!” The little growl comes with a few coughs and sneezes, giving him a chance to respond.
“It couldn’t have been thaaaattt bad.” I can tell that Nicky slash Roman is rolling his eyes with a knowing snicker.
Freaky as I get, can’t say fuzzies are anywhere near my preference list, but if it were any other situation, I’d be interested to know what mess her brother has gotten her into this time.
“Not that bad? Not that bad?!” Disbelief washes through her tone, and there is a sharp in taking hiss of a breath on the other line.
“So falling into a refreshments table to avoid a group of gropey cows flinging milk on one another like champagne bottles isn’t that bad?!” My guy freezes mid-trek to me with a dropped jaw and the same ‘did she just say what I think she did’, expression we had the first time we heard her.
“Everyone at every costume party had to roll through cheap punch and every terrible assortment of finger foods to evade milk sperm before
landing on a two hundred pound gorilla butt whose face on the other end was sucking on a pig’s hoof?!”
I glare at Vance curling my fingers to bring him forward, but like everyone else filtering in, their full attention is on the ass chewing that should be on social media, it’s so ludacris.
“Just a daily occurrence for me to get lost in a mass of drunk, gyrating, smelly, orgasming animals, tripping over my kitten tail down a set of stairs and into a ladies where a chipmunk was riding a lion’s snout only to get smacked by two booze soaked bunnies fighting over who gets their fuzzy nipples licked by him while being serviced?”
“Uhhh,” I stand with ‘Nicky’s’ stupefied response. Closing the distance between myself and my personal guard, ball slappingly pissed that this is where the focus has shifted to with my boy an inch from fucking death.
“By the time I found my way out of that cesspit, I started my period and with every matter of liquor, snack food, and genetic material that shall remain unnamed matting my fur, I had to walk half an hour to find the nearest corner market with my phone in a used toilet thanks to the busty bunny rabbits!” The woman’s voice finally breaks in the screech.
“Checking out with my new prepaid, cold medicine, midol and tampons, the homeless man’s support dog was kind enough to eat the cheese puffs off my bum, and the high clerk had to run my card a dozen times, he was laughing so hard.”
Fuck me.
The last two just arrived and all their attention is on the drama unfolding above, rather than why the fuck we are here.
Snorts and chuffs at least say that they’re wise enough to the fact that if we can hear her, she can hear us, and paying her a year’s salary is the only way I’m going to get her out of the building to get down to business.
“Want to guess what happened next, Nicky?!” I know that this is even more dangerous because the hiccup in her voice is coming from upset and tears.
The crackling earlier was a cold; this is that break, saying she’s about to cry.
I need fucking Rourke for this. I’m moving to slap a wad of cash on Vance’s chest to handle it, but freeze in the next sentence. “It was awful, Nicky. Just.... so …. awful. When I finally got back to dockside, a raging lunatic ran a fancy sedan off the Weighbridge!”
I may be from the North, but everyone knows Weigh Bridge. The proverbial train tracks that separate South-Point Docks from the East-Point, Rourke’s territory. Where all the seafood trucks coming from the factories get weighed in, and where the paramedics said Tio was coming from when he got checked in to the ER.
“Thankfully, I still keep my tac knife and had a glass breaker to get them out before it went completely under.” Rourke picks up hearing the last bit, and I don’t break to explain, just hit a random button so he continues listening in.
“His mom didn’t speak English very well, and about had a conniption fit when I gave the baby to the paramedics. She was so hysterical they had to sedate her just to get her in the ambulance with him! This was after I had to give his Dad CPR and I don’t know if he is going to make it!” It’s a wail if I’ve ever heard one, and Rourke has me on mute.
Probably barking out orders, even though I’m sure his guys are already at the scene.
“Shit...... Why are you even at work right now? ” Nicky asks, horrified. His voice giving to the same motherly fretting and concern as Nico’s gets.
“Because you sent me on a wild goose chase that got me locked in that stupid island museum thingy all weekend, and Mrs. Turkey said I’d be fired if I was even late for her pregame booty slap each morning, let alone call out sick.” I imagine the poor thing shaking with clatters of metal bowls in the background, and all humor is completely sucked out of the too serious situation.
“Well, did you at least get a good look at the guy or the plates? Tell the cops?” Nicky asks, dropping his tone in a way that says how light he forcibly keeps it like Nico when he cross-dresses.
“I was too upset, Nicky. It was a baby! Who could ever do something like that?” The woman sobs, while I hold my breath.
“Besides, the fact I sound like a walking frog fart from swallowing bay water, my telling the authorities that a hundred thousand jewel town car was going into the slums is ridiculous enough!”