Otis kept pressing the button on the SLURPEE machine until the slurpee just started foaming over edges of the plastic cup. He drank off the top part.
BURRRRRPPPP!
Then he filled it some more.
Otis got in line to pay for his stuff. Besides a Super Giant Slurpee, he also had three packs of JuJuBees, 2 packs of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, a box of jawbreakers, some of licorice twists, an extra large roll of bubble gum tape and two packs of baseball cards.
Otis had six dollars, mostly in change. Fuzzball covered change. He hoped he had enough to pay for everything. If not, the baseball cards would have to go.
Otis didn't much like 7-Elevens (which is where he was). Long lines, creepy people, overpriced candy. Still, this was the closest place to his house. A good place to load up for a night of TV watching and munching.
Behind the counter, stood a dark brown man. The brown man had a thin little moustache and wild head of wooly hair. His name was Moustafha. (It said so on his name tag). Moustafha wasn't a very nice man. He'd never smile or say thank you or anything when he rang up your stuff. He'd just sort of grunt, and glower at you. He also had bad breath.
Oh well.
The problem today, however, wasn't with Moustafha and his nasty demeanor, but with the line Otis had to stand in to purchase his stuff. It snaked halfway around the store. 7-Eleven lines were often long, but this was ridiculous!
All of the people in the line looked kind of crummy in one way or another. Most of them, Otis noticed, to his dismay, were Mexicans.
Otis wasn't especially fond of people of the Mexican persuasion. They were always dirty. They generally stunk (today's group was no exception. The guy standing in front of Otis smelled so horrible that Otis had to pinch his nose shut every time the guy got too close). Also, if you read the papers or watched the news, it seemed as if all the criminals who were robbing and killing and raping everybody were always Mexicans. So what was there to like about them?
The worst thing was, there seemed to be more of them then ever these days. No matter whre you went, there were a whole bunch of them standing about on streetcorners in their undershirts, with their stupid beer bellies and pockmarked faces and hangdog expressions.
Otis noticed that all of the Mexicans in line were purchasing the same item. Beer. Yecchh. Otis wondered why would anyone want to drink that horrible stuff. (Otis had only tried beer once, and that was enough for him!)
Figures, Otis thought, that Mexicans are always loading up on beer. They even sort of look like beer. Their brains are probably made out of beer!
There were some people in line who weren't Mexicans, but frankly, they weren't much of an improvement. Two people ahead of Otis stood a long-haired, unshaven guy attired in a blue tank top. The guy had a gigantic, beer belly and a million tattoos. He was buying--you guessed it-- beer. Attached to the guys arm was this thing that was, no doubt, his girlfriend.
The girl had a nestfull of ratty brown hair that looked like it spider's were probably hiding in it. Like her boyfriend, she was wearing a tank-top. Matching tank tops. Cute.
The tank-girl was wearing a pair of shorts which must've taken her an hour to squeeze over her legs and her tremendous butt, which was about six feet wide. The thing's legs, which were covered with ugly little stubbles of hair, were bulging out around the edges of her bermuda shorts. There were all these little ripples of fat in the legs. Otis thought they looked sort of like mashed potatoes. Otis liked mashed potatoes. (Not these, however).
The woman's arms weren't so great either. They were also made of the mashed potato material, and they jiggled whenever she'd move. She also had a tattoo. And a moustache. And a big, thick black mole growing out of the back of her neck.
Otis tried to imagine Tank Woman and her boyfriend smooching. What would that mole feel like if it got in your mouth by accident?
It was not a happy thought.
Moustafha was taking the usual amount of time it took him to ring up people's stuff-- which was forever. No doubt, the guy couldn't add. Heck, he could barely speak English, so why would he bother to learn to do arithmetic?!
Otis decided that this was the last time he was going to shop at 7-Eleven. It would be worth it to walk over to the Thrifty's, which was only few blocks further. At least the Line People there weren't quite so crummy.
While Otis was waiting in line, he made up a little song to keep himself occupied. It went like this.
(sung to the traditional Yiddish tune "I Had A Little Dreidel")
I had a little boner
I made it out of clay
And when it's dry and ready
Oh boner I will play
Oh boner boner boner
I made it out of clay
<
Oh boner boner boner
Oy vey, oy vey, oy vey
Hmmm. Not bad, thought Otis. But it's missing something.
Otis decided to try another verse. It went like this.
I saw a man so ugly
He was in a 7- Eleven line
His body was so dirty
Even dirtier than mine
The other people in the line
They stood and held their nose
Because this man so dirty
He stunk like my dad's toes
The stinky man waiting in the line
His skin was oh so brown
And I was pretty sure that
This man was from out of town
He had a lot of friends with him
Named Pedro and Jose
And all these stinky ugly people
Made me just want to say....
Then Otis went back into the chorus.
Oh beaner beaner beaner
You smell so very bad
Oh beaner beaner beaner
You smell worse than my dad
(Actually Otis' dad didn't smell particularly bad. But this was the only rhyme he could come up with)
Oh beaner beaner beaner
I wish you'd go back home
To the town of Tiajuana
forever more to roam
Otis looked up. The line had hardly moved at all. He continued working on his song.
