Thar she stood in flowery pastels like some grinning hyena, a stout pillar of her own unbridled audacity. Talking and talking. Pissing an endless stream of foul vowels and verbiage. A real Madame Pate with a pumpkin head on a stick. Spin it around like a neckless owl. Wind the key to start its clatter. Countless places, endless chatter. And every day the same thing, like a ritual.

“Yes, yes,” I’d answer. “Mm-hmm.”

It was my fault for leading her on. I should have put her off from the first but I felt I had to be nice. After all, it was her support that kept the Running Refugee Center on its feet. So, unwilling to show my true feelings, which were inches from breaking my face into a twisted mask of annoyance and disgust and spit, I continued to hide behind my usual charade of polite poise and agreeable nods.

And I knew what she wanted, with those sweetsy looks. Sweetsy-sweetsy oozed and sagged like pale flesh from those pasty red lips, that doughy face and that cheddar smile; and her hair a piled-high nest of widow-black ringlets like some horror out of a Grimm’s Fairy tale. And that’s not saying anything about her gobble-gobble turkey neck that shook and shimmied like someone slinging a side of fresh pasta or those slimy saliva threads that dangled like gym ropes between two rows of suspiciously perfect shark’s teeth. She made me sick.

“Now tell me, are you familiar with Dr. Rumpbutter’s latest theory of inexclusivity?”

“Yes, yes,” I answered. “Mm-hmm.”

“Wasn’t it simply brilliant?”

“Simply.”

“So full of stimulating propositions. I especially loved the chapter titled,” The Pubic Legume,” where he stated his ideas concerning pea genetics, his prediction that geneticists will soon accomplish their goal of investing vegetables with the human reproductive system, and his belief in the ultimate realization of the toe chestnut and the grip biscuit. I believe it had density. What do you think?”

“Oh yes. It was quite thick.”

“And did you pick up on the bump imagery?”

“Somehow I missed that.”

“Perhaps I could show it to you sometime.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” I said, squeezing out a smile.

Things were getting rough. I swear she winked at me. Either that or the right side of her face underwent a massive twitch. Visions of horrible, chalky nakedness and rubbery things from hell taunted and jeered. I saw a chorus of chubby-faced devils in pointy hats, rolling with laughter and beating the ground with their hairy-knuckled, stubby fists. I had to do something quick. But what? My naturally polite nature prevented me from saying anything rude and offensive.