It's supper time at the Appalachian Group Home for the mentally challenged

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
A tale of stupidity!

Submitted: February 04, 2009

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Submitted: February 04, 2009

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“It's supper time at the Appalachian Group Home for the mentally challenged.”


Dewayne Wayne: You like the stew Freddie? I helped make it. I helped Florence make it. It's got meat in it. Right Freddie?

Freddie: Yeah's good. I got mine on two. We get two on it?

DW: Mmmmh... Don't let Florence see Freddie. You could only have one. 'Cause if Florence sees. You were only supposed to get one.

Freddie: Yeah, I know. Stick in my teeth though. This meat. Stick in my teeth on it.

DW: Florence told me put lots of meat in it. Make it taste good. Right Freddie?.

Freddie: Have to brush my teeth later on it. (picking in between his teeth with his finger)

DW: Yeah, 'Cause Florence says... Mmmmh, but Tonya said that-

Michael: THIS MEAT'S STUCK IN MY TEETH!
(Michael punches the table, opposite Freddie and Dewayne, where he sits alone. The rattle of silverware and ice hitting the floor is echoing through the hallways.)

THIS GODAMN MEAT IS STUCK IN MY TEETH!

Florence: Michael.
(Florence's voice is calm and coming from the office adjacent to the dining room.)

Michael: THIS GODAMN MEAT IS STUCK IN MY GODAMN TEETH! YA KNOW I DONT HAVE THAT FLOSS LIKE IT WAS! (slamming a fist down on the table)

Florence: Michael. HEY! I wont- (Michael kicks the leg of the table he's sitting at)

Michael: THIS FUCKING MEATS UH' TWEEN MY GODAMN TEETH FLORENCE! (Florence opens a drawer in the office and begins to rummage)
CAN'T STAND IT! YOU KNOW I AINT GOT NONE OF THEM TOOTHPICKS OR THAT FLOSS ON IT!

(Michael stands up and begins to throw his ice cubes at the large Van Gogh print on the wall. Florence enters the dining room wearing an old cone shaped bra, a leather football "helmet", breast high sweatpants and a pair of ragged boxing gloves)

" Ol' Mrs. Florence is a 73 year old, six-foot one and a half, ill tempered diabetic. Now her shoes, like her glasses, are both black and prescribed. And her osteo-hump, which has robbed her of about two and one quarter inches, accounts for her tiltin' to the right. Kinda like one of those ol' wall clocks at one-thirty or so. Mrs. Florence got a bit of a right to be a little ill tempered though. Ya see she's a widow. Husband up and died, didn't even leave her with a damn thang. All she gots now is her job, that hump and the curliest salt and peppered hair you ever seen. Well that's all ya need to know 'bout Mrs. Florence for now I suppose, lets pick-up where we left off."

Michael: CAN'T STAND IT! YOU KNOW I AINT GOT NONE OF THEM TOOTHPICKS OR THAT FLOSS ON IT!

Florence: HEY! That is enough!

"Folks, I tell ya, when Michael seen Florence in that bra with those old boxin' gloves...Sheeit, he went to cowerin' and lost all that nerve he'd worked up."

Michael: i'll uhhh... well uhhh... just go to my room there uh mrs. florence... mam.

Florence: Oh no buddy! You ain't goin' nowhere! 'Cause I'm about to Unsolve ya Mystery!
Whoop! Hang on a second Michael. I forgot to take off my pants. (Florence has bent over, raised her left leg and is struggling to get her black, 13 triple E orthopedic through the waist of her sweatpants when Michael connects with a left hook directly to Florence's temple as he screams...)

BITCH!!!

(Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch. Each "bitch" lowers in pitch until the last sounds like an elephant fart.)

(Everything is in black and white and Florence is in a boxing ring surrounded by thousands of blood thirsty fight fans. And with out warning flash bulbs begin exploding by the hundreds. A microphone lowers from the ceiling. An announcer steps forward and begins speaking backwards.)

Announcer: Narf lesh him nyest cum herf low kyin hok!

"Now this entire time Florence's vision has been hazy at best. But as she approaches the center of that ring, everything, especially her opponent, becomes real clear.
Get this, it was uh fuckin' hundred and eighty pound piece uh stew meat.
And boy was he tough!
Real tough... and thick too. Looked like he was cut right off uh rump roast.
Butt Florence was determined to chew him up and spit him out."

Stew Meat: Hope ya brought yo toothpick Dracula. 'Cause I'm 'bout to be all up in those fangs, bitch!

Florence: Shut your saucebox, hot dog and- (DING DING DING)

A sexy, blonde, big-titted referee on roller skates speaks with Mills Lane's voice: Now you each know the rules...there are none. I wanna see a good clean fight. Slap hands and Let's get it on!

"Well wouldn't ya know it, just as that old mossback Florence was about tenderize that piece of stew meat she realized sumthin'..."

Florence: Whoop! Hang on a second, I forgot to take my shorts off.

"And just as Florence bent over, raised her leg and tried to get that 13 triple E orthopedic sparrin' boot through them trunks...You guessed it! 'At stew meat connected with a left hook to the temple that rocked her like a hurricane. Yep, Ol' Florence fell like the mighty oak of a woman that she is and laid on that mat just uh sputterin' and uh jaberwockin' the damndest nonsense you ever heard. All while evacuatin' her bowels...course it didn't help matters none that her boxin' shorts was around her ankles."

"I guess you could say the lesson here is that, Ol' Fool me once Fool me twice adage. Yeah, you could say that. Just don't let Florence hear ya, she's liable to start swingin'...just as soon as she gets them pants off that is.


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