Jun 09 2005


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“Oh God,” said Brigid, as Treville made his inevitable way toward them. “Not him again.”

“What?” said Greg, turning to see what she was reacting. “Oh. Wonder Boy. Le sigh.”

“Well, well!” smarmed Treville, reeking of beer as he shoved his way through a talking couple and sidled up to the small bar. “If it isn’t Brigid the Frigid, and her blond boytoy. How’s it hangin’, Gaylord Greg?”

“I’m sorry,” said Greg, “but that’s classified information.”


“Excuse me,” said Brigid, “but I think I’ll find somebody not obnoxious to talk to.”

“I’ll just join you,” said Greg. “I’m sure Alex is around here somewhere.”

“I don’t get you two,” said Treville, pulling another beer out from the cooler. “You live together, you go out together, you act like a couple. But you never, like, hold hands or kiss or anything. Wait, I’ve got it! Greg is a gaylord, isn’t he? A fag and his hag, that’s you two! It explains everything!”

Without comment, Brigid reached up and grabbed one of Treville’s earlobes, and began to twist.

“Aahhh-AAHHHHGGGHH!” said Treville, his body curling backwards in the direction of the torque Brigid applied. “Owowowowow, stoppit, ow!” Brigid’s frown deepened slightly and she merely twisted harder. “OWWW, Jesus, stoppit!!!” Treville lost his balance and fell to his knees, unopened beer bottle rolling away under a table.

“Well done,” said Greg, as Brigid released her victim. “I see you decided to dispense with words this time.”

“There’s no point in having a battle of wits against an unarmed opponent,” Brigid replied, and the two of them wandered off.

-The Gneech

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