'Shorty Gets Pissed!'; a Baby Man tale!

Another Baby Man tale!

                              

     

     What the hell was that racket?  Who was yelling and disturbing his quiet Sunday morning?  Angrily he put down his malt liquor, snuffed out his unfiltered cigarette, and arose from his recliner chair.  A guy would think that 7 am on a Sunday morning would be early enough for a little bit of peace and quiet, but that guy would be wrong. 

 

 

     He stomped to the front door and flung it open, the angry 'thunk' it made as it slammed into the wall reverberated up and down the block.  He immediately saw a group of young kids in his yard.

 

     "Hey, you b*****d kids, get off my lawn!"

 

     When they glanced up sharply at the sound of his voice, at first looking alarmed, and then bursting out laughing when they caught sight of what to them must have looked like a little baby scolding them.

 

     "What, haven't you ever seen an angry guy before?"

 

     One of the kids replied, "Yeah, but not one who needs a step ladder to reach my kneecaps!"

 

     Shorty felt the familiar rage rise up, "Oh, a funny guy, huh?  Well...well..." he sputtered, unable to even think.  This only made the kids laugh even harder.

 

     "Eh, ha, ha, look and listen to little Pee-Wee!  We'll leave, okay Junior?  Eh, ha, ha!" and with that the whole group of juvenile delinquents  

slowly wandered towards the street, each of them glancing back at him and chuckling.  This served to enrage Shorty more, and when the next kid glanced back at him, he angrily flipped him the bone.  This elicited a fresh round of laughter from the others after he nudged his buddies and they all glanced towards him. 

 

     "Little b******s!" he muttered to himself and stomped back into the house, now totally pissed.   Why must they torment him so? 

 

 

     He sat back down, fired off a fresh fire torch, grabbed his now-warm beer, and tried his best to get back into what was called a newspaper, but was really a collection of snow tire ads, erectile dysfunction ads, and the like.  "S**t," he muttered, "total crap!" and he sat crumpled it up and just sat back and stared at the wall.  Tonight, he was going to the brand new tavern in town and have some adult fun.

 

 

******

 

 

     Night had fallen, finally, and as he approached the tavern door a group of laughing drunk people came out of the entrance to 'Wet Your Whistle Tavern'.  Judging by the looks of the people staggering out the door if it was called 'Wet Someone's Missile' it wouldn't have come as a surprise to Shorty; every guy, and they were all guys, were wearing happy loafers.  He thought about turning around and leaving but damn it, he was thirsty and wasn't going to let the fact of the tavern's persuasion stop him from drinking a few cold ones!  He pulled open the door and took two steps forward, and  after the glaring sunlight, was immediately engulfed in darkness. 

 

 

     He plowed into a table, sending geysers of beer skyward as a pitcher of beer sitting peacefully upon it was rudely jostled. 

 

     "Hey!" shouted one guy, wiping spilled beer off his pants. 

 

     "Sorry!" he replied.

 

     "Well, sorry ain't going to cut it, friend!"

 

     "Look, what more do you want from me?  I said I was sorry, there, powder puff!" 

 

     That seemed to enrage the guy, who pulled a knife and started menacingly towards him, "I'm going to carve you up like a Christmas turkey!"

 

     Immediately, Shorty could tell this dude wasn't messing around, so he quickly grabbed an empty beer bottle off the table and smashed it against the edge of the hard-wood top, leaving jagged shards of glass sticking out.  "You want to rumble, let's go!" 

 

     The guy quickly rethought his actions, and pulled up short, putting the knife away and saying,

 

     "It's your lucky day little man!"  Meanwhile, his friends looked on in shocked silence. 

 

     "Dude, he's just a baby!"

 

     Shorty wasn't about to correct them as this was one time it actually worked in his favor.  He didn't feel like being the guy's human pin cushion.

 

 

******

 

 

      After the near knife/broken bottle fight, a rather shaken Shorty continued to the bar.  He would never show it of course; to show any hint of weakness started the sharks circling.  The bored-looking bartender took one look at him and laughingly said,

 

     "Let me guess, a large juice for nap time?"

 

     Shorty's eyes bore into his, with a ferocity that frankly had the bartender wilting a little, but he wasn't going to back down from a child. 

 

     "Hey, shove it creepo; I want, no demand, the biggest beer you have!" Shorty hissed.  The bartender looked sideways at him and didn't move, then said,

 

     "I'.D?"

 

     "I. D?  This is ageism; what a bunch of s**t!"

 

     "Look kid, I---"

 

     "Kid?  Would a kid have enough nuts to do this?" and he climbed up on a bar stool and ran his hand across the bar, where two half-drank beers sat.  They soon became airborne and sailed out and crashed to the floor, where they exploded in dripping shards.            

 

 

     He saw people already whipping out their cell phones to call the police.  If he didn't want to become some inmate's 'little' b***h, he'd better get out of there.  He walked quickly to the door and rapidly, at least as rapidly as stubby legs could carry him, across the parking lot to the bus stop.  This is where having a car would have been slightly beneficial.  He sat there nervously glancing up and down the road for any sign of the police.  Eventually he thought better of waiting and waddled away and cut into an alleyway that was headed in the direction of his house, at least.  His place was clear across town.  When he thought of the distance he still had to go, his stubby legs where already aching.  Screw this, he thought as sirens wailed by on the street he had just vacated.  He'd better hitchhike.  He continued on until he reached the connecting street.

 

 

     Here came a car; he stuck out his thumb, and saw in the windows of the passing car an entire family with their noses pressed against the windows, pointing and laughing.  He immediately felt the cold rage welling up inside him.  "Sons a b*****s; eat this!" he screamed, grabbing his crotch. 

 

 

     Several more cars had passed him by, and at last he was calming down; he guessed he didn't really blame them; after all, from their perspective a nine month old was hitching it; not something they probably saw every day.  He looked around; it was the middle of the night; he'd better waddle a little faster if he ever wanted to see his home again.  He put his head down and practically started sprinting; his tiny legs a virtual whirling dervish; he liked to think of himself as tough, but he had to admit to himself, he was scared!

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Marie]

Shorty out to have sense enough to at least get himself a tricycle.

[rayman]

it's good. a few mistakes but quite amazing.

[Michael Stevens]

Thank you, and an editor I'm NOT!