I found over a dozen short and very short stories of Oscars. I'll get him to fix them up and post them five or six at a time. This is the first. Charlie
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Change of Seasons
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Malodor and Nancy are after me to buy them coats. For Christ sake, they're wearing them, I say.
"We want mink, " they repeat.
"What the hell you want that for," I say. "You want to kill those poor minks, just so you can wear their coats? "Here," I tell them, "here's a fucking club. Go out and mug a couple -- good exercise."
"Are they alive? I didn't know that," Nancy Skunk asks.
How can women be so stupid. Did they think winter coats grow on something, like trees?
I offer to get them skunk fur, instead. I'm thinking about my mother-in-law when I say it.
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First Twinkie Defense
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Roogu Rat plodded back to his burrow, wooden club over his shoulder. It had been a bad hunt. He'd killed a four-foot-long dinosaur but had no way to get it home, so he had to leave it to scavenging humans who always followed rodent hunting parties. Roogu was very angry.
His assistant, Twinkie Aardvark, who was large enough to carry the damned thing home, had said he was sick that morning. Sick from smoking them damned weeds, Roogu thought. Now poor Roogu and his family would have to go to bed hungry.
"Where's the food, you worthless rodent?" his cavemate, Stuunky Skunk screamed at the hapless rat. Her incisors were showing, meaning she was angry and hungry. What worried him more was that her lovely bushy tail was also raised. It looked like he would sleep in a smelly cave that night.
"It wasn't my fault, honey bun." he told her, backing up as she turned to aim at him. "Twinkie did it."
Ha, ha. Beat you, Charlie. That was the first "Twinkie defense." Strange but true.
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A Millionaire Rat
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I hate to admit it, but I screwed up last week. I received an email telling me that I'd won a million dollars in an Internet lottery. Since I keep telling her not to do it, my niece, Nancy Skunk, often enters those things without telling me. So, I assumed it was her that entered the thing.
It included a telephone number to call, which I did. A Mr. Titworth told me that it was true. It wasn't Nancy's doing, but the result of a random sampling of email addresses. Golly, I thought, I didn't have to give any of the money to Nancy.
All they needed was information, including a bank account number and a PIN number for my bank. Since I don't have an account, I gave them my pal, Charlie's, instead. They won't know the difference, but I'll probably have to give him a few dollars.
My wife was out at some fool woman meeting. Since Nancy was at school, and it was in my name, I hurried out to start spending MY money.
On the way, I stopped at Charlie's apartment to get a few things. You see, Mr. Titworth told me that it would be a few days before the money cleared the banks. He said it was in a bank in Angola and would take a small bribe to a bank official to release the money. That's one reason they needed the bank information, so he could pay the bribe and have a place to send the money. I knew Charlie wouldn't mind advancing it to me. Besides, since I didn't want to wait for the cash to get here, I needed the title to Charlie's car.
Going to the Rodent Bank and Trust Company, I used his car title to get a small advance. Next was Mama Mia's Pizza Parlor, where I ordered a dozen pizzas and used their telephone to call a few buddies to help me eat them. I told Jeffrey Ratinski to bring plenty of beer for us--that I'd pay him when he got there.
Since the Board of Health had visited them three days previously, Mama Mia let us party in their back room. We had one hell of a time. Glady's Skunkaty came, along with her five sisters, the Sexy Six, as they were called. Tammy Karati, the nympho, was also there.
The party was still going strong when I had to leave. Since I still had money left from selling his car, I wanted to shop before the stores closed. So, I hired a limo to take me around town, where I bought a new computer for myself and one for Nancy. I also bought a new washing machine for Malodor, my wife.
When I got home, I gave them their presents and told them what had happened.
"Uncle Oscar," Nancy told me as I pranced around the living room, a smile on my snout, "I hate to tell you, but you've been conned. That email was just a way to steal your ID. I'll bet you gave them your bank information too?"
"Uh, no. I didn't do that. You think I'm that stupid?" I lied.
"He, he, he," came from my wife, stirring pizza sauce in the kitchen.
