sat down across from Monica. Sinking my teeth into a piece of chicken fried steak, I pulled a face. “YECH! This tastes like cat food.”
“How do you know?” Monica chomped down on her burger. “Have you ever tasted cat food?”
Sun Li singsonged, “I have.”
We stared at her, unblinking.
“It tastes like tuna,” Sun Li patiently explained.
Zahara gagged. “No wonder you smell like sushi all the time.”
At the mere mention of the word ‘sushi,’ the Lick-a-Like twins visibly perked up like a pair of blind lesbians lost in a Bengali fish market and leered at us from the next table. One of the twins, I was unable to ascertain if it was Kylie or Keira, but it was the twin with the larger Adam’s apple, sneered, “Oh, if it isn’t the Jolie-Pitt gang. The orphaned, adopted kids from third world countries.”
I cast a pitiful glance at their table and addressed her Adam’s apple calmly. “It could just be my trite observation, but your Adam’s apple seems to pop out even further when you’re being mean.”
“Watch what you say to my sister,” the other twin snapped. “If you’re not careful, I’ll punch you in the face, Maddox!”
“No need to get physical, Keira,” Monica said, regarding her glacially. “We’re all civilized adults here. I must say, though, it’s unfortunate that you’re here today; I believe you’re depriving a village somewhere of an idiot.”
Sun Li flipped her hair. “What village?”
Keira pointed an accusing finger at Sun Li. “Well there’s your idiot savant!”
“Leave Sun Li out of this!” Zahara’s voice rose. “Oh by the way, what do you call an Irish wannabe lezzie?” Zahara directed her piercing gaze at the Lick-a-Like twins and blurted, “A poser lezzie who can’t speak Gaylick!”
Rendered speechless, the Lick-a-Like twins glared at us with blistering scorn, much too stunned to retaliate.
Hah! Take that! And that! Bwarhahaha. Zahara had dealt a withering blow and impaled her unsuspecting foes!
I was down in my basement bunker, chillaxin with the A Team and a decade’s supply of food. Like most Mormons in this town, my dad insists on stockpiling food, and we have huge bags of grains and cans of beans stacked from floor to ceiling.
Using a bag of loose oats as a beanbag, Zahara commented, “Today, someone called me and Sun Li the Blasians. I guess ‘cause we’re black and Asian.”
Monica piped in, “Well, whenever Sun Li and I hang out, people call us Hispasians. And Hispanic is not even a race! Anyway, I’m from Puerto Rico and we come in every shade of the rainbow.”
“Oh!” Sun Lin exclaimed. “I had no idea you weren’t an American citizen.”
God. Sun Li can be so vapid at times.
Monica rolled her eyes. “Puerto Ricans are American citizens.”
“So . . .” I dragged a sack of Thai Jasmine rice over and plopped down next to Zahara. “What would that make me and Zahara?”
Monica considered this for a bit and replied, “Um, since your mom is Asian and your dad is Russian, I guess that would make the two of you Black Raisins?”
Moments later, I popped a DVD into the player and the Blasians, Hispasians and Black Raisins watched Twilight for the gazillionth time. Yes. We are Twi-hards.
Monica drooled, “Ohhhhh. I am so in lurve with RPattz.”
“Not me,” I fiercely protested. “Team Jacob all the way babe. And don’t you think RPattz looks like Butthead from Beavis and Butthead?”
The A Team clobbered me with packets of Military MREs.
“I take that back. I take that back,” I cried, half-laughing. “For I am The Great Cornholio. I need TP for my bunghole.”
Ding Dong
Saved by the bell.
Hastily, I made my escape and clambered up the stairs.
Throwing open the front door, my world came to a complete standstill.
Standing before me was a Taylor Lautner double; he was wolflicious in a nerdy sort of way. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the howl of the wolves.
As I drank in that perfect face, the white button down shirt, the black slacks and the black tie, the right part of my brain was screaming, “MORMON MISSIONARY!”
At the same time, the left part of my brain was suffering from a serious case of Taylor Lautner fever. This was not your run of the mill fever; this was full out dengue fever! I could feel my skin prickling and I’m quite certain my entire body broke out in red rashes.
Mosquito Missionary Man (the source of my dengue fever) said in a distinctly British accent, “Hi, I’m Gabe.”
British accent? Sah-wooooooooon.
My heart went Bong Bong Bong like Big Ben.