The Funny Finger

It isn’t too often that I misplace things. I usually know where everything is. I know where my pink sequined thongs are; I know where my broken lego bricks are and I even know where my overused gnome-blowup doll is. The only thing I seem to have misplaced was that finger thing.

A black and white photo of a man with his hand outstretched toward the camera.

The “finger thing?” you ask…

You see. I gave Freddy the finger yesterday. He got mad at me for that and gave Sissy the finger. She in-turn gave someone the finger when she was having a bad hair day on the way to work. And, I think that person gave the finger back to her with a few very choice juicy words along with it.

So this finger thing has been going around quite a bit now. It almost got lost when a Texan came along and decided to rename the finger – the FANGER (in Texan slang talk) – now that was close call – the finger would have been lost for good.

But as chance would have it, just as I was creating my Marge Simpson look-a-like wig for Halloween; the finger suddenly went into overdrive. Out-of-the-blue, I was fingering my wig. I was fingering my own fingers. I was fingering the tele-tube (only because my nemesis, Bill O’Reilly, was gay-jabbering as usual). I was fingering my frock. I was fingering the swiss cheese on the countertop. I was fingering my eye sockets. It was as if someone gave my finger a shot of steroids!

My smokin’ hot gay neighbor heard all of the commotion and came to my apartment and saw what a frantic mess my finger was causing. So he gave me a vodka-anchovy-prune drink to calm my nerves. (Soooo yummy.) One drink led to two. Two drinks led to four. And four led to my finger, well, going numb. Needless to say, I passed out.

I woke up the next morning with heavy drool on my face, a fly buzzin’ on my eyebrow and a nice peacefulness. The sun was peeking through the curtains and I could hear the birds outside singing James Brown songs. My body was limp from those yummy drinks I had.

I was somewhat relieved that this whole finger thing had come to an end – what a mess it made. But it seemed something was missing as my morning went on. I was bored. I was lonely. I was sad. I was licking my fingers — because I ate a chicken wing.

I tried to pat myself on the shoulder to let myself know everything was well with the world but it did not seem to help much. I guess I needed a little “pick-me-up” so I wouldn’t be so sad. But what to do?

Suddenly, my gnome-chimes went a sounding-off – that meant someone was at my door! So I pulled up a chair to get up to the peek hole to see who was there – it was Freddy! My ol’ pal, Freddy! Without further delay, I sprung into action! Here’s my chance to brighten my day … I opened the door swiftly and without so much as a word gave Freddy the finger.

Over-N-Out. – Floyd

Published by Floyd Kelly

I'm a simple man living in a rural mountainous area.

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