The Return of MandoA Story by Michael Stevens A Dear Winifred Tale "You absolute b*****d,
you..." The words that Winifred was
pounding into her computer keyboard were stinging, and she meant them all. Sure, she had promised herself after getting
in a tit-for-tat with Mando, the founder of The IHW Club, that she wouldn't rip
into him, but a person could fight their nature for only so long, and hers' had
lasted about twenty minutes. It just had
to be done. Now that she'd decided to
respond, she went at it with both barrels blazing.
"...and you suck big green donkey
poles, you pitiful excuse for a woman; that's right, I called you a woman,
little boy; what the hell are you going to do about it? I'll tell you what; nothing, because if you
tangle with a wildcat, you'd better bring more weaponry than your feeble
so-called ranks, Puss Boy; tonight I'd be feasting on your tasty innards,
because I'll be clawing your guts out!
Winifred."
There, that ought to hold the son of a
b***h; smart-a*s little punk!
She watched for her scathing letter to
appear, but it never did. Instead, an
editorial from Priestvent appeared a couple of days later.
"I received a letter from Winifred,
in which her use of profanity proves her intelligence level; we couldn't print
it here, for decency reasons, but I will say, 'Winifred, how's that tutor so
you can graduate from the 3rd grade working out for you; helping? Hey, we all need help every once in a while; so
don't despair, I'm sure it will start paying off very soon; good on you for
admitting your problem!"
Winifred
was foaming at the mouth, literally, as she gave voice to her rage about what
she was reading. "Why you
ferret-faced little S**T!" Then she
collapsed into her computer chair and began her reply, "Who do you think
you are, Puss Man? Oh sure, it's all
well and good when you think you're anonymous, but try meeting me face-to-face
and I bet you'd be talking out of the other side if your a*s-face!"
She kept pounding out her literary venom
for three more pages, as new ranks came to her.
At last, she was satisfied with it, and pushed 'send'. Then she torched off a fresh Face-Torch, and
opened a new Binge, and greedily guzzled until touching bottom.
After another couple of days, Mando
answered her in print. "Once again,
Miss Manners, as I like to call Winifred Downy, has sent a profanity-laced
diatribe against me, into the web site.
I couldn't in good conscience subject our readers to reading her
four-letter; mostly one monolithic syllable words, but she kindly offered to
meet me in person to discuss our disagreements.
As I know where the offices of Ink Wandering Daily Newspaper are, I'll
be sure to stop by, soon, very soon.
Winifred, I'm looking forward to meeting you! Signed The Editor."
Suddenly, Winifred's bowels liquefied. Coming here?
She'd never expected him to take her up on the offer. S**t, now what would she do?
After a few days of nervously watching for
his arrival, she stated to relax. Puss
Boy was probably just bluffing; she knew he didn't have the nuts.
The next day she was in her office typing out her
advice for yet-another loser (was there any other kind of reader?) when she
heard Carol Drachen's shrill voice out at the reception desk,
"Can I help you sir?"
Then, an answering man's voice, "Yes,
I'd like to talk to Winifred Downy please?"
"Certainly; may I tell her who's
waiting?"
With a sinking feeling, and before he
could even answer, she knew what the answer would be. "Mando Priestvent."
S**t; the dumb b*****d was actually
here! Quickly, she needed to find a way
out of here. It was too late to walk out
the front door; so she cast her eyes on the office window. It looked out on a swampy area; fine to look
at, but less-than-ideal for making your escape, but she had no other
option. She most certainly wasn't going
to talk to him. The thought that she too
only felt comfortable tanking to someone using the anonymousness of the computer
never crossed her mind. In fact, she was
pissed at him for forcing her to climb out the window, which she did; landing
in muck that went over the tops of her shoes, and squished in them.
"Ah, s**t! " she shouted, before realizing that her loud voice
might be heard by Mando. She splashed
her way to solid ground, and started walking towards town; water and muck marking
the track of her escape. She had left
her car behind in the parking lot; oh well, she'd come back for it later, after
Priestvent was gone. While she waited
for darkness, she may as well go somewhere and have a cold one, or two, or
three. There was Limpo's Tavern up
ahead, and she would lay low in there, and have some Binge's.
The interior of Limpo's was dimly lit as
she squished her way to a table, receiving disapproving glances from other
patrons.
"What the hell are you staring
at?" she challenged one guy who was staring at her. He swiftly looked away, and she sat down in
one of the table's chairs. Almost immediately,
a buxom bar maid appeared, asking her what she'd like?
"I'd like to be packing as much cleavage as your swinging, but I guess
I'll settle for a pitcher of beer. Do
you have Binge on tap?"
The woman burst out laughing, and replied,
"Yeah right; no, we don't; we only have beer that people like."
Winifred saw red, and snapped, "I
fail to see what's remotely funny about Binge."
Hindentits searched Winifred's face for
any sign of mirth, saw none, and replied, "No, I'm afraid not."
Winifred scowled, and then said,
"Then bring me a pitcher of your cheapest beer."
After Hindentits had taken the cash that
she kept in her sock for emergencies, and at least tried getting the muck off
by shaking it, damn pond, and damn Mando;
Winifred surveyed the dim interior of Limpo's. She absent-mindedly reached her hand for the
shirt pocket where she normally kept her Face-Torches, but then remembered she
wasn't carrying any. She'd been smoking
her last one, and was just about to go out and buy more, when Dickhead Jim had
made his surprise appearance, causing her to flee without getting more. Damn
Priestvent! Just as she was thinking
this, the front door opened and in walk none other that Mando. By this time, her eyes were fully adjusted to
the gloom. S**t! Without hesitation, Winifred headed for the
back door. What were the odds?'' The End © 2014 Michael StevensReviews
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3 Reviews  Last Updated on March 11, 2014 Author
Michael StevensAboutI write for fun; I write comedy pieces and some dramatic stuff. I have no formal writing education, and I have a fear of being told I suck, and maybe I should give up on writing, and get a job makin.. more.. |
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