Neopolitan Eucharist

Now that summer weather has arrived, I like to sit out on a lawn chair, grill steaks, chug beers, burp, fart, and spit at squirrels. Most neighbors have given me the evil eye and tried to avoid me, but I'm the gregarious type.

"Howdy neighbor! Kin I intrist yew in a brewski or p'raps a fahn juicy steak?"

The women scoff and powerwalk away with clenched asses and upturned noses. The men always amble over after glancing back at the homestead to see if the wifey is lookin'. We always get on well, and I feed them. In return, they lose their money to me playin' poker.

I was sitting out one afternoon when the schoolbus dropped off a load o' younglings. One sweaty little fatboy with thick glasses ran up the street wailing at the top of his lungs. The stinky little bastard was probably more desperate for attention than actually in pain.

"Now quit yer blubberin, my young frien'. What seems ta be tha matter?"

He stopped and looked at me, eyes leakin', chest heavin'.

"huh huh huh they took away my huh huh lunch an' they took my Cheetos my bologna mustard cheese sammich my"

"Whoa whoa hold it there pard. Who took yer chow, and why?"

"The nuns. They said I was a, a, a,"

"Slow down. Nuns? Nuns are horrible creatures. They're mad at the world cause Jesus don't give 'em no dick."

He laughed and breathed. He seemed a bit calmer after my sparklin' gem o' humor. I was now a friend. I was cool. An adult who would say such a thing to a child is rare indeed, and beloved by children of all ages.

"It was Sister Francine. She said I was an overfed little lardball. I know I'm chubby, but I can't help it. Momma says I gotta eat to be healthy. Sister Francine says I'm gonna eat fire with Satan and that Jesus don't love no gluttonous pig boys."

"It'll be okay, son. Yew go on home and have yourself a big-ass bowl of ice cream and forget about Sister Francine. She's just another bully. Yew go ahead and sneak some candies in class so yew won't be hungry come lunchtime, and when she sees the little lunch you brought, you'll have her right fooled that yer eating like she wants yew to. Say, where you go to school young man?"

"St. Michael's."

"Okay then. You go on home. Eatin's good for ya, don't let no damnfool nun tell ya otherwise. Jest lookit me an' mah bleedin' steaks here. I speak only the truth, God's honest to ya son."

"Thank you sir!"

Later that day I went drunken driving over by the school with my camera. Just down the street there's an ice cream parlor where I knew the nuns would go jumproping and cone licking on Wednesday afternoon. I got me a doozy of a picture. One for me, one for the young lad.



I gave it to him at the bus stop the next morning. I said:

"Next time she tries to feed ya any bullshit, yew give this over and ask if she wuz pretending that ice cream was Jesus. You won't git in any trouble, I promise, and you'll git to eat whatever you want, any damn time."

I ruffled his hair and then he got on the bus smiling.