More Clem and Del!

Their misadventures continue!

                                                      

From last post:

     "Leave it to you to steal the biggest pile of s**t in three states!" Del told Clem, who was immediately hacked and whirled his eyes towards Del,

 

   "Look, sum b***h, you were there too, but did you say, "No, Clem, that one looks like a pile of s**t, maybe we should keep looking." No, you did not, so shut up there, sum b***h!"

 

     The 1954 truck they had stolen was unlocked and the keys were stupidly left in the ignition (although it was painfully obvious the owner had wanted it stolen, to collect the insurance, "You're right, Clem, I'm just frustrated, now we have to get it towed and fixed."

 

      "Well, I ain't too happy either, but beggars can't be choosers. I think I saw a pay phone back up the road aways, and if you'd hike back there and call for assistance, that'd be great."

 

     "Me? Why do I have to go? Why not you?"

 

     "Because somebody has to drive off if we see a cop, and seeing as how I'm used to driving it, it should be me."

 

     Apparently forgetting that the car was broken down and wasn't going anywhere, Del replied,

 

     "Well, that makes sense, okay, I'll be back," and he opened the door and looked both ways along the road.  "Wait, which way did you see the phone?"

 

     Clem just shook his head at the asinine question, "Let's think about that for a minute, shall we? How would we know what's up ahead, we haven't been there yet."

 

      "Oh yeah!  So back this way then?"

 

 

     The tow truck arrived without incidence, and soon the 1954 bucket of rust was in the shop, being fixed.  

 

***new:

 

    

      The only sound was the tires on the roadway, as the ancient radio didn't work. The boredom was almost a living thing. Oh well, they were $250 lighter in the wallet, but at least they were back on the road. Clem glared as he drove, and angrily pushed the accelerator to the floor, and the engine was screaming in protest. Just then, a dilapidated school bus passed them, and the kids were all pointing and laughing as clouds of steam billowed out from under the hood and disappeared behind them. He knew the hunk of s**t was about done, and toyed briefly with turning around, going back to the repair shop, and beating on the little weasel who'd charged them $250 to make sure they made it just far enough to make going back a daunting prospect. "S**t!" he shouted in frustration and punched his hand on the dashboard, which immediately broke in two, and the radio suddenly came to life and blared out a country tune. One part of the dashboard fell to the floor, while the other sat staring at Clem as a reminder of what a hunk of metal crap they'd stolen. "S**t!" he screamed again.

 

     Del spoke up then, "Calm down, there, before you blow a gasket!"

 

     "Shut up, there, sum b***h--if I want to break the dashboard in half, I'll damn well break the dashboard in half!" He knew he was just ranting now, and was making absolutely no sense, but damn it, he was pissed!

 

     "Sorry, Clem, I know it's frustrating, but getting mad at it won't change anything."

 

     "Oh, you know it's frustrating, do you? I'll show you frustrating, there, sum b***h! Screw you, I'll--" Suddenly, he came out of the fog of anger and realized that it wasn't Del's fault. "I apologize, Del, it's just my anger talking"

 

     Del turned red in the face with embarrassment. Funny, it sure looked like your mouth!  "I'm sorry too, Clem, I should know better than try talking reason to you when your angry."

 

     This pissed Clem off even more. "I take it back, you sum b***h--ya know what's frustrating, putting up with a guy who's about as smart as a concrete doorstop!"

 

     Del stared at him, and asked, "Who are you talking about?" And when Clem just looked at him, he got the hint that Clem was taking about him, and stared out the window at the passing scenery. As he was staring angrily out the passenger window, Clem was angrily staring out the windshield, practically daring someone in passing cars to glance his way.

 

 

     The miles unwound behind them in moody silence, which was just fine with both. Neither one felt like making conversation. Clem was reflecting on the fact the damn car had lasted so long. As he was just finished marveling at this fact, the engine coughed once, black smoke began pouring out from under the hood and obscured Clem's view, so much so he had no choice but to slam on the brakes. He somehow managed to pull the car to the shoulder and stop. "S**t, you morphadite sum, b***h, you hunk of upchucked scrap metal!" he screamed.

 

     "Great, now what, Clem?"

 

     He started to make a scathing reply, but he caught himself. Del couldn't help his stupidity. "Now we walk to the town that the sign said was 15 miles ahead."

 

     "Walk? In this weather?" For it had just begun pouring buckets. "Isn't there another way?"

 

     "Sure, sure there is, I can start walking, and you can just sit here and wait for the cops to show up!"

 

     "Oh, okay, well start walking, like you said."

 

     You know, for a 10 cent head on a 5 cent neck, you're about a 7 cent idiot!  Clem thought. "Okay, smart choice. Let's go!"

 

******

 

     After walking for what seemed to be 50 or 60 miles, they slogged down the main street of Road Flare City. No s**t, that was the name. Why, Clem didn't have a clue, nor did he care. He just wanted someplace to get out of this rain. Beside him, Del was the very image of despair. He looked like a drowned flounder. He'd forgotten that flounders lived  in the water, apparently. It didn't matter to Clem, anyway. Nor did it matter that flounders were flat, whereas Del wasn't even close.

 

     "Now what, Clem?" Del asked. Clem considered punching him in the spleen, but decided it wasn't worth it. Look at him--a flounder with legs! "I tell you what, why don't you just walk into Road Flare City Motors, tell them we're two escaped convicts with no money, and I don't see why they wouldn't give us a car, and say pay us when you can!"

 

     "Where do you see Road Flare City Motors, cause I sure don't."

 

     Clem looked at him, and said, "I'll be damned, the foreheads of morons really do slope, big time--I didn't believe the psychiatrists!"

 

     Del's face crumpled and fell, leaving Clem once again feeling like a schmuck. "Never mind me, I'm just in a bad mood. I'm not sure what we should do know. I know I'm starving. I've got the two buck license plate commission for making 7,500 plates the state so graciously gave me in my pocket, how about we duck into The Road Flare Cafe over there, and get us sumpin' to knaw on, sit, eat, and think?"