Ultra Relationship News – No. 8 – “Grape!” [Part 1]

[Sorry to have been away last week. I was simply doing myself what all these goofy characters are supposed to be doing: RUNNING. I went to Peoria, Illy-noise, which I like to refer to as Pee-Town, and ran a footrace there. And THIS is all you need to know about THAT. It was horrible. I swear, if I get any older or slower, I’ll invent new triple-digit age groups and my long-distance races will be measured in years, not hours. Nevertheless today’s news—Google it if you have to—as explained below, just so happened to drive me back to my computer. Or, as I like to call it, my paperless typewriter.]

ULTRA RELATIONSHIP NEWS

Number 8, “Grape!”

by Yours Troubly
(but with somewhat necessarily changed language,
due to polite society)

[Eddie and The Strawman are once again back at McDonald’s, following their Saturday long run. They’re drinking coffee and munching fries.]

STRAW: So, you saw the news?

EDDIE: What news?

STRAW: This French broad… some “fitness blogger”—and what in the flock is a “fitness blogger”?—this chick… she somehow managed to kill herself…

EDDIE: No.

STRAW: Yeah!

EDDIE: I hate to hear that. Young peeps offing themselves…

STRAW: It wasn’t suicide.

EDDIE: No?

STRAW: No. It was an accident. And you… will… never… EVER… guess… how… it happened.

EDDIE: I give.

STRAW: (half laughs) She did it… WITH A WHIPPED CREAM CAN!!!

EDDIE: What?

STRAW: I ain’t chittin’ ya. This CAN… it’s fulla whip cream, right? … IT SUDDENLY EXPLODES!!

EDDIE: No.

STRAW: YEAH!!!

EDDIE: Like a bomb? It was, like, terrorism?

STRAW: Nah. It’s just… who knew that freaking WHIPPED CREAM could EXPLODE!!??

EDDIE: I didn’t.

STRAW: Me neither.

EDDIE: It’s a stupid little can! How the flock can it KILL anyone???

STRAW: Lotta pressure inside. Gas. Mucho gas. Ever toss a deodorant can into a campfire?

EDDIE: No.

STRAW: Ka-BOOM!!!!!!!

EDDIE: No kidding.

STRAW: No kidding.

EDDIE: But cream? Whipped cream? Like what the soda jerk piles on toppa your banana split?

STRAW: Yup.

EDDIE: She’s a French chickadee…

STRAW: Right. Over there… (gestures vaguely) somewhere in Europe. Probby France.

EDDIE: Yeah. Probably.

STRAW: I think they have different kinda cans over there.

EDDIE: They must.

STRAW: The news said it exploded… and some pieces of the damn can slammed SMACK right into her chest… gave her a heart attack… and she just up an’ croaked.

EDDIE: No wonder. Suddenly having a cream can explode on toppa my ice cream would probably give me a heart attack, too.

STRAW: Right. (pause, they both eat and drink) So… here’s MY thing.

EDDIE: Yeah?

STRAW: What in the FLOCK is some fitness babe doin’ pourin’ out whipped cream on in the first place?

EDDIE: She was in an ice cream shop?

STRAW: The news didn’t say.

EDDIE: Defective equipment. Do they have lawsuits in France, too?

STRAW: (slaps Eddie’s arm) You idiot. OF COURSE they have lawsuits in France.

EDDIE: She’ll be filing one then.

STRAW: SHE… is DEAD!!!

EDDIE: Oh. Yeah. Forgot.

STRAW: So she gotta have parents still, right? I mean, “fitness CHICK” implies young broad, no?

EDDIE: The kind with parents. Right. Old chicks are born without any.

STRAW: You asp-hole. I mean parents that are still alive!

EDDIE: OK.

STRAW: No matter, though. Chick’s still dead, that day’s exercise routine didn’t get done, no “cardio,” she’s probbly all depressed…

EDDIE: Right. In addition to being dead.

STRAW: It reminds me…

EDDIE: (half to himself) Here it comes!

STRAW: I knew a fitness chick once.

EDDIE: Aren’t they ALL? All runners and bodybuilders and Fitness Nazis and Obsessive-Compulsives???

STRAW: Hah. Right. And don’t forget the American Ninja Warrior-esses.

EDDIE: Right. So, like, how in the flock was this one any different?

STRAW: She was psycho, for one thing.

EDDIE: Yeah?

STRAW: Yeah! So, she invites me over to her place… you know… badda-bing, badda-bang—we got sex all goin’ down on the living room rug.

EDDIE: YEAH??

STRAW: Yeah.

EDDIE: So?

STRAW: So? SO?? SO????? Hey, the “so” is: She suddenly gets up and has to pee, or whatever.

EDDIE: Yeah?

STRAW: Yeah. So she goes off to the bathroom. Five minutes later she comes back from the kitchen.

EDDIE: Yeah??

STRAW: Yeah. She’s got this little bunch a’ green grapes.

EDDIE: No.

STRAW: I mean ta tell ya!

EDDIE: She wants to eat them?

STRAW: No. She wants ME to eat them.

EDDIE: Yeah?

STRAW: Yup. And get this: Right. OUT. Of. Her.

EDDIE: NO!

STRAW: Flockin’ A!

EDDIE: No!

STRAW: I’m tryin’ ta tell ya!

EDDIE: She’s, what, gonna swallow… then puke ‘em back up? And you gotta eat the puke???

STRAW: No, idiot.

EDDIE: Well, what then?

STRAW: She wants me… I kid you not… to… first of all, you know, INSERT them!

EDDIE: “Insert” them.

STRAW: Right. With my teeth!

EDDIE: No.

STRAW: And, sure, I suppose with my tongue, too.

EDDIE: In her mouth?

STRAW: NO! In her crotch!!!!!!

EDDIE: No!

STRAW: Yeah! Hey, I ain’t playin’. You flockin’ A about the—what’s Oprah call it?—her VahJayJay.

EDDIE: Grapes.

STRAW: Yup!

EDDIE: IN, uh, “there.”

STRAW: Damn straight. And straight IN, too. ‘Cuz otherwise… you know…

EDDIE: I don’t. But do continue…

STRAW: So, OK. The broad’s all spread-eagled on the floor, I’m lyin’ face-down at eye-to-JayJay level, a little bunch of these BIG green grapes off to the side… my hands are all over her asp… my face is all into El Presidente Bush… I pluck off a grape with my teeth… and…

EDDIE: No.

[To be continued in Part 2]