Read Online Lick Your Neighbor by Chris Genoa - Free Book Online

immediately gave chase. But even though we reached the bushes no more than a few heartbeats later, the Savages were nowhere to be found when we got there. They vanished, as if the bushes had swallowed them. I tell you I do not like this place.
    Beyond the bushes we came across a little path which led to an opening with a bunch of heaps of sand, some covered with dirty mats. The Reverend said it was a burial ground and that we should not disturb it or else we would risk angering the Savages greatly. I do wish he had said that before some of the men pulled bones out of the ground and started fake sword fighting with them.
    Then, from behind one of the sand heaps we saw some colored feathers peek out. Thinking it was one of the Savages wearing a headdress, we all readied our weapons. But, thankfully, it was only a Turkey. We all had a good laugh when it came strutting out. A few of us strutted around mimicking the Bird for the fun of it. But then Governor Bradford got mad, called us all a bunch of sheep-biting foot lickers, and then he shot the bird. What a waste of gunpowder. Those nasty birds, with their tough, dry tasteless flesh, are not even good enough for stew.
    I must say, I hope there are not too many of those angry disappearing Savages around. A few here and there would be nice, just to spice things up a bit, but I don’t think I will be able to deal with hordes of these Wild Men roaming about freely. I wish we could round them all up and put collars and leashes on them. Children could take them out for walks in the mornings and evenings, and perhaps on weekends we could play fetch the corncob with them. I would sleep much better at night if that were so. We do have guns and swords, yes, but little good that would do against stampeding Savages. Especially since I honestly have no idea how to fire my musket. Captain Standish must have assumed I knew how when he handed me one, but he was grossly mistaken. I know that these little pellets and this powder are supposed to go down the barrel, but in what order? Powder first? Pellets first? And how much of each? Do I fill it to the rim? And should I throw a lit match down there as well to get things started? I tell you it’s a mystery. Oh well. I figure I will just shout “Bang! Bang! Bang!” and throw rocks at the Savages if it ever comes down to it. It is not like they would know the difference, seeing as they are, you know, savage and all that.
    —John Alden

7
Blowing Kisses in the Cell
    I T HAD TAKEN SEVERAL MONTHS OF courtship, hundreds of cold showers, a back shave, and ultimately a wedding ring before Gus Stitch had the honor of spending the night with Judy.
    It only took Gobbling Gus the turkey a few hours.
    On the first night he came into her life, and every night thereafter, Gobbling Gus spent the night in Judy’s bed. Not because that’s where he preferred to roost, but because Judy wouldn’t let him sleep anywhere else. No matter how hard he tried, Gobbling Gus spent every night locked in the warm, suffocating, desperate embrace of Judy’s frail arms. And surprisingly strong legs.
    For a few weeks life was quiet for Gobbling Gus and Judy, as they went about their daily routines of watching soap operas and crapping all over the carpet, respectively. But like all celebrities, Gus soon received his call to fame, as mascot of the Duxbury High Fighting Gobblers football team. The appointment was born of an emergency when, on the night before the big homecoming game, the Fighting Gobbler mascot costume was stolen by football players from the school’s archrival, the Plymouth Eagles, in a caper that almost certainly involved someone, somewhere, at some point, getting a wedgie.
    After a frantic search for a replacement costume, including a disastrous and ill-advised attempt to superglue hundreds of turkey feathers and a paper beak onto a stray dog, the team’s coach placed a call to Judy Stitch, asking if Gus was available that day.
    “Available for what?”