Another Way of Stupping
“Stup!” he shouted.
Why should I stup now? This neighborhood has to be the least stuppiest place I’ve ever seen or imagined. And trust me, I’ve been around. I spent a month in the lair of the breakfast puma, constantly hiding from his enraged Rice Krispies tantrums and his Count Chocula killing sprees. But I would much rather stup in the breakfast puma’s lair than stup here.
After all, here the astronauts can see me.
Here the mongoose eggs all look translucent in the streaky light.
Here a flank steak can beat up a filet any day of the week.
And still his shouted “stup!” lingered in the air. I poked at it with my umbrella, but all I could do was dent it; its inherent stuppiness was still quite evident. No, this hovering, lingering word would require extra ammunition.
This word would need to be doused in a 50-50 mixture of alcohol and holy water, and then set on fire. This word needs to be burned to a crisp until all that’s left is the lone descender from the bottom of the “p,” which would then fall to the ground and disintegrate like a cell phone in a hockey rink.
No Stanley Cup for you, you unwanted exclamation! I banish you to a soothing land of milkshakes and backrubs. No, wait! That’s all wrong! Cancel that order! I meant to banish you to a meatmall land where you are always the cowbell and never the cow.
“Ha!” I shouted in reply, after I burned and banished his word. I was victorious once again.