Dinner Time

A black clad man emerged from a small grove of dead pine trees and stumbled up a steep roadside bank up unto a highway. He was carrying what appeared to be a large pack on his back. Whatever it was it was obviously heavy for the man maneuvered it with a noticeable hunch in his back. Once he had made his way up unto the highway he let loose with a deafening cry, "Awwwwoooga!." He then settled down alongside the road, apparently awaiting the arrival of something, possibly a vehicle?.

After about a minute of waiting, a distant rumble was heard, and down the road a single headlight along with a strange string of colored lights above it was becoming faintly visible in the quickly fading sun. As the light loomed nearer, it became apparent that it belonged to a rusty old blue Chevy Van, only one headlight was in working order. The van sported a pair of christmas lights along the dash, explaining the strange string of colored lights. The van sputtered to a stop alongside the strange man with the pack. The drivers side door creaked open and out stepped a tall, thin, man. It was obvious that he didn't have very many years ahead of him before he took a permement rest. He was wearing a demolished baseball cap on his bulging head, and his pasty white face looked like it hadn't seen sun in a few decades. He walked, with a noticeable limp, often dragging his right leg along the gravel ridden edges of the highway, over to where the man with the pack was sitting alongside the road.

"So, what did you get yer old pa tonight son?." The old man spurted in one weak breathe, his sharp, feminine voice faded into the grove of pines like the bark of a dog. The man with the pack responded in a sick, abrasive voice. "I got us a deer pa, it sure looks mighty tasty." He then made a weak attempt to stand up. He got one leg up, but then crashed back down unto the pavement. "Need some oil Frank?" The old man asked. "Sure wouldn't hurt, I haven't oiled my right knee in some time now."

The old man, who was the young man Frank's father, dragged his way back to the van. He fumbled around in his tight, pink leather pants for his car keys. After some time he found them and unlocked the back of the van. He fished around in the trashy interior until he located a small can of 3 in 1 household oil. He set this on the ground and then began searching for something else, which he must have thought lurked somewhere further towards the front of the van for he crawled up inside and over several piles of trash until he was out of sight. A few minutes later he emerged holding a long needle. He fell out of the back of the van and laid in the street for a few seconds, regaining what small percentage of strength that he had to get to his feet. Once he was standing on his frail legs again, he pocketed the two items that he had came to retrieve from the van and staggered over to where his son was laying. "Her 'tis. Pull'er pans up'in gimme yer leg." Frank's father muttered this small sentence in a babyish language, but his son obviously understood his fathers poor language skills for he responded by pulling up his spandex pants and revealing a smooth freshly shaven snow white leg. Frank's father then inserted the long needle into Frank's small knee cap. Blood oozed out of the joint but soon clotted over. The old man then inserted the oil cans applying straw into the head of the needle and gave a few short sprays before removing it. After a few seconds of waiting for the oil to reach Frank's joint and take affect, the father pulled the needle out and sealed the entry hole with a small Barney Sticker. "Good as new." He cackled. "Smoooooth" Frank said as he stood up without any hitch in his get-along. "Now, let's get back to business," Frank's father resumed, "What did you get yer old pa?." He bent over and took a short look in the pack that Frank had been sitting by. He pulled it open revealing a dead deer, it's guts stained the whole interior of the cheap burlap pack. It reeked of decay, it must have been laying dead in the ditch for at least half a week. "Boy, he'll make a feast" Frank's father whooped "Let's load'er up in the van and take him home eh boy?." The two weak men dragged the pack with the dead deer in it over to the back of the van and fastened one end of a rope to the pack and and the other to the hitch on the van. They then piled into the van and sputtered off to home to eat dinner. The End
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