“AHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhh!!!”
Stanley wailed and Stanley flailed around the backyard.
A normal person might have called this a panic attack (poop
can cause havoc, dismay, and general wide-spread panic). But Stanley didn’t just have panic or asthma
attacks like normal kids. Stanley had
full body attacks, and apparently this was all he could do while the thing took
a shit in his pond.
If Stanley’s mouth would stop wibbling or his lanky limbs
stop twitching in different directions, he might have tried to explain how his
pond wasn’t a toilet. But seeing as the
water most closely resembled three-year-old, congealed split pea soup, it was a
losing battle.
The creature stared at Stanley. His legs were still jerking
around, dragging the rest of his body behind.
It continued to stare blankly as Stanley tried to grab his grubby
inhaler.
With two puffs of his inhaler, Stanley’s mouth
and limbs sputtered to a stop. Stanley
sighed; his freckles were relieved too. Most
of Stanley’s attacks could be fixed with one of his inhalers. Stanley had over a dozen inhalers that that
his granny organized for him in utility belt under his sweater vest
The thing reached out with a little green claw, “Hit me up,
four eyes.”
Stanley dropped his booger-encrusted inhaler into the
pond. “Y-y-you… you talk?!”
“I talk, I walk, and I have a mother fucking rocket coming
out of my ass. I’m Turtle Buns,
sucka.” Turtle Buns picked up the
inhaler (the pond had rinsed off a bugger or two), got himself comfy against
some cattails, and took a nice long hit.
After all, cattails have been known for their excellent lumbar support.
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