Wheee.... whipped cream over bananas

This one day there a was a turtle. Not just any turtle. A cool turtle. He even had shades. That’s cool. Right? Right. I think this turtle was named Richard, but it was hard to tell. He could’ve gone by Richie or even Bob, but Richard was my best guess. And Richard is what I called him. I met him walking down the road. My car had broken down. I was out of gas, and out of luck. The nearest gas station was miles away. I didn’t want to walk all the way there, leaving my car on a lonely highway, but what else could I do? I got about halfway there when I saw Richard and his shades. I’d never seen a turtle walk before. The truth is turtles don’t walk. They strut. Yes, they strut. Seeing Richard strut made me believe disco music was playing in his head. Later I come to find my suspicions were right. Richard confessed he had the soundtrack to the movie "Saturday Night Fever" memorized and on constant replay in the CD player of his mind. But I was a long way away from being on friendly terms like that with him now. As soon as his beaty eyes saw me, he loathed me, my ma, my cat Gerald, and my brother Waldo. I could tell. He attempted to strut past me, that turtle nose of his in the air, but I stopped him.

"Richard?" I said instinctivley.

The turtle stopped and stared at me. He looked me over. "Jack". He said back. That’s what he called me. Jack. Maybe that was my name. I didn’t know anymore. But if it was good enough for a talking turtle it was good enough for me.

"Could you spare a dime for me?" I asked. "I might see a payphone up along the way, and I need some change to contact my wife."

Richard laughed. "Your wife left you. Why would you call her?"

Damn. The turtle was right. He was good. How’d he know? I began to worry. Did it show?

"Well… come with me, then." I said.

Richard considered this. He didn’t like me, but he said he’d come along. Maybe he just wanted to wait until I fell alseep so he could pick my brains out through my nose. I’ll never know for sure.

Whatever the reason, we started walking. We saw a pretty lady. Richard shook her hand, and in under an hour, convinced her to shag him behind the bushes that were scattered along the side of this loney highway. Do you believe that? A turtle! And he gets lucky and I don’t. Oh well.

When Richard was done with her, we started walking again. We walked until nightfall, when we finally saw the gas station come into view. It was like a holy temple of fuel in front of our eyes. We both walked inside. I was planning to buy gas and bring it back to my car, but Richard told me to wait for a minute while he made a phone call.

I patiently stood by a rack of Twinkies. Twinkies. Now there’s an invention. I wonder who thought of those things. Must’ve been some kinda genius. I had an itching to take those Twinkies down and eat up every last one, but I didn’t do that. Richard came back before I could. He told me a limo was coming for us. Then he had to explain to me what a limo was.

Well, how was I supposed to know what it was? I had never seen a limo. Neither had my ma, my cat Gerald or my brother Waldo. And we all got along just fine.

When this limo did come along, me and Richard hopped inside. We were talking. Laughing. Drinking some expensive fancy kind of alcohol. The kind that comes in a bottle instead of a can. I felt all high-class. Me and Richard sat in that limo for days drinking our wine. We swapped stories and that. I was telling Richard the turtle about my ex-wife when somebody opened the door. It was a tall, dark-haired man, who said, "Who are you talking to Sir?".

I said, "My name ain’t Sir. It’s Jack."

 

Wow, Katie.

I'm no psychoanalyst...but I do believe that YOU are not crazy. It is everybody else around you that have lost their minds.

 

that was a freaking great story! i love it.

 

You should tell that to my therapist.

 

oh my god katie that was too great

 

Ahaha... you're the best Becky.

 

aaah nah ah