I got mad and went to my bedroom to sulk. Later though, when I thought about it, I found I wasn't all that bad off--and had learned my lesson. After all, how far can a human get in impersonating a rat? The size alone, not to mention not having my good looks, would give them away. Also, it wasn't as though I gave them MY bank information. Charlie can deal with it. He can always buy another car.
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An Awful Smell
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"Cough, cough, I can't take any more of that stinky stuff" Oscar said, slamming his baseball cap on his head and going outside to get fresh air.
Inside, his girlfriend, Malodor Skunk, wondered what all the fuss was about, lighting another cigarette.
Oscar figured he had to do something, anything. He hurried to the store in the lobby and made a purchase, taking it back up to his girlfriend.
"Here, this is for your nasty habit," he told Malodor, giving her a can of deodorant, "Stop with that damned lilac perfume. I can't stand it. It's bad for my health."
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IRS, Rat Style
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My end of a conversation with the I.R.S.:
"Hello, is this the Internal Revenue Service? Oscar Rat here."
"I know, sir, Mr. Thompson. But I couldn't make the appointment. You see, my elevator's out. Hasn't worked for three days."
"No, I can't walk downstairs. Well actually I could, but there's no point in it."
"I am not, definitely not, TRYING to be a smartass. I was born this way and the matter is out of my paws, ha, ha. *Burp.* He, he."
"A joke, sir. You do know what a joke is?"
"Oh, no. No disrespect meant, sir. I was looking forward to the meeting, wanting my money back, the part I did pay. I saw my lawyer...."
"Yes, he's a rat too, of course. Please let me explain, sir. I don't owe you money, you owe me. I don't live in the United States. It's a fact, so that means I don't owe you anything at all for income tax."
"No. Not really. I live below the surface, and in Indian country. By the terms of the treaty, us Native Americans own the land to a distance of minus one-hundred-and-fifty feet."
"That's right, sir. Below the surface. Since my burrow is exactly one-hundred-fifty-three feet deep, I live below the United States. I want my money back." Dial tone sounds, "Sir, sir, are you there?"
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A Blue Skunk
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I wasn't drunk, no way. I never, well rarely, get plastered, preferring to only hit a certain stage of euphoria--one where I stumble around a lot, bang into walls (which can be fun), and only see triple, if that.
At the time it happened, it was a cold day and I was ready to go home to sit by the fire. But first, just one more beer, or maybe two?
That was when I turned a corner and saw her, a bright blue female skunk, looking lovely under a street light.
You understand, don't you? I had to ask if it was her true color? You would too. You don't see many blue skunks around here, and none as pretty as that one.
I staggered over. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, she turned, showing me the ugliest snout I've seen in a female. Only two teeth graced her mouth, whiskers knotted and dripping slime. Jeeze, you can never tell from the rear. As she reached out to me, I ran. Falling down often, and bumping from wall to wall, I made it home - to safety. Luckily, Charlie was out for the night, so I did, in the end, get plastered on his booze. He'd never find out since, when I was done, I peed in the vodka bottle to fill it back up.
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Sister Sheila
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A skunk tail curls around my neck, waking me.
"Wh ... Mallie...?" I mutter, wondering if it's time to get up for work. I notice her odor is slightly different. I jump out of bed. "Sheila! What have we done?" I yip, the sound turning to a whine as I see the bedside clock. "Oh! My God, Malodor's going to kill me." I give Sheila a quick peck on the cheek and head for the door. As I leave, I hardly notice a shocked look on the pretty skunk's face.
My wife, a skunk named Malodor, was supposed to bring her sister over to our apartment at eight pm. It was already ten after eight. She would kill me for being late. And when she smelled the other girl's scent on me, I was a dead duck -- or rat, in any case.
I hurried home. Sometimes Malodor was late. I hoped for a late bus or something. Or her sister might be late for the meeting with Malodor. I could only pray, as I ran down the halls of our high-rise apartment building.
Heart beating wildly, I slammed my door open, still trying to think of a viable explanation.
Nobody there! I was lucky. I hurried into the shower and scrubbed myself. Out of deodorant, I rushed to Charlie's room and grabbed his out of his hand, drenching myself.
I was sitting in my favorite armchair when they finally came in. Malodor showed her