"You smell like a tub of ice cream."
"Excuse me?"
"I like to...eat...ice cream."
Pat and Bob stared at Thumper across the dinner table. The steam from their reheated vegetables, meatloaf, and potatoes au gratin rose in wisps.
"That's what you said to her?" said Bob with an incredulous inflection that was as lost on Thumper as the flavor from the three day old food.
"I can't believe it didn't work."
"I can," said Pat. "Very easily."
"You gotta admit it's pretty clever, huh?"
"No. Not at all." Pat's anger seemed to be on the burner, but was far from boiling. His Accusatory Finger was still laced around his fork as he picked around the potatoes.
"But in Cooper's book--"
"Jesus!" Bob cut short Thumper's nasally protests. Jesus himself probably would have done the same thing.
"Let me ask you something," said Pat. "How old are you?"
"Twenty."
"So, correct me if I'm wrong here, but you've been on this Earth for two decades now and you still haven't had a woman's labia wrapped around your penis?"
"No," he admitted. "But I have gotten two blow jobs."
"Listen Thumper. Do you want to be a homo like Brooks all your life?"
On the other end of the table, Brooks stood up. "No, no, no. I'm not involved in this. I'm leaving. You won't have old Bart Brooks to kick around anymore."
And so Brooks walked out of the narrative.
(Let's try that again)
"Listen Thumper. Do you want to be a homo like Port-o John all your life?"
Port-o John stood up this time. "You can make fun of me for being fat, because I am. I work very hard at being the Falstaff of the house and your mocking is the equivalent of applause to my ears. But I get laid a lot, for a man my size, and I don't appreciate being used as an example of a sexual incompetent or a homosexual in this case. Now if you'll excuse me, there's a gravy boat that requires drinking."
(Hmmm...)
"Listen Thumper. Do you want to be a homo like Goldy all your life?"
Goldy stared off at a rainbow dragon spewing purple fire in the distance. Bob snapped his fingers in front of Goldy's face, but got no reaction.
"That works," said Pat.
"Twenty's not that old," Thumper said.
"I lost my V-Card when I was thirteen," said Pat. "She was my uncle's girlfriend and it was awesome."
"Oh. What about you Bob?"
"Summer after Senior year. It was like the end of a raunchy sex comedy."
"Maybe you guys could buy me a hooker," Thumper suggested, a little too much hope in his voice.
"Number one," said Pat, "absolutely not. And number two, hookers don't even count."
"Really?"
"Really, Thumper," said Bob. "It's in the Bible."
Thumper picked at his meatloaf and lowered his gaze.
"Come on, trooper," said Pat. "Don't be so glum. We'll help you out."
"That's what we're hear for," Bob chimed in, "to facilitate your bad decisions."
"Thanks guys." They went back to eating. To Thumper, the food suddenly tasted better. The twice boiled carrots emanated gold onto his taste buds. The potatoes went down his throat and into his stomach like the warmth from a hearth. He chewed every bit of the meatloaf as if it was a fine steak, grilled to perfection over hot coals.
"I'll help too," said Goldy, still deep in his trance (though now it was closer to a 999 yard stare).
"I'll introduce you to some girls I know. And some things...I can do...and give you..."
(Yeah, I don't know what he's talking about either)
"Well there you have it," said Pat. "Tonight," Pat rolled up his sleeves, "we get you laid."
"After we get ourselves laid," Bob said.
"Of course."
Thumper, with glossy eyes, looked up at his older, wiser brothers. "You guys are the best!"
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