-as retold by Predator Press
[LOBO]
Humpty Dumpty knocked on the outside of the massive shoe.
No answer.
He knocked again. Louder.
“Who is it?” she cried from deep within.
“It’s the
Humpster, baby.”
“Come on in. The door isn't locked.”
“You busy?” he calls into the shoe as he opens the door.
“No,” she replies. “I’ll be there in a second.”
“Damn girl,” jokes Humpty. “You ain’t havin another baby, are you?”
There’s an awkward silence.
“Aw,
congratulations!” says Humpty. He grabs some towels, and heads over to the kitchen to boil water.
Man this crazy ol lady sure does love to get her 'freak' on, he thinks smiling to himself.
He fires the burner and fills the pot with water muttering to himself, "Well, you know what they say about women with big hands and big feet."
“What?”
But Humpty, struggling for his asthma breather, didn’t hear her. The sight of the boiling pot of water had triggered a panic attack; all he could hear was the voice of his other saying
”That’s what happened to your father. One minute he was driving a forklift at a macaroni factory, and the next,” she pauses,
”poached.”
“Hey are you alright?” asks the old woman. Now dressed in a sweatsuit, she alertly helps Humpty fumble his breather to his mouth. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
”Poached,” his mother repeated in his head.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes, tears streaming. “Every time I see boiling water, I just want to grab a Bushmaster AR-15 and kill everyone I can find.”
“Well I do loves a man with an eye for safety,” she whispers. “I
like Armalites ... don’t get me wrong. But they just don’t have the Viper range safety device that Bushmans do." She throws his arm over her shoulder. "Humpty, have you met my kids?”
Humpty leans away from the kitchen counter, testing his weak and wobbly legs. “Probably not all of them ma’am.”
With her arms still around him, she helped him stand. Perhaps it was the proximity or the moment of utter vulnerability –maybe it was merely the smell of her perfume- but Humpty decided if ever there was a moment to tell her how he feels,
this is it.
“Baby,” he says, staggering to look into her eyes. “We’ve known each other for a long time. How come we never, eh, 'hooked up'?”
“Oh, Humpty,” she blushes. “I’m very flattered, but you’re an
egg. What would my friends say if I started dating an egg?”
Humpty, pride mortally wounded, looked away to hide the tears.
“I mean maybe if you were at least an
embryo or something,” she continues. “But an egg? Ewe!”
Despite his aching heart, Humpty fought to reply. “You know,” he sobbed. “We have our differences. But I have yearned for you for
years now. I know your favorite band, favorite color, favorite flower … Damn it I
love you.”
The woman, shocked, stared in disbelief.
“And I don’t
care that I’m an egg and you’re an old woman that lives in a shoe,” Humpty continued grabbing her shoulders. “Can’t you see that your discrimination is tearing us
apart!?”
The woman’s pupils narrow.
“Get your filthy egg-hands
off of me!” she screams.
“But baby-“
She dives for her cellphone, “How
dare you!?”
“I was only trying to-“
“Hello?” she barks into the phone. “Is this
all the King’s men?”
“There’s no need to-!“
“Yes,” she says. “A filthy egg is attacking me. How did you know?”
Humpty lunges for her phone, and wrests it away from her. “God damn it woman, those people will be trying to
kill me now!”
Suddenly, Humpty realizes he has a .45 caliber pistol pointed into his temple.
The woman growls. “You make a
sound before the cops get here, and I’ll blow your yolk all over the goddamned leather.”
“Jezebel!” cries Humpty, lashing out.
"You damn ... dirty ... egg!" she chokes, and falls limp in his arms.
“Oh my god,” cries Humpty as police sirens wail in the distance. “She’s
dead!”
And even as the galloping sound of all the king’s horses become deafening, he screams into the sky:
"Oh sweet Jesus! what have I
done!?!”
Predator Press
