|Gimme a Cookie (standard:humor, 1314 words)|
|Author: hvysmker||Added: Jun 18 2009||Views/Reads: 1945/1222||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Beware! They're everywhere *Sob,* everywhere.|
Deep in the Amazon Rain Forest, I lock the door of an abandoned shack I've found hidden among the trees. Tired and sweating, I stumble into its interior, spiderwebs breaking with every step, as I almost collapse onto a ratty stuffed chair, dust puffing up in clouds as my rear lands on various insect colonies. I can finally start to relax, as a loud "knock, knock" comes from the entrance. Shuddering in fear, I edge toward the door. Peering through a crack, I see a small, dark-faced little girl, smiling as she sees my exposed eyeball through the crack. "You want some Girl Scout cookies, mister?" she asks. It all started, quite innocently, back in the United States, in my middle-class, split-level home in the suburbs of Chicago. "Honey. Guess what? Geena's Girl Scout troop is going to sell cookies this year. Isn't that nice, dear?" "Yeah. Guess so." "I know you're not all that interested, Dave, but it means you'll have to fix your own supper for awhile. I gotta drive Geena around while she sells cookies. They have some great prizes for the best sellers." "Sure, dear. Have fun." "America's Most Wanted" was on tv, and I was watching a segment representing a bank robber and killer raising hell. A few days later, hungry as hell, I came home to an empty house. Doris was out, driving Geena around, and I started a long series of half-thawed tv dinners, along with bags of potato chips washed down with beer. As the days turned to weeks, the chips became scarce, while the beer cans propagated like mice. To make it worse, every half-hour came that damned "Ding. Ding, ding ding. Ding. Ding, ding ding," of the doorbell, half-way across the house from my armchair. Twenty out of every ten times, it was another cute smiling female face, selling--you guessed it--Girl Scout cookies. Initially, I made the mistake of buying a box from each smiling little girl, figuring Geena could simply resell the things later, giving me my money back. Having lived with females for years, I should have known better. "I can't do that, Daddy. I have to keep records, and all the money has to go back to the Scouts." "Can't you keep it our secret? You can sell mine first, and give me the money ... like under the table," I said, winking. "It wouldn't be right. The Scouts teach us honesty. No. I can sell them, but the money goes back into the pot." Now, at that time, the table next to the front door was stacked with umpteen boxes of the damned things, threatening to cause an avalanche at the slightest sneeze. Half my meager paycheck was tied up in cookies. I had no choice. I had to get rid of them. First, I tried telling those pint-sized demons to f**k off. All that did was scare them, some enough to run back out to their mommy's car to return with full-sized harpies, threatening to kick my butt before they turned me in to the police for teaching their little angels such language. Next, I put a lock on my front gate, only to see it trampled down by tiny house apes, thundering through the hole like a herd of buffalo. Apparently, Geena told me, when I bought one of those first boxes, that cutie had taken the time to put a mark on the outside of the fence, signifying me as an easy mark. After I started fighting back, I was considered both an easy mark and a challenge. They talked about me at CookieLand headquarters, about how much fun they could have at my house. That once they got through the bear and mouse traps, a sale was assured. Click here to read the rest of this story (82 more lines)
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