Joey Marino, whose old man does Christmas trees for a living, said you died over a hundred years ago.  I looked him straight in the crusty eyelashes and called him a smegma face.  He told me to look at all the black people in prison.  I asked him how he'd like it if I used his neck as a strop.  He said, "It wouldn't change anything; facts is facts!"  I started chewing a little harder on my bubble gum and wondering if he could smell my underpants.  He thought he had won the argument until a sudden blizzard whited-out the whole schoolyard and Mrs. D. told us we could go home early. 
 
 

Copyright 2001,  Larry Rapant