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Getting to Know Fingers Rolly (Part Two)

March 16, 2013 Leave a comment

By Bernie Keebler
Senior Staff Writer
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Fingers gnarls at his dinner; he has a strange habit of putting food into his mouth sideways and hunching over his plate protectively.  Suddenly, he will bolt upwards in his seat and, remaining completely still, will gaze for an interminable period at something far off and distant out the window.  Then, he will slowly return to his meal.  For Fingers, eating seems a completely pleasureless experience.

I ask him about his last job.  “Physical education,” he blurts out.  “God damn desert high school.  No fields to speak of, just that cracked brown whore dirt.”  He spits on the floor.  “For a time, I enjoyed it.”  “How so?” I probe.  He stares at me.  Then: “It was fun to torture the unathletic children.  But then I’d have to go into my office to fill out grades or something and even with the blinds shut, I knew that god damn desert was out there, mocking me.”

He takes a long, steadying drink of coffee.  This is a rare, lucid moment.  I know it will not last long.

“Then, I took to sleeping under the gym bleachers at night.  I could no longer use facilities because, standing there, I could see that asshole desert out the window.  So, I started defecating under the bleachers.  The principal called me in after a few weeks.

“What did he say?”

“He said, Fingers– he said, we like some of the work you’re doing.  You’re making important strides in teaching the fatter, unathletic kids how to wear their gym shorts.  But we can’t have this moaning and screaming at the desert.  And now that we’ve learned of this expelling of waste beneath the gym bleachers, well, I’m afraid that’s the last straw.  So, he kicked me out on my ass.”

“What did you do?”

“I went home and made up two signs– I still have ’em, in there in the living room.  Then, I took up a post here in this very chair and started screaming at that sonuvabitch.  That cracked, god damn sonuvabitch…”

He gets up from the table (his rugged gait now marred by age) and starts towards the back door with a shotgun.  I stop him.

“There’s nothing you can do, Fingers,” I plead.

He breathes rapidly but stops at the counter.  He removes his hat and looks at the floor for several moments, blinking.  He seems near tears.

Then, suddenly, his face changes completely.  The transformation is stunning.  FFFFFFUUUUUUCCCCKKKK   OFFFFFFFF he moans slowly.  He tries to strike me but I duck out of the way.  He moves to his chair and begins the deeply unsettling desert moan broken by occasional moments of vile profanity.  I keep out of his way as best I can.  “At this point, he’ll start tearing the kitchen up,” warned a journalist friend.

I dig in and prepare for the worst.

The story of Fingers Rolly will continue in future issues.

Categories: Remonstrations of Fingers Rolly Tags: , , ,

Just Try to Find a God Damn Adapter to Fit a Sonuvabitch Three-Prong Plug Into a Mother of a Whore Two-Prong Outlet

March 7, 2013 Leave a comment

By Fingers Rolly
Man on the Street

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I’d challenge you to find a god damn adapter to fit one of those sonuvabitch three-prong plugs into a mother of a whore two-prong outlet.  You’ll wander around staring at that blue piece of shit carpet for hours before you finally bump into some Johnny Fuckhead with a little name badge who don’t know his ass from a bunch of balloons and just wants to sell you some tapes.  And you’ll just go back home still not being able to plug in that new asshole meat slicer and so you’ll just scream at that desert, that cracked and brown shitcan and then you’ll just fall asleep at your own table.

Then I called up some company and got the scream down to a low moan.  I could talk in between.  But the guy on the other end was from out in the islands and I damn near couldn’t understand a word he said.  I think by the end of the whole god damn snowjob, I sent a check for something and then I caught that motherfucking desert out of the corner of my eye and I just couldn’t help but to scream loud and strong hoping that would be the final time with that big ol’ bitch.

I think it came the other day in a little yellow box.  God damn assholes.

The Pondicherry Association News would like to apologize for the preceding article.  Fingers Rolly is no longer being given assignments.

Categories: Remonstrations of Fingers Rolly Tags: , , ,