Author: The Gneech

Writer, cartoonist, occasional web programmer, and general neurotic. Friendly, tho.

Fictionlet

“Francis Scott Key,” said Greg.

“What?” said Brigid.

“Francis Scott Key,” he repeated. “Francis! Scott! Key!”

She blinked. “What about him?”

“Franciiiiis Scoooooott Keeeeeeeeeey!” Greg chanted. “Do you not know of this great American patriot? The immortal and beloved Francis Scott Key?”

Still staring at him as if trying to puzzle out his mind via telepathy, she said, “Well, I know about ‘The Star Spangled Banner,’ if that’s what you mean.”

“Yes, oh yes, we all know of ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ and who wouldn’t? But that barely begins to touch upon the greatness, the vast wonder that is the one, the only, Francis Scott Good-To-His-Mother Key. Let us take a moment of silence to ponder his greatness!” Greg closed his eyes, face turned upward as if basking in sunlight.

“What the f–”

“SHH! I’m pondering his greatness!”

“I’m pondering what a looney you are.”

“Hmph!” said Greg, opening his eyes again. “You just don’t appreciate American heroes.”

She shook her head. “Forget it. Forget it! I’m not going to burn perfectly good brain cells trying to understand you. Go off and have your little mental adventure about Francis Scott Key, I don’t want to hear about it. There’s a muffin in the other room that badly needs to be eaten, and I’m just the one to do the job.” She turned and strode quickly for the hallway.

Following on her heels, Greg chirped, “Did you know he has a bridge named after him?” But if she made any further comment, is was cut off by the door she slammed in his face.

-The Gneech

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Fictionlet

“I sometimes wonder,” Greg hazarded, “if nobody gets my jokes because they’re too obscure, or if they just aren’t that funny.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Brigid replied. “There’s no reason they can’t be both.”

“You know,” he said, “I think I might miss you if you went away for a long time. Why don’t you try it so I can find out?”

-The Gneech

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Fictionlet

“Every day she thinks up new and inventive ways to heap abuse on me,” Greg said. “We’re like Stella and Astrophil, except that I’m Stella, and she’s more like, I dunno, Misastro or something.”

Alex blinked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

-The Gneech

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Fictionlet

“Hey,” Greg asked. “Is this my groove thing? I’ve been shaking it for ten minutes now and I can’t tell if I’m doing it right.”

“Stop,” said Brigid. “Just stop. Stop right now, or I’ll be forced to ram something sharp into your eye, and neither of us wants that tonight.”

Greg harumphed and flopped into his chair, sulkily. “This from the woman I once called ‘Smarty Panties.’ You disappoint me, young Brigid. You cut me to the quick!”

“This from the man who flees the room when confronted by the word ‘boobs!'”

“That’s true. After that brazen display, you of all people should know what a groove thing is, and when it’s being properly shaken!”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Just because I know when a groove thing is shaking, doesn’t mean I want to see it.”

“Don’t point that thing at me,” Greg replied, gesturing at her tongue. “You never know when it might go off!”

-The Gneech

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Fictionlet

Greg was dancing in the kitchen when Brigid came staggering in; she wasn’t sure if this would hold up in court under the “he needed killing” provision … but if she’d had the energy, he’d have been a dead man.

“What,” she managed to croak out, “are you doing?”

He didn’t answer, just did a weird kind of shimmy as he poured cereal into a bowl.

“Whaaaaaat,” she croaked a little louder, “are you doooooing?”

“The kisses are the same!” he sang. “All around the world, la, la, la-la-la-la!” He then twirled in place and, spotting her suddenly there, shrieked like a cheerleader. Bowl, cereal, and portable CD player with earphones exploded into the air, as he jumped back three feet and landed hard on his butt.

“Okay,” Brigid said, reaching for the coffeemaker. “That works.”

-The Gneech

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Fictionlet

“I wanted to haul off and smack him,” Brigid said. “You can imagine how I’d react to something like that from somebody I liked, much less a little turd like Treville.”

“Actually, I can’t really imagine it.” I said. “I’ve never seen you like anything before.”

She gave me a look that would peel paint, so I must have done something right.

-The Gneech, with props to kylet

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