A Few Minutes with Betty, Chapter 8: "Maybe You Are a Psychotic Psychic" (or "Practicing Egg Safety")

"Howya doing, loser pants?"

"Hiya, Betty. Well somebody sounds like they are feeling better, or at least feeling betty."

"Betty in the red teddy, except I feel like excrement. But it was a good day; George sold his happy little hiney off. Although that made me sad: he has a sweet hiney."

"Well, still the old Betty and George fund swells, and that must make part of you tingle."

"All the happy good parts. And my nose."

"Of course, your nose. Like Jeannie's nose?"

"Yes, just like that!"

"I'm psychic. Or psychotic, I forget. One of those."

"Maybe you are a psychotic psychic: 'I see your death . . . with an axe!" *HACK, HACK, HACK*

"Well better a psychotic psychic than an anorexic arthritic."

"Wait, what's that one really horrible disease . . . hold on, now I gotta look . . ."

"Alrighty then, a Googlin' we'll go."

"Oh, yeah: osteogenesis imperfecta. Brittle bone disease. Osteoporosis, but worse."

"Bless you!"

"What?"

"I thought you sneezed. I guess there's no ointment for that one, eh?"

"It's a very serious condition. You can be such a bonehead sometimes. And yet, you try to pass yourself off as an adult."

"Speaking of adults, it is so nice to spend time with a woman that I do not have to inflate. Thank you."

"I would say 'You're welcome,' but I am sure that would just encourage you."

"Try it. Maybe not."

"I'll pass. I gave at the office."

"Ha ha, gotcha. You are at the office. You have a home office, remember?"

"Shut up. I have bigger news to share."

"What?"

"Oh, even bigger after that last email. Wooohoo, I just made a buttload of money in two hours, and I didn't even have to sell my body."

"Send me some -- of the money -- you can keep the body."

"Aww, I thought you wanted a chunk of Betty. How disappointing."

"You told me that I would die if I ever had a chunk of Betty."

"Don't try to mock me, old man."

"Okie dokie."

"Okay, George is home and the kiddies are up. I'm off to boil eggs."

"Alright, but practice egg safety, especially with how fertile yours are."

"You put the 'ile' in juvenile, Shakespeare."

"Oh, you meant for Easter! Just as well. I'll bet boiling water down there would really be an ouchie."

"Goodbye, loser pants."

"Bye Betty, talk to you tomorrow."



April 13, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.