Burton Upton

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  No Houses

A Dear Winifred Tale

Winifred Downy turned off her computer, lit up a fresh cigarette, and wearily headed for the exit from her personal hellhole.  She passed Daddy-In-Law's office door and the high pitched wail that was Bartholomew Downy the Second's angry voice assaulted her ears,

"What?  Leaving already?  Why, back in my day..."

His tirade droned on and on, but Winifred had already tuned him out.  She knew the speech by heart; how he had had to walk three miles uphill to school, in the snow, with no shoes because they were too poor, and how he'd had to sell pencils door-to-door, blah, blah, blah!  When at last the maw under his nose stopped flapping and she knew she was required to say something, she said,

"Yeah I'm calling it a day.  I feel so bad for your bullshit life, but some of us are to tired and are too hungry to much give a shit; If it's all the same to you, I'll give two shits tomorrow!"

"Why, you smart-mouth ass-wad, you need to be knocked down a peg or two!" and he came charging out from behind his desk, but by this time Winifred was already walking away.  As his protesting screech sounded like a loud roar behind her, Winifred walked out the door; went to her car, opened the car door, and turned up the car stereo.  She then pointed to her ears, shook her head that she couldn't hear, slammed the door, and squealed out of the parking lot.  As she narrowly avoided a collision with another car, she selected her middle finger to wave her apologies to the driver, and roared away bound for home. 

 

She was trying to gird herself to see the smiling face of her husband, unsuccessfully, and was mumbling to herself to try to be pleasant.  When she opened the front door and he greeted her, all thoughts of being pleasant were forgotten,

"Hi, honey!," he spouted.

"Shit, seeing your face first thing reminds me that I wish I'd have stayed at work!"

Well-used to hearing her unique way of greeting him, he apparently didn't notice, "And how was your day, sugar?"

"Sugar?  What am I, a fricking doughnut?"

"Eh, ha, ha, no; you know what I mean!"

The question is, do you know how much you piss me off? she thought, "In answer to your question, my day sucked green donkey poles just like every other day, but I made it through, and now all I want is a cigarette, a cold beer, or a warm one, and to be left alone to watch T.V.  There's a Mannix marathon on, you know," she sarcastically added.

"Okay honey, you go in and put your feet up, and I'll grab you a beer."

She wearily walked into the living room.  Then she fished around in her pockets for her cigarettes, set one free, threw it at her face, and tossed them on the side table.  Then she kicked off her shoes and melted into the couch.  She absent-mindedly turned on the T.V. and started flipping through the channels for something, anything, worth watching.  After a few minutes, here came Bartholomew with a cold Binge Beer.  Before he could ask her about getting her anything else, she ripped it from his hand and guzzled it down in a few gulps. 

"Jeez, honey!"

She slammed the empty bottle down on the side table, "Next!"

"Here, don't get up; let me grab you another!" he said, and trudged back into the kitchen.  She kept flipping through the channels.  Somewhere in this visual wasteland there must be something towatch! She kept flipping, until at last she came to something called "The Advice Corner", on the Bullshit Channel, or something.  She hadn't seen this particular show.  Before she could watch some of it, as she liked to keep an eye on her competition, Bartholomew returned with another beer.  She absent-mindedly nodded her thanks, although just what she was nodding her thanks for escaped her.  Wasn't that what husbands were for; to keep her happy?  She took another long drink of the beer, and set it down.  Was it just her, or had Binge started using piss-water to make their shit?  Bartholomew drifted away to do whatever lamos did, leaving Winifred alone with the most gorgeous hunk of man-meat Winifred had ever laid her beady eyes on.  This guy was a male super model on steroids.  Wow!  Then he ruined Winifred's fantasy by speaking. 

"Welcome back to The Advice Corner, I'm Burton Upton, and our next letter comes to us from Miss Millie;

Dear Burton, I'm a 68 year old woman who's husband went to the  Last Roundup.  I've been married for so long, I've forgotten how to date someone new.  So much has changed since I was young.  I'm feeling overwhelmed; I loved my husband, and will forever, but I realize I need to accept the reality of my situation and move on.  I just don't know if I can, or want to.  What would you suggest?  Signed Miss (again) Millie

Dear Miss Millie, trepidation is normal in your situation.  You just lost your bedrock, the foundation of who you are.  There are several excellent grief counselors out there, and I'd heartily recommend that you seek one out.  If you'd like to get a list for one near you, I'd be happy to provide you with several names.  Just write me back and request them.  Burton."

What kind of weepy bullshit is that advice?  thought Winifred, as she took another long pull off her beer, and puffed like a dragon on her cigarette.  You, sir, may look like a muscled Greek god, but your ''advice' blows!  Such a waste; a paint-by-numbers mind in a Rembrandt frame!Her advice to this woman would be to get over it and move on; there's plenty more fudge-frosted sugar-daddy treats in the doughnut shop window!  Then, the false-idol was speaking again, but Winifred flipped the channel.  Where do they find these liberal-hearted freaks? Whatgoodisfeedingbullshittoa suckerfish?  She laughed at her wit, and then came to the Mannix marathon; why not; she thought.  She then shouted for her husband to bring her another beer; lit another cigarette, and turned up the T.V.  That Mannix!

 

The End

 

 

 


Submitted: March 06, 2014

© Copyright 2022 Mike Stevens. All rights reserved.

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