BOB JOHNSON RIDES AGAIN! 89

89. LOVE AT FIRST BITE

89. LOVE AT FIRST BITE

After dropping off the exultant Little Leaguers at their homes, half-way houses, prison compounds and day care camps (such as Honey Brazil’s Day Care for Troubled Tots out in Reservoir Canyon), the Sisters of Brutal Mercy chatter like school girls all the way home in their van.

Immaculata: “I think he winked at me!” Boniface: “He’s just so cute when you catch him weeping into his juice box!” Claude Rains: “I wonder what he’d look like in a tux!” The Sisters have never felt so much in love before, at least not since their last confessions. Immaculata: “That Rocko sure knows how to crack his knuckles!” Boniface: “And that Fantomas would sure be a lot of fun teaching not to talk in class with a brand new steel-framed ruler!” And of course waiting her turn in just the way she had been taught since being accepted by the Convent School for Wayward Wimple-wearers in San Sebastien: “I just can’t stop imagining Cy Sperling in a tux!” It must be that time of year when the hearts of young (or any age, really) nuns turns to love! Or at least to loosening their wimples and letting what’s left of their hair down!

“Wow, I thought I’d be sitting out here all day,” Bob Johnson said when the nuns parked their van beside the curb in a cloud of oily black exhaust fumes. It was easily the most disappointing sight any nun could encounter in the endlessly accumulating three-paragraph life of Bob Johnson–and that was, of course, the unutterably woebegone figure of Bob Johnson himself. “I’ve brought your latest order from Fuzzy Peepers Totally Illegal Wacky Tabacky, Organic Muffins and Pawn Shop, which is in that large wooden crate over there. It’s thirteen cases of Huckleberry Flavored THC-infused gummies, sixteen cases of roll-your-own Mexican Standoff Surprise, and two cases of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia. Ever since I decided to get involved in more story-lines of this stupid book about my pointless life, my days couldn’t get more stupid and pointless. So who wants to help me load all this crap onto my rusty dolly over there. And before you start drawing straws, I probably should warn you–I’ll need all of you!” To which the three love-struck and giggly Sisters of Brutal Mercy all replied simultaneously: “Cherry Garcia! My favorite!”