"Comic books are stupid, and anyways, Danny; Don't you already have a big stack of them in the guest room?" BettyJo said.
My eyes bulged a little wider as I witnessed BettyJo plunking down the latest copies of Cosmopolitan, Vogue, Seventeen, Redbook, and Good Housekeeping on the candy store counter.
Erm, Houston; we have a problem.
What If #1 had just hit the stands. This was not just any comic book but rather a bonafide collector's edition, destined to go down in the annals of comic book history as the single greatest yarn ever spun in the Marvel Universe. I had been on the hunt for it ever since Stan The Man first mentioned it in his soapbox. Now, after months of rabid anticipation, I held the Holy Grail in my hands.
Yep. Right in my fucking mitts I tell ya; and it was the LAST FUCKING COPY on the rack.
Just one little snafu. I lacked the princely sum of fifty cents prerequisite of my acquiring legal possession of said Holy Grail. Fifty fucking measly cents and here was BettyJo fuckface about to drop $12.50 on a pile of cunt rags; oh, the fucking horror. Would I ever know what would happen had, "Spider-Man joined the Fantastic Four?"
"I don't want to hear another word about your stupid comic book or I'll tell your father you were being disrespectful again."
"Dad left that twenty dollars for both of us; not just for you to buy up every stupid girly magazine in the store, BettyJo."
"No. Means. No. Danny."
I grabbed her stupid arm and did the only logical thing I could think of; I begged.
"Please, BettyJo. This is really important to me. I'll do anything you say. But please; it's the last copy and I've been waiting months for this."
BettyJo looked me in the eye and said, "How much is it?"
"Just fifty cents. Just fifty measly cents, BettyJo."
"And do you have fifty cents, Danny?"
"No."
"Then I'm afraid you can't buy it Danny. Maybe, if you had a paper route like other kids then you'd have the fifty cents."
"But-"
"Danny, I know it's not what you wanna hear but one day you'll thank me for teaching you such a valuable lesson."
"But-"
Before I could plead my case any further things went from bad to worse. Big Fatso yelled to the candy store owner, "Hey Moe! Ya got a copy of, 'What If #1?'"
Moe's deathly gray eyes fell upon me, slowly tracing an arc that ended in my hands. His furry gray unibrow slowly arched till it reached a crescendo of annoyance.
"Hey kid. Whaddya whaddya? You gonna buy that or what? This ain't no damned lending library!"
"But Moe! Let me owe it to ya! You know Herman'll pay you for it later!"
BettyJo suddenly snatched the comic out of my hand. She handed it to Big Fatso before I could stop her.
"Here you go cutie pie. Danny doesn't have a job so he doesn't deserve it."
As I reached down to pick up my jaw from the floor Big Fatso plunked down a quarter and two dimes and ran out of the store screaming, "I got it guys! The last fucking copy! Oh shit! This is gonna be the greatest ever!"
Moe screamed, "Hey, you owe me a nickel," and was about to run after Big Fatso when BettyJo said, "Oh, just add it on to my bill, Moe. Poor little cutie was so excited he messed up his 'rithmetic."
BettyJo gave Moe the twenty my father had left on the kitchen counter. Moe made change and handed it to her. She took her brown paper bag filled with her girly cunt rags and simply said, "C'mon Danny. It's time for lunch."
BettyJo sat across from me at our corner table in King Ho's Chinese restaurant, reading her copy of Vogue. The cover article promised to enlighten BettyJo as regards the unimaginably complicated life issue of, "What to wear with what - accessory hotline - 250 new ideas!"
I sat quietly, staring into my lap thinking my fist would accessorize quite nicely with BettyJo's big fat stupid nose.
The waiter returned from the kitchen sporting a big steaming tray of jumbo shrimp in lobster sauce. The waiter carefully placed the big tray on the table. Gazing down BettyJo's tube top he smiled saying, "Verrrrry hot dish. You be careful."
"Mmmmm, boy that smells delicious! I'm gonna go to the ladies room and powder my nose, Danny. I don't want you to start without me."
I nodded solemnly.
BettyJo's fat ass disappeared behind the swinging door of the ladies room.
I removed the lid from the tray. Succulent steam wafted up from well over a dozen jumbo pink shrimp, luxuriating in lobster sauce a' la Cantonese.
I took the big pitcher of ice water off the table and braced it between my thighs. I reached in with both hands scooping up cubes of ice. I transferred them from the pitcher to the plate of shrimp until I was confronted by the law of diminishing returns.
I picked up a large serving spoon with a frostbitten hand and commenced swirling the cubes around in the sauce; mesmerized by the rising steam juxtaposed against the melting ice.
Revenge is a dish best served cold but lukewarm will do in a pinch.
A minute later I took a deep breath and started shoveling the shrimp in my mouth like a psychotic chipmunk, chewing as fast as my jaw muscles would allow.
A few minutes later I was swallowing the fifteenth and final shrimp. I replaced the lid on the tray and folded my hands in my lap. I was now confronted with two major concerns: don't burst out laughing prematurely, and don't pee in my Spider-Man underoos.
BettyJo returned to the table and graced me with a saccharine sweet smile.
"Well, let's see what's for lunch," BettyJo said, taking her seat. She carefully unfolded her napkin and placed it in her stupid lap.
I sat back in my chair and covertly picked some shrimp matter out from between my teeth.
"These Chinamen make the best shrimp, don't you think," she said preparing to remove the lid with a flourish like she'd seen the galloping gourmet do on Channel 9.
BettyJo lifted the lid and was greeted with the sight of a plate of melted ice cubes swimming in congealed lobster sauce a' la Cantonese sans succulent juicy pink jumbo shrimp.
Now it was BettyJo's turn to gather jaw from the floor.
"What the fuck did you doooooooo?!?!?! Where's all the fucking shrimps?!?! There's supposed to be an entire plate of jumbo shrimps?!? What the hell am I supposed to eat for lunch goddammit!!?!?!"
I let out a large belch and said between hysterical spasms of laughter, "What if Spider-Man ate the whole fuckin' tray of shrimp and BettyJo had no lunch?"
BettyJo shot me her sternest death star gaze but it only served to make me laugh harder. I felt a little pee squirt out but I clamped down on my sphincter and got it back under control.
"Maybe, if you had a paper route and didn't sponge off my father you could afford a giant plate of tasty jumbo shrimp all for yourself, BettyJo. Or..., Maybe Moe'll let you have a refund on your sack of cunt rags..."
Back at the apartment BettyJo was on the phone with my stupid father, Herman. She told him all about the purloined shrimp in excruciatingly redundant detail while conveniently omitting the incident at Moe's Candy Store.
BettyJo replaced the phone in its cradle. She glared at me and with pursed lips informed me that I was punished the rest of the day until Herman came home from work. I could not watch any television nor could I go out and play stickball. I could however stay in the guest room and read the encyclopedia or the copy of the Children's Bible she had given me last Christmas.
I was in the guest room reading about Noah and his floating zoo when I heard an unfamiliar voice say:
Hey kid.
I looked around the room. I only saw me, myself, and I.
No kid. Up here. It's God...
I looked up at the ceiling and dropped my jaw for the second time that Sunday.
The face of an old white hippie with an unkempt beard stared down at me.
That BettyJo's a real cunt, ain't she kid?
"Are you really him?" I asked.
Well, it ain't fuckin' Spider-Man.
I looked up at God and nodded. It definitely was not Spider-Man.
"So why are you here, God?"
Cause it's your lucky day, kid. I been watching you and that dirty cunt, BettyJo. Now, normally I love all my children equally but the truth is BettyJo is some kind of extraordinary fucking cunt and what really gets my goat is that nobody seems to know it except you and me.
"Boy, you just said a mouthful, God."
Now, I could just smite her with the clap or something but that just lacks that certain je ne sais quoi, if'n you catch my drift, kid.
"Go on..."
Well, it's like this kid. It's time you learned that murder is not necessarily against the rules. Popes, Kings, Presidents, hell even housewives have all engaged in this little game of death and that never denied them entry to my kingdom.
"You don't say?"
Totally. The thing is you should only kill the deserving and most importantly you gotta have an ALIBI.
"An alibi?"
Exactly. An alibi. Like, just as a f'rinstance, let's just say you were to move the stove a little bit and loosen up the gas nozzle. And then let's just say, f'rinstance, you were to sneak outside to go play stickball with your little friends....
"What good'll that do?"
God sighed and said: Does BettyJo smoke?
"Like a chimney. She's always bumming cigarettes off Herman."
Well, then why don't we just leave the rest in my hands and see what we see?
"Hey batter batter batter!" I taunted, whipping the Spalding at Big Fatso the comic poacher.
Swing and a miss.
"Hey, Danny! That fuckin' comic was the best; ever!"
"Oh yeah? Can I hold it for a little while?"
"Yeah, sure. But ya gotta hold these first," Big Fatso said grabbing his stupid crotch theatrically.
Big Fatso had a big laugh at the expense of yours truly.
"BettyJo'll hold it," I retorted. Big Fatso was always leering at stupid BettyHo and talking about all the gross stuff he wanted to do to her.
"Hell man, BettyJo'll even suck your dick; fer real."
"Get the fuck outta here," Big Fatso said with incredulity. Tiny acorns, thought I vaguely.
"No, man. I'm serious as crotch-rot. Why do you think she snatched that comic out of my hand and gave it to you? She wants you. She wants you something awful, man."
Big Fatso scratched his head. I called a time out and approached the plate to further perpetrate my faux confabulation.
"Look man. My dad's out all day and she's up there, all by her lonesome, parading around in her panties sayin' over and over what a, 'cutie pie' she thinks you are. Just ring the bell and tell her I said you could borrow my children's bible and yer in like Flynn...."
"No bullshit, Danny? Cause I'll fuck you right in the ass if you're bullshitting me."
It seemed God was testing my faith. I hoped he'd appreciate the fact I was trusting him with the sanctity of my sphincter.
"God as my witness," I said placing my hand on my heart. "But, you gotta let me hold What If #1," I caveated.
Big Fatso scrutinized my face for any hint of deceit. I flashed him my 500 watt smile. The epitome of sincerity and innocence was I.
"Just till you get back...," I shoehorned in reassuringly.
Big Fatso wrestled with his big dilemma.
What the fuck was I gonna have to do to put Big Fatso in a Ford today?
"Yo," I said. "You wanna walk around the block bragging about a stupid comic book or bragging about fucking BettyJo and her big tits?"
I put out my hand, palm facing heaven. This is what we in Brooklyn lovingly refer to as a foregone conclusion.
Big Fatso reluctantly reached into his back pocket and forked over the Holy Grail. I took it and said, "Go get her champ, she's waiting..."
Well whaddya know? It seemed pimping my Dad's stupid girlfriend just might qualify as God's work. I vaguely wondered if there would be a big purple fedora with a feather in it for me.
"Hey, Big Fatso," I yelled after him. He turned around.
"What?!?"
"Make sure you offer her a smoke. That'll get her kitty purring real fast!"
"Oh yeah? Thanks, Danny. Yer all right," said Big Fatso, heading off to his date with destiny, lurid images of BettyJo dancing through his stupid head.
I sat down on the stoop and caressed the front cover. I had it. It was back in my mitts where it had always belonged.
Ten awe inspiring minutes later I was closing the back cover. That was, without a shadow of a fucking doubt, the absolute best, most exciting and awesomest comic book I ever read, or could hope to read, in my entire life.
"Good comic kiddo?" my father asked.
I looked up to see my father Herman home from work early.
"Oh man, Dad!!!! Wait'll you hear!!!! Spider-Man joined the Fantastic Four and-"
Before I could give Herman the down & dirty on Spider-Man and The Fantastic Four we were almost knocked off our feet by an Earth shattering explosion. All the windows on the third floor of my Dad's apartment building vomited shards of pane that rained down at our feet.
Herman looked up at the conflagration slack jawed.
A moment later, as if on cue, what was left of BettyJo's stupid head dead cat bounced at our feet.
Suddenly in my head I heard that now familiar voice again. It simply said:
Wait for it, my child...
Another moment later Big Fatso's head came looking for his crush, BettyJo fuckface.
Herman stared wide eyed at the crack in the sidewalk where BettyJo's head had come to a rest. She looked madder than if somebody had ate all her shrimp.
Herman's shoulders heaved to and fro with a mixture of shock and grief. Softly sobbing he just kept repeating the eternal question.
"Why? Why? Why did it have to be my sweet sweet BettyJo? Why? Why?"
"Only God knows Pop," I said, stuffing What If #1 in my back pocket for a later re-reading. "Only God knows."
I heard God say:
You bet your sweet ass, kid.
From that day on, from God's lips to my ears; I made damn sure I always had an alibi.
Originally posted on r/nosleep under the pen name mypumassmellfunky.
