Saturday, February 16, 2013

Superbowl Someday



On my left, is my Mother who slides tator tots in an oven. On my right is the master bedroom where my Step Father lays in bed

and farts.

"That is fucking disgusting!" My mom says.

"Honey, would come fill up my mug?" He says.

Separating myself from the smell of tator tots and last nights Spaghetti with Meat Sauce, is the living room with a fifty inch flat screen television.

I turn up the volume and watch Baltimore score another Touchdown on T.V.

"Mother Fucker!" My step dad says.

He's a Big Forty Niners fan.

Mom sets the timer on the oven for thirty five minutes. She tells me you always cook Tator Tots longer than the bag tells you. It has something to do with the chemicals and preservatives in the potatoes.

"You gonna fill up my mug or not?" My Step dad shouts from the room.

The Forty Niners have the ball and it's now third and six.

In between farts and sprays from an aerosol can, my Step Father shouts words like, "Come" and "On" and "cocksuckers"

Mom just stands there and mixes Ketchup with Mayonnaise.

"I'm not coming in there till the smells is gone!" My mom says.

Having a type of blood cancer like my step dad has, isn't a very funny thing at all.

In fact my mom tells me the medication he takes is probably what's making his farts smell so bad.

Still, sitting here on a black leather couch while Baltimore runs for a first down, I can't help but sit there and laugh.

"You can come in the room now?" My step dad says. "I think the smell is gone."

My mom presses down on a rolled up ball of hamburger.

"That's what you said last time dear." She says.

"I promise, this time it's not that bad." He says.

During a time out I watch a commercial about farmers and Dodge pickup trucks.

"Can you come get my mug now please." My Step dad says.

Walking behind me I hear my moms sandals clippity clap as she walks by.

"It smells like a dog just shit all over the carpet!" She says.

"Sorry, I had another one I couldn't hold any longer. You missed your window." He says, "How 'bout that mug?"

"No!" My mom says "You and your mug can just sit here and marinade in it."

Her sandals clippity clap past me and back into the kitchen.

Pulling a George Forman grill from the cupboard above, she plugs it in and lets it heat up.

In front of the fifty inch flat screen television, I sit and watch as Colin Kapernick of the San Francisco Forty Niners runs the ball into the endzone and scores a touchdown.

"Alright!" my step dad yells from the bedroom.

I stand up and decide that I will grab the mug for him.

Inside a bedroom with a California King and and tray tables and gas pills, My step dad lies on the bed with a grin on his face.

"It doesn't smell to bad in here." I tell him.

"Not yet it doesn't." He says.

I ask him if I can take his mug for him.

"No, that's okay. I'll let you mother do that." He says.

I simply shrug my shoulders and get back to the fifty inch flat screen television and Baltimore and San Francisco.

Shouting from the bedroom my Step Dad says, "Honey, can you come get my mug now?"

"Yeah mom, it doesn't even smell in there anymore. I promise." I tell her.

"You better not be shitting me!" My mom says. "No pun intended."

She puts three hamburger patties on the George Forman grill and pulls the lid down.

I hear her sandals clippity clop past me and back into the bedroom.

My Step Dad farts.

"I'm sorry, I just couldn't hold that one any longer neither." He says. This time I can hear the laughter in his voice.

"Now hows about that mug." He says.

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