Now all these filthy wetbacks
To me they're all the same
For all the crimes in our great land
I swear that they're to blame
They drink and cuss and cause a mess
wherever they may go
and all they their big fat tummies do
is grow and grow and grow'
oh beaner booner boner
you smell just like a pig
and if you were to get hit by a truck
I'd do a happy jig
oh beaner weiner, beaner
you oughta be ashamed
to call yourself a human being
you and I were not the same
Time for another verse. Why not!? They were coming just like magic now!
I know God made all people
they tell me this is so
but nonetheless you make me sick
I wish you'd just please go
back to where you came from
the jungle or the zoo
and there you'd be so happy
walking around barefoot in dog doo
you could laugh and stink and burp all day
just have a fine old time
and if you would agree to that
I'd pay you my last dime
So please dear Mr. Beaner
If you'd just heed these words
then I wouldn't have to stand in line
with a bunch of stinky turds
Now that's the end of my song
I hope it's not unkind
I didn't mean to make you cry
You ugly filthy swine
Goodbye now Mr. Beaner
I wish you very well
I hope someday you wind up
In the deepest pit of hell
And now I'll just be going
Oh please don't follow me
just go back to your little hovel
and drink and sweat and pee
Oh beaner boner beaner
I made you out of clay
Oh booner beaner boner
Go home, and please do stay
Olay!
Hooray!
What'd I say?
OK, OK, that's enough! Quit! STOP!
Sometimes Otis couldn't get his brain to stop working--especially when he got all worked up with one of his songs or stories.
Otis decided not to share the song with his mom, because he didn't think she'd like it. His mom didn't like Mexicans much either, but she pretended she did. She was one of those secret Mexican haters.
He would, however, present his new masterpiece to the Pinsky Twins, Jeff and Jerry, because he knew they'd laugh and say what a great song it was, even though they wouldn't possibly be able to comprehend the sheer and absolute gloriousness of it.
After he got out of the 7- Eleven (it took almost 30 minutes!) Otis headed straight over to the twins' house.
When he got there, Mr. Pinsky was out on the front lawn, digging up weeds. He had his weed digging hat on, which was quite a silly looking affair. It had one of those yellow sun visor things sticking out in front. When Mr. Pinsky wore it--which was quite frequently--he looked exactly like a duck.
"Hi Mr. Pinsky," Otis said cheerfully.
Mr. Pinsky looked up at Otis. He didn't smile or anything. He wasn't a very friendly guy to tell you the truth.
"The boys are out back doing their yard work," Mr. Pinsky said nasally. "This really isn't a very good time you to play with them, Otis."
Otis noticed that Mr. Pinsky had huge brown sweat rings under his arms. They were so big that his whole shirt was like one gigantic sweat stain. And even outside--in the fresh air and all-- Otis could tell that Mr. Pinsky didn't smell so hot. Maybe he should go down to the 7-11 and stand in line with the rest of the Stink People, Otis thought.
"See ya later, Mr. Penis-ky," Otis said. He said it just loud enough so that it made him feel good, but not loud enough that Mrs. Pinsky could actually hear him.
Mr. Pinsky just went back to his weed pulling, not even being courteous enough to say goodbye.
A jerk, no doubt about it.
Actually, what Otis did was, after he got out of Mr. Pinsky's sight, he snuck around the side of the house and into the back yard. Sure enough, there were Jeff and Jerry. Just like Mr. Pinsky, they were pulling weeds. Only where Mr. Pinsky only had a few little patches of weeds to pull, Jeff and Jerry had the ENTIRE hill behind their house! The hill was one solid mass of weeds.
"Wow," said Otis. "You guys have to do that whole hill?"
"Yeah," said Jerry, the nastier of the two twins. He had extremely large nostrils. "But we're getting two dollars each for doing it." He said it real smug-like, as if it were a real big deal.
Jeff didn't look so happy. Jeff was more like Otis. He liked being lazy and doing nothing or going to the movies or playing tricks on people. He didn't like working. And why should he? Working was stupid. Everybody knew that.
"I'm goin' down to the bowling alley," Otis said. "Anybody wanna come?"
Jerry just kept pulling weeds. "Nah," he said, nostrilly. "There's a cool new pinball machine down there," Otis informed them.
Poor Jeff really looked unhappy now.
"Hey, tell ya what," said Jeff to his brother. "I'll give you my two bucks if you do my half of the hill."
"OK," said Jerry, pulling a gigantic clod out of the ground and dropping it into a sack. "But you better pay me....otherwise I'll tell dad on you."
Otis and Jeff were already heading out the side gate. If they went out that way, Mr. Pinsky wouldn't be able to see them leave.
"See ya, Jerry!" said Otis.
Jerry didn't reply. He just kept on pulling his weeds and making his two dollars.
When they got down to the bowling alley, the first thing Otis did was buy three packs of Peanut Butter Cups from the candy machine. Jeff got some Milk Duds and an orange soda. Then the two boys headed past the bowlers, over towards the arcade were the games were.
It was pretty empty in the bowling alley at this time of the afternoon. Only a few people were on the lanes. There was this one real show-offy guy with acne all over the back of his neck. The guy would make a real big deal out of it every time he got a strike.
"Steeeee-rike!" he would shout--then he'd point his finger right at the fallen pins (POINT! Like that.) as if he had some kind of secret x-ray power or something in his fingers.
Otis immediately hated the guy . Anybody that had to make a big deal out of a stupid strike was obviously a complete and total moron.
A few lanes down, a gigantic fat lady was bowling. She had on this bright red MuuMuu. Otis figured she must've weighed at least 400 pounds.
It never failed. There was always at least one real fat person whenever you went to the bowling alley. The problem with fat people was that they always tried to pretend like they were normal. Like they weren't really this oozing, disgusting blob of gaseous, white corpulence.
Take this one, for instance. She'd waddle down the lane clutching her ball--her fat, Popeye arms jiggling away a mile a minute. It took her about ten minutes to get to the spot where you threw the ball from. Finally she got there. She had so much fat she couldn't really wind her arm up for a decent throw, so she just kind of plopped the ball down--boom!--on the ground, and there it rolllllled--ever so slowly--down and down and down the lane, until finally at the end of this interminable journey, it managed to make it to the end where--kerplop~ -it knocked down one sad little pin.
The lady tried to raise her hand up in the air in one of those Yeah!-I-did-it gestures, only her arm wouldn't really go up very far. Too much blub.
"Nice shot, Marge," said her friend.
It was odd. The fat lady's friend was this skinny nothing of a girl. She had mousy brown hair and a bad complexion and she was chewing her gum real fast and smoking at the same time.
Otis decided that these people did not amuse him.
Finally, in the very last lane, Otis found a person who he wanted to watch. (Otis liked watching). The guy was this terrifically ancient old duffer--Otis figured has was at least a hundred or so--who was doing his darndest to try to get one single ball that would do anything but go in the gutter.
Otis kind of liked the old guy for some reason. He had on bright green checked pants, and a pink shirt that said SPIKE on the back.
Otis wondered if the old guy's name was actually Spike, or if it was some kind of organization or something.
No matter what the old guy would do, all of his balls wound up in the gutter. He didin't make a big deal about the gutter balls, like the acne guy did with the strikes. But he didin't get all embarassed either. He'd just step back up, hold his hands in front of the air-blower thing, rubbing them around real good, and wait until his ball came back up the ramp. Then he'd roll another gutter ball.
He seemed to be having a very good time.
Otis really liked this guy. He wanted to say something to him, but he coudn't really think of anything to say, so he decided to just remember him instead, so that he could think about the guy later on.
When they got to the arcade, Jeff opted for a Thai KickBoxing Champions game. Otis selected pinball. Otis didn't particularly care for video games like other kids his age (secretly, he thought they were porbably demonic or something). He preferred the old stand-bys like pinball, or bowl-a-matic, which was sort of a miniature version of a ral bowling alley on a pinball sized machine. The best part about it was that the machine was covered with all this sawdust stuff. It was very nice.
Otis deposited his quarter in the pin ball machine Immediately four clistening steel balls shot up into the trough.
Blinkety blinkety blink went the lights.
Ding, ding ding! went the bells.
Otis pulled back the lever and took his first shot.
Thwannnnng!
The ball sped up the runway, made the haairpin turn and--zurrrp! --it disappeared down a big fat hole.
Clinkety clinkety clink went the lights.
Ding ding ding went the bells.
"What a gyp!" Otis cried.
He rubbed his jaw. Flexed his biceps. Did a couple of stretches.
Got to get the old circulation going here--
When he was good and ready, Otis pulled back the lever and--thwaaaaaanng!--another ball went saoiling up the ramp.
It immediately dissappeared down the same hole.
"Bogus!" hollered Otis. "This machine sucks!"
Otis gave his knuckles a good cracking. Did a couple of necks twists. Took some deep breaths. Rubbed his hands up and down his arms to get the circulation going and....
Wait a minute!
What the heck was that?
Otis retraced the path along his arm with his hands. When he came to his left elbow he felt it again.
Yeegods! There was this big huge THING on his elbow.
Otis held his arm up to the light and twisted it around so that he could get a look.
Oh no!
It can't be!
It's not possible!
But it was.
Growing out of Otis's elbow was the biggest, ugliest, nastiest wart he had ever seen in his entire life!
A WART!
©harsh reality productions, 1998
(to be continued)
More Adventures Of Otis
Otis Goes Back To High School
Otis Goes Miniature Golfing!
Otis Goes On A Date!
Otis Goes To A Psychiatrist!
Otis Gets A Lobotomy!
Otis Decides To Joint A Country Western Band
Otis Joins The Girl Scouts!
Otis Develops Agoraphobia!
Otis Triers Unsucessfully To Become A Homsexual
Otis Gets Bar Mitzvahed
