Donald on dating
Stan took another deep breath. His round honest face was beginning to adopt a look of a fat ripe tomato. Richard told him to breathe, laughed at himself, and then told him to breathe again, because what other advice did he have to offer?
Get the hell out of there, that was one thing.
Punch your brother in his fat face, and then get the hell out of there.
Or, punch your brother in his fat face, and hang about and clock him again when he could feel it.
Mark was sitting in the driver’s seat smoking a blunt with his eyes closed and a hazy smile.
‘Telling you, man. ‘s gonna work…’
Stan took another deep, deep breath. He had his hands curled into fists, pressing his knuckles against his temples, eyes screwed tight as he tried to psyche himself up.
Richard said, ‘Buddy. Bunch of flowers, box of chocolates…’
Mark snorted. ‘Fuck that shit! Be bold, my man. Be bold!’
Stan punched the roof of the car with both fists. He gritted his teeth together, whooped and then hurled himself out of the car before any sane part of his brain managed to stop him.
Mark sucked on his blunt, then giggled.
Richard twisted back around to the front and looked at Mark. ‘You are king of the dicks.’
‘Your own brother.’
Mark opened one eye to squint at him. ‘It might work.’
‘Total dick move. One hundred percent.’
‘It worked for The Donald.’
Richard rolled his eyes. ‘Guy’s a billionaire. Things are a little different for a guy who splits one half of a motorhome with his brother.’
Mark looked at him sharply. ‘Hey.’ He wagged a finger in Richard’s face. ‘Get it right, will you? It’s mine own fucking motorhome. Stan lives with me. Pays rent, he does.’
‘Your own brother.’
Mark showed a crooked grin. ‘Teaching him monetary cognizance, ain’t I. God knows, dude needs it.’
‘What a sweetheart.’ Richard turned his attention to the leafy seclusion of the Grishom’s long drive. ‘I can’t believe it – Julie Grishom. Eight years since we left high school, and Stan still has his crush.’
Mark giggled. ‘Want to know a secret? Banged her, I did.’
‘No shit. God’s honest. Third step on the stoop creaks like a bitch. How’d I know that otherwise?’
It was Richard’s turn to laugh. ‘I dunno. Maybe you paid a visit to her grandmother. You always did have a bit of a wizened crone fetish…’
Mark scowled and Richard grinned. He turned lazily at the sound of one of the rear doors opening. The car rocked as Stan hurtled inside. ‘Dudes! I’ve done it, I’ve done it!’
Richard stared. Stan was red faced and out of breath, and he was not alone. Squirming in his lap was a cat with long grey hair and a shocked expression. Mark turned slowly and gaped at the sight. ‘Is that…?’
‘A cat,’ Richard said.
Stan stared at them. ‘Dudes, let’s go! How the hell am I supposed to return Julie’s missing cat if someone sees me steal the thing?’
Mark began to giggle shrilly.
Richard closed his eyes. ‘Stan. Donald Trump wasn’t talking about that kind of pussy…’