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Ol’ Summer Sausage was sitting in a coffee shop across the street from a hospice. He was eating a bagel and pretending to read the paper but was actually just sitting there daydreaming about how much he loves looking at his hands and hates weddings. The door swung open letting the outside inside along with a pissed off looking djini. He walked straight over to OSS and double-checked his notes.
“Are you...uh The Lerpa?”
“what’s lerpa? asshole.”
“Sorry, long day, Mr. Feldspar. I have some wishes for you.”
“what’s feldspar? asshole.”
“Dude, listen to me. Wishes. Real wishes. You know, pennies in the fountain, blown eyelashes, I’ve got about a half-dozen wi-‘
“stop,” he paused and held up a jaded, New York middle finger, “asshole.”
The djini, not in the mood, snapped.
“That’s it, I’m taking your New Yorkiness and Judaism away, “
“There! Now you’re just another twatty wasp. Enjoy your latte, Summer, I fuckin quit” he said as he dropped his clipboard and bashed the door open with a Whap!
“asshole” thought OSS, but was surprised to hear himself say, “Golly!”
“fuck?” he tried to say, “Darn it?” came out.
"Holy Heck!"[christing fuck!]
He gagged and swooned and fell to the floor, the red-hot Soul Asylum hit from the 90’s Runaway Train suddenly screaming through his head in a horrid, pleasant wave. He crawled on his elbows suddenly horrified his shirt was not WrinkleResistant.
“Sweet Lord Baby Jesus Same Me!!” he wheezed, crawling toward the barista, “Ziiiiima!”
Date Written: August 30, 2004
Average Vote: 4