PDF

'Snack Time!'


by Smiley McGrouchpants


     Calvin Broadus was having a problem.  He was getting on in years — almost 20, fer cryin' out loud — and still, he had nothing to show for it.
      He was sick of playing "Chauffeur" to the "Hit-Makers": he needed a career of his own . . . but how?  Where to begin?
      I need a good name-ishizzle, he thought to himself between tokes on his Phillies™ blunt marijuana cigarette [Or, let's face it: marijuana cigar.  — ed.But . . . wha . . .shizzile . . . should I be?
      He tromped across the abandoned car-park lot, his thoughts in a daze and his head in a haze.  The strains of George Clinton's "Atomic Dog" — popular around Los Angeles that summer — throbbed through the walls of the atrium he had just exited.
      ("Bow-wow-wow—yippee-OH—yippee-AY—bow-wow-wow . . .")
      "Whoops!"
      THUD!
      Calvin hit the ground before he knew it.  [Though, stoned as he was, that's hardly a surprise! — ed.]
      "What the—?"  He tried to get his bearings, figure out what it was that had caused his fall from "grace" — and, like, totally killed his buzz!
     (" . . . bow-wow-wow—yippee-OH—yippee-AY . . .")
    
"Poop?"  Incredulous, he realized he had slipped in dogshit.
     (". . . bow-wow-wow—yippee-OH—yippee-AY . . .")
    
"POOP?"  Looking around him, he realized local homeowners used this abandoned lot to walk their dogs in.  The whole place was strewn with their pets' droppings.
     (
". . . bow-wow-wow—yippee-OH—yippee-AY . . .")
    "POOOOP?"  He couldn't believe it.
     Then:
     (". . . dawg-gie—DOG-ee-OG!")
    
Inspiration hit him.
     [I swear to fuckin' God, it was like one of those stupid Reese's Butter Cups commercials that was in everyone's heads back then — two oblivious dumbasses turn the corner, run into each other with their chocolate & peanut butter — and WHAMMO! Inspiration. — ed.]
     "Poop Doggy Dog!"  He had to laugh at himself.  [Stoned as he was, he could hardly have refrained! — ed.]  He had his moniker.  He had reached "Square One" of his musical career!  He was on his way!
     Unfortunately: when he opened his mouth, a good chunk of the dog shit which, it turned out, had covered his lips and most of the bottom half of his face — fell right into his mouth.
     Fortunately: he had "the munchies," so he just went ahead and, uh, "recycled!"



                        
THE END




                     for Charles M. Schulz
                   ("Curse that Red Baron!")
    
Endcap