by Toford Kroshus
Photo Illustrution by Buck Dodds. Coffee mug courtesy of Golden Acrylics
*NOTE to READERS: This is the debut of Toford, my other Ribald Brother. This is a ‘vinegarette’ from his anthology, THE TOFORD KROSHUS KRONIKLES, which will be available soon.
This is Buck’s Rule #1 in action. Have fun reading.
-Buck
Morning Kopi by Toford Kroshus
“Tooofooord. Wakey-Wakey.“
“Oh for fuck’s sake Kinky,” I groaned. “What time is it?”
“It’s eleven. Don’t forget you’re hosting the Montana Militia this afternoon.”
“I’m gonna quit. All they do is talk-talk-talk!”
“Go get the paper Toford. I’ll brew the Kopi. Meet you in Bora Bora.”
“Where’s King Kong?”
“Koko’s in the living room watching Jane Goodall get gorilla groped.”
Yesterday was Kinky’s birthday so after taking her to headboard heaven I treated her to a night in the nude. I didn’t feel like getting dressed so I clopped to the front door in just my crocs, bent over, and grabbed my twelve-gauge.
“Real nice Mr. T.” yelled Kinky from behind as Koko nosed my gravy funnel.
“Koko! NO!”
I eased the front door open a few inches and shot two rottweilers waiting to ambush me on the front porch. Then I grabbed the newspaper, jumped back inside, and tried to slam the door. I wasn’t quick enough.
A giant growling head with drooling jowls got stuck between the door and the jamb, jaws snapping. Koko screeched, did a prize fighter shuffle, and rope-a-doped the dog’s snout like a punching bag. The beast got hold of Koko’s monkey fist and a tug of war ensued. Koko howled when his severed opposable hit the floor and spun out spirals of bright red blood.
I leaned against the door as hard as I could. My crocs had good traction on our genuine shag carpet but my feet were slipping out of them. Just as the hound from hell was about to break into the living room he got nailed in the right eye with a pink feathered dart. He yelped and backed out. Against my leaning weight, the door slammed shut. Just in time.
The feral furnado outside hit hard. The screws holding the hinges pulled loose, splintering the wood and cracking the door frame. But the door held. The sound of snarling, breaking bones, and ripping flesh emanated from the porch as the starving pack feasted on their less fortunate friends.
Kink and I met back in the kitchen for our morning Kopi while we listened to Bob Marley and lounged on Bora Bora, our inflatable tropical island.
”I remember when we used to sit, wid de gobment down in Kingstown…”
“That was a nice shot Sticky Buns. Hey, wanna know something?”
“No. It’s too early Toford.”
“I’m glad I got that bad case of Covid over the holidays.”
“The school kids are still recovering from your Santa visit. You almost died!”
“Yeah. But at least I can’t smell that shit you’re brewing!”
“You gotta quit lacing Koko’s banana pudding with prunes.”
“Hey, it’s a production issue…wait! What the hell? This is Tuesday’s paper. Ain’t today Thursday?”
“It’s Saturday jack ass. I did get a call from Reverend Kulpepper. He’s worried. The mailman never misses church on Wednesday Game Night. He didn’t show up. He was supposed to give a lecture on Chinese Checkers.”
“I prefer Parcheesi. Besides Kink, that lazy government pinhead is likely dog shit by now. I tried to tell him to stay in his free government jeep.”
“Either that or sepsis. That last box he delivered, the one you ordered from Rangoon, was full of vermin.” Kinky looked up. “Speaking of…” A nine inch long centipede wiggled out from between the coconut balloons overhead and crawled down the trunk of the inflatable palm tree attached to the inflatable island. Kinky reached for her blow gun, a pink feathered dart in her mouth.
“Kinky wait! You’ll puncture the palm again. I’m running out of tire patches.”
“Fire one!” Kinky shouted. She missed. Shssssssssssssss. The tree slowly leaned limp.
“Kinda reminds me of last night Toford… LOOK OUT!”
The monster that hell wouldn’t have dropped into my lap. It whiplashed back and forth between my exposed ground tackle and thighs delivering multiple venomous bites.
“Let’s get together and feel alright…” sang Marley.
“AIN’T EITHER OF YOU GONNA FUCKING HELP ME?” I screamed. Kinky loaded her mouth with darts. Before she could turn my testicles into pin cushions a bloody four fingered fist snatched Bugzilla and flung it to the floor, pinned down its business end, then started plucking out it’s legs one at a time.
“Yay Koko,” cheered Kinky through teeth clenching feathers. “She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me… I guess that simian psychopath is good for something after all huh?”
“Fuck that noise Kinky. MY JUNKS ON FIRE! Where’s the oxycandy?”
“We’re out. You used it all getting loaded for game nights.”
“SHIT!”
