Things I Learned from My Weird, Creepy Uncle

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 22 (v.1) - Volker Von Meat Puppet

Submitted: June 21, 2014

Reads: 204

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Submitted: June 21, 2014



“Good morning, Jason!”  Uncle Truck was frying up donburi.  “I’d like you to meet my friend, Volker Von Meat Puppet!”


“Uncle Truck, can I please speak to you in the other room?”



“What are you doing, Uncle Truck?!  You’ve got to be kidding me!”


“I know, Jason, I know…”


“He is by far the lamest guy you have ever brought over – and that’s saying a lot!  He sucks!”


“He has beautiful eyes.”


“Sure,” Jason was curt; truthfully, he found Volker’s light whitish-green eyes to be terrifying and very fitting for his idiotic personality, “But that’s about it!  Uncle Truck, I haven’t known the man for even four minutes and he’s already annoying the piss out of me!”


“He’s annoying me too…”


“Then why won’t you kick him out?!”


“I don’t know, Jason… I don’t know… maybe because he’s nice?”


“He’s lying his ass off about everything.  I can tell.  And so can you.”


“I know.”


“Then why?!”


“I’m lonely…”


“But what about me?  And Chip Chodesworth?”


“M’yao!”  Chip Chodesworth entered the room, seething with disapproval.


“You’ll go back to school and Chip will go back to Mustafa Mangina… I’m lonely.”



Volker Von Meat Puppet did indeed suck.  He told Uncle Truck that he had a college degree when what he actually had was purple belt in karate and his CPR certification… same shit, he figured.  He also told her that he was in Missouri for three days because he was a chef and had a cooking show out of town… he was actually a waiter and was in Missouri because that is where he and his fiancé lived before she, as of recently, kicked him out of the house (for talking to other women online) and he needed three days to collect his belongings and move back to his mom’s basement in Colorado.


Oh, and it didn’t hurt that he had carved the word “fuck” into his forearm, which was also smeared with jaggedly-inked tattoos of skulls vomiting rainbows.  The swept-over greaser hairdo didn’t help his case either.


He also told her he was an ex-Satanist, transformed devout Christian and in the same breath went into vivid detail about how his sex drive is far higher than the average person’s (which Uncle Truck found reminiscent of Roland Rumfart… always one-upping everybody and making extraordinary claims without extraordinary evidence) and that he needs, needs, NEEDS sex in a relationship.  He also liked to prattle about his past sexual escapades and how irresistible most women found him.  He even went so far to say most men are attracted to him as well; but he was by no means a homosexual, not even slightly.  The supercilious creep stated that he would only run off with a man if there was emotional chemistry, not physical chemistry… yeah, dude.  What apparently drew him to Uncle Truck was the size of her breasts as well as her brain; not only was she well-endowed, but she was one of the only people he’d ever met who he believed to be more intelligent than he was…


“Well, I’m a little unusual…” Uncle Truck said with a blasé attitude, “I’m celibate.  I prefer men whose eyes meet my eyes more often than anything below my neck.  It’s not just unusual because of the time and day we live in, but I’m also an atheist.  No religious convictions have any influence on my decision.  It’s purely personal.”


“You’re an atheist?”


“I am.”  Uncle Truck sighed, “I’m not your stereotypical mean-spirited kind… well, unless people are attacking my beliefs, or lack thereof, then I can get a little arrogant.  But I don’t pass any judgment on those who believe differently than I do.  I was raised in a staunch Catholic home, and I think it’s socially healthy to surround yourself with people whose beliefs differ from you own.”  Ironically, Uncle Truck was fairly antisocial on behalf of her curious case of shyness she was far from socially healthy.  “The last person I fell for believed in God.  It didn’t bother me in the least.  It actually made me like him even more, for some unexplained reason.”  Uncle Truck figured two could play at the “just so you know, other people are so into me” game that this shithead had been playing.  And what an understatement!  Uncle Truck would have converted to Mormonism if Peter Frampton asked her to.


“Well, I’m kind of an atheist too!”  Volker exclaimed.


Uncle Truck had no idea why this man insisted on digging himself a larger hole, especially considering how open-minded she just made herself out to be.  This hole was getting so uncomfortably deep, Volker’s feet were squishing into figurative red clay and fossils.  “How so?  You just told me you’re a devout Christian.”


“Well, I have accepted Jesus as my lord and savior, but I don’t follow the Bible.”


“I’m pretty sure that doesn’t make you an atheist.”  This was becoming excruciatingly painful and she hoped he would just stop talking.


“No, don’t you see?  I believe there is a God.  I love God and I know I’m going to go to heaven, but I don’t follow the book, which makes me an atheist.”  He lounged back on the couch, which was once again tainted by a dumbass… Volker’s overwhelming cologne was masking Peter’s natural musk that had been weaved into the threads of the couch for weeks.  Uncle Truck, angered that she would no longer be able to compress her face into the cushions and breathe in her old boyfriend’s delicate scent, sat away from Volker… he was such a downgrade she wanted to cry.  “So, what do you think happens in the afterlife?”


“I don’t believe there’s anything.”


Mystified, Volker lifted his head and asked for clarification, “What?”


“I don’t think anything lies after this.”  At this point, Uncle Truck was open to the possibility that the energy that exists in all of us, which cannot be created or destroyed, possibly retreats from the dead and flies freely into the dreams of the living.  It wasn’t until recently that she felt this way, as it was her reunion with Adonis and Avocado that spurred this new thinking.  She dared not tell Volker Von Meat Puppet though… as she feared that he’d have an exaggerated, bull-shit-packed response and her desire to live was simply not strong enough to risk listening to it.  “For years I hoped there was something, I actually wanted to believe there was something… I still do at times.  But if I said I did, I’d be lying to myself.  I wish there was a place where I could see my Granddad, my old friends, my dog… everyone I’ve lost.  But I’m the type of person who needs evidence.  I don’t believe and I’m not sure I ever did.”  She looked him in the eyes; his expression was like that of a child who just found out that his three-year-old goldfish had actually died nine times and was being replaced with an imposter on a tri-monthly basis.


“Well, that’s strange.  And sad.  I’ve never known anyone who thinks that.”  He got himself up and laid his head across her lap, failing to feel her thighs shuddering with aversion, “You have such beautiful eyes, Trakina.  The most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.  I like a woman’s eyes more than I like her body.  The body fades with age, but the beauty of the eye is eternal.”  His bullshit would have had some degree of merit if it didn’t contradict everything he had spewed just minutes prior.

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