"Hola, Candi, my sweet little habanero."
"Hey. I'm cooking right now and all the kids and their friends are playing in the yard."
"Whatcha cookin', good lookin'?"
"Ah, you bring out the silly boy in me. And hopefully, the funny one, too."
"I'm making chicken wings, potatoes, and steak for me and the boy."
"One of the many reasons that I have so much respect for you, Candi. Is it hard getting the little bones in there?"
"What the chicken wings?"
"Yes, you said you were making chicken wings."
"You are the strangest Anglo I have ever known, and I have known some strange ones."
"Well I am not nearly as strange as Mom's friend, Marge, who is here right now. She's been here since sometime around 2:30; she got here while I was out earlier; came by to pick up a beef roast that we picked up for her at the grocery store yesterday; she can talk and talk and talk and talk, and never really say much; she's been here for nearly three hours now, talking."
"At least she doesn't talk with her hands, like I do. Does she? She's not a Latina, with a name like Marge. Is her last name White, too?"
"No, she is about as far from Latina as, say Barbara Walters."
"So I am in my room, playing The Pretenders, 'Last of the Independents'; not loud, but loud enough so that I cannot hear Marge. The sounds of live chipmunks being tossed into a blender would be better than listening to Marge."
"I'm serving up the food to the kids and their friends."
"You are such a good mom; most moms would not go to the trouble of making chicken wings; sittin' there, all tired from the day, and yet you stuff those tiny little bones into the chicken meat, piece by piece, just so your kids and their friends can have the joy of picking all the meat off them."
"You get stranger with every word you say, hombre blanco."
"Hombre blanco? Que es, hombre blanco all of a sudden?"
"I dunno, sometimes you sound more Anglo than others. Like now."
"Well, I am from the 'hood, just not that one."
"I just made the boy and his buddy the biggest Philly cheesesteak ever."
"Fastest way to the boys' hearts, those Philly cheesesteaks. Good for you, Candi."
"It smells so good, but I ain't touching it. That stuff goes straight to your thighs. I eat the steak, but none of that cheese stuff. Oh, and the onions too. I love onions."
"Aren't you hungry though? Doesn't the smell of them beckon to you?"
"The smell of them is wonderful. The way they will cling to my thighs, I can live without. But I made a big salad for my oldest daughter and myself with some spinach pasta and french bread."
"Well that sounds good."
"Hey, you know what sounds good, what sound I love? The sound my computer makes when you type something to me: baboing."
"Baboing. I had never thought about that. I'm not sure if I ever noticed that. Type something to me."
"Okay. Hear it? What a funny sound."
"You baboinged me, Candi. Is that even legal?"
"Baboing. Baboing. I can baboing you as much as I want, and no one can stop me, not even you, Mr. Humoristo."
"No baboingse, senora. No baboingse."
"Shut up. I will baboing you when I feel like it. Right now, I am in the mood to baboing you. So baboing. Enjoy it; I don't just baboing anybody. You should feel special because I want to baboing you."
"So every time you hit Enter, you baboing me?"
"Yes. And I am in total control. I am the Queen of the Baboing."
"So you can baboing me like this."
"Yes, and I can baboing you like that. And like this."
"You can warn me that I am about to be baboinged. You could say 'Hey, Mr. Humoristo, you are about to be baboinged by the Queen of the Baboing. And then, Enter, and you have baboinged me, just like that."
"That's right, I am going to baboing you again, right now."
"I can hear it now: 'Yeah, Carlos, she and me, we were baboinging all freakin' night, man!' Or words to that effect."
"If you baboing in a forest and there is no one around does it count as a baboing?"
"Well, if you baboing in a forest with a lot of pine needles, that's gonna be a lot of ouchies."
"I baboing, therefore I am."
"Nobody baboings me better than you."
"Two rabbits were baboinging in the woods. One rabbit turns to the other and says: 'When the moon baboings your eye, like a big pizza pie, that's amore!"
"Good one, Candi, good one."
"Oh, how about this one? A limo pulls up alongside another one at a stop light. Old white dude in the back rolls down the electric window and sticks his head out toward the other limo. The window on the other limo rolls down, and another old white dude sticks his head out. The first dude says to the other one: 'Excuse me, by any chance, do you have any Baboing?"
"I just baboinged my hair and now I can't do a thing with it!"
"Baboing: The New Black."
"When you want to capture someone's attention, just baboing."
"To baboing or not to baboing, that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and baboings of outrageous fortune . . . "
"Okay, okay, Mr. Humoristo. I think we may have baboinged this bit to death, here."
"You may be right, Candi. Maybe we should call it a day for our first chapter."
"Yes. And stop baboinging me. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
"Hey, Candi, you just baboinged me . . . ."
April 25, 2009.
Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.