As close to an honest story as I'm capable of. #flashfiction #shortstory https://t.co/wlp2YyEJw3 https://t.co/blT4yyxljz (21 hours ago)

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Aug
19

the dinner party

Everyone call her Bets. It’s not short for Betsy, it’s because she enjoys gambling. Only those close to her know it’s been a problem. Her boyfriend is Slim Jim. He got the nickname because at one time he was overweight and then he lost over a hundred pounds. He loved the moniker after that. Then he gained it all back but nobody has the heart to stop calling him it. Now people who meet him assume he loves beef jerky or his friends are cruel.

The best nickname is easily Groin. If we didn’t already have a Groin in the group I’d want that nickname. The only thing I can add about him is that the only time anyone has ever seen him cry was at his Grandfather’s funeral. Not because he liked his Grandfather, in fact he hated the prick, but because it upset him to see his father grieving.

There’s the obligatory Tits. She loves being called Tits since she had the implants but what she doesn’t know is that when she’s not around she is better known as Dog Shit due to her annoying habit of carrying her little Papillon everywhere she goes like some bad pop singer. What’s worse is that she has these plastic saran wrap-like gloves she uses to grab the dog’s crap as if that makes it ok that the dog took a shit on someone’s carpet in the first place. The novelty of her having 3 glasses of wine and asking if anyone wants to see her giant new breasts has started to run out but until that well goes completely dry I guess Tits/Dog Shit will still be with us.

You would think that if there was a nickname that came about due to being caught by someone jerking off it would be Groin but that’s not the case. Lefty gets that honor. And if you ‘get caught’ more than 3 times is it really getting caught anymore? The unusual thing is that Lefty is right handed. He’s an artist so for some reason everyone is ok with his habit of getting worked up and then finding particularly unsafe spots to relieve himself.

Radar is a girl although the nickname comes from the character on MASH. Somehow in college she would always show up just when someone needed sex. Not wanted sex but really needed it due to some peculiar emotional or physical circumstance. She got married soon after college but apparently in the last few years she has returned to her Radar days and has quickly surpassed Tits on the ‘must invite’ scale.

The Voice started his own internet radio show which he is not bashful about discussing at length to any poor bastard unfortunate enough to ask. He refuses to grow a ponytail, wear band t-shirts or put a device on his website that would allow him to know how many listeners he has at any given moment though so he’s a bit of a disappointment among his other internet radio friends. His favorite movie? Man On Fire. The reason that he would use take the nickname of such a despicable character… he is not bashful about discussing it at length to any poor bastard unfortunate enough to ask.

Although his actual name is Rich people call him that because he is wealthy. Had he been Ted he would still be Rich. His father owns quite a few factories that produce novelty items. None of them in the US anymore. Rich is peculiar because he refuses to pee when he is sitting down. He will always do #1 and #2 separately. Sitting then standing I believe. He also believes that when he finishes peeing and gives it a little shake the lights will always flicker. Once a few years back he burst out of the toilet eager to announce that the little man-trail from his chest to his private parts was finally completed and showed off the lone black hair as if it were the last spike in the First Transcontinental Railroad. I believe both Tits and Radar helped him celebrate.

And me. The writer. Using words as conspirators, terrified that one day they might be understood. Muddying any water I approach in fear that I might otherwise catch my own reflection even for a moment. Desperately required at any gathering where others might want to take refuge in the murkiness kicked up by my abuse of the English language. We will talk about train tracks disappearing over the horizon or around a bend… and how even though we can’t see where they go we know they go somewhere.

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