months.
Crawford remembered hearing her yell, “No fucking way,” over and over again. But over what? He must have told her something she didn’t want to hear — like the affair had to stop. Again, he wasn’t sure.
Crawford’s head ached. He walked into the bathroom without turning on the light and sat on the toilet. He leaned over, his head resting on his forearms.
“Honey?” he heard Dorothy ask. “Are you okay in there?”
He farted.
“Yes, dear. I’m okay.”
CHAPTER 2
Cal Crawford was watching the puppets dance, but he wasn’t listening. Leaning against the headboard of his queen size bed, his portable audio player beside him, Cal could watch but he wouldn’t listen. It was a strange ritual of morning entertainment, something to do while smoking the day’s first joint.
The music in his headphones was raucous, the venomous beat taking his head back and forth as he watched Sandy the puppet approach her bouncing mentor. The movement of the characters, out of time with his own, only made the percussion more pronounced and defiant, especially now that Cal was stoned.
Then the advertisement: this made Cal’s heartbeat quicken more than the pot — seeing his father with that feigned, toothy smile, with that shit-brown suit on, next to a pile of books and tapes, in front of a goddam purple background, behind a 1-800 telephone number. What a lie , he thought. A very stupid lie . And how vulgar. And how laughable. And there he is with my name, my goddam surname , written on the screen for everyone to see.
Dumbass .
Dr. James Crawford’s Self Series ™
Followed by the “claimer,” as Cal called it, scrolling up the screen, a psalm giving sanction to a crooked evangelist.
The techniques set forth on the “Happy Pappy Show” are based on the principles of Dr. James Crawford, whose Self Series ™ has helped millions improve their lives.
These principles have been modified to accommodate the self-esteem needs of a younger audience.
I know what accommodates a younger audience, Cal thought, deeply inhaling another hit.
Calvin Crawford was James and Dorothy’s only child, a one-time addition whose imminent arrival had ended the debate as to whether they should get married. Dorothy didn’t believe in abortion and Jim didn’t believe in pushing her, so when the news came they simply set a date to get hitched and that was that. But Cal’s personality turned out to be so unlike either of his parents that it was like a stork had dumped him there to point out that Jim and Dorothy had more in common than they thought.
Long before the venerable Dr. Crawford had struck the seven-figure deal for the Happy Pappy Show , Cal was fed up with his father’s enterprise. Now it was this puppet shit and the latest installment of the Self Series , Self-Esteem . Cal felt his father had finally reached the bottom of the capitalist barrel, and for months he cringed at the thought of him.
Cal turned up the music even louder.
Yeah. Rotten Tamales.
Rotten Tamales. Yeah, fucking rocks. What a fucking rock star.
The tune was the title track from his latest album, Erectum . A month earlier, Cal and his dad nearly came to blows over a poster Cal put on the wall. It wasn’t just an ordinary depiction of Rotten Tamales — a skinny white boy (painted to be even whiter) wearing a monstrous leather bodysuit with shiny spikes coming from every pleat. It was classic Rotten — bending over with what appeared to be a large erect penis ascending up out of his backside under the leather.
“You’re not putting that crap on my wall!” Crawford screamed at Cal.
“He’s an artist! It’s not crap!” Cal yelled back.
Then Dorothy took her usual diplomatic position, telling her husband, “Maybe you don’t understand, Dear.”
Crawford hated Rotten Tamales since Cal started listening to Kill Kompletely , his breakthrough album that sold four million copies. Crawford would sometimes walk by Cal’s room and stop in awe of
Crawford remembered hearing her yell, “No fucking way,” over and over again. But over what? He must have told her something she didn’t want to hear — like the affair had to stop. Again, he wasn’t sure.
Crawford’s head ached. He walked into the bathroom without turning on the light and sat on the toilet. He leaned over, his head resting on his forearms.
“Honey?” he heard Dorothy ask. “Are you okay in there?”
He farted.
“Yes, dear. I’m okay.”
CHAPTER 2
Cal Crawford was watching the puppets dance, but he wasn’t listening. Leaning against the headboard of his queen size bed, his portable audio player beside him, Cal could watch but he wouldn’t listen. It was a strange ritual of morning entertainment, something to do while smoking the day’s first joint.
The music in his headphones was raucous, the venomous beat taking his head back and forth as he watched Sandy the puppet approach her bouncing mentor. The movement of the characters, out of time with his own, only made the percussion more pronounced and defiant, especially now that Cal was stoned.
Then the advertisement: this made Cal’s heartbeat quicken more than the pot — seeing his father with that feigned, toothy smile, with that shit-brown suit on, next to a pile of books and tapes, in front of a goddam purple background, behind a 1-800 telephone number. What a lie , he thought. A very stupid lie . And how vulgar. And how laughable. And there he is with my name, my goddam surname , written on the screen for everyone to see.
Dumbass .
Dr. James Crawford’s Self Series ™
Followed by the “claimer,” as Cal called it, scrolling up the screen, a psalm giving sanction to a crooked evangelist.
The techniques set forth on the “Happy Pappy Show” are based on the principles of Dr. James Crawford, whose Self Series ™ has helped millions improve their lives.
These principles have been modified to accommodate the self-esteem needs of a younger audience.
I know what accommodates a younger audience, Cal thought, deeply inhaling another hit.
Calvin Crawford was James and Dorothy’s only child, a one-time addition whose imminent arrival had ended the debate as to whether they should get married. Dorothy didn’t believe in abortion and Jim didn’t believe in pushing her, so when the news came they simply set a date to get hitched and that was that. But Cal’s personality turned out to be so unlike either of his parents that it was like a stork had dumped him there to point out that Jim and Dorothy had more in common than they thought.
Long before the venerable Dr. Crawford had struck the seven-figure deal for the Happy Pappy Show , Cal was fed up with his father’s enterprise. Now it was this puppet shit and the latest installment of the Self Series , Self-Esteem . Cal felt his father had finally reached the bottom of the capitalist barrel, and for months he cringed at the thought of him.
Cal turned up the music even louder.
Yeah. Rotten Tamales.
Rotten Tamales. Yeah, fucking rocks. What a fucking rock star.
The tune was the title track from his latest album, Erectum . A month earlier, Cal and his dad nearly came to blows over a poster Cal put on the wall. It wasn’t just an ordinary depiction of Rotten Tamales — a skinny white boy (painted to be even whiter) wearing a monstrous leather bodysuit with shiny spikes coming from every pleat. It was classic Rotten — bending over with what appeared to be a large erect penis ascending up out of his backside under the leather.
“You’re not putting that crap on my wall!” Crawford screamed at Cal.
“He’s an artist! It’s not crap!” Cal yelled back.
Then Dorothy took her usual diplomatic position, telling her husband, “Maybe you don’t understand, Dear.”
Crawford hated Rotten Tamales since Cal started listening to Kill Kompletely , his breakthrough album that sold four million copies. Crawford would sometimes walk by Cal’s room and stop in awe of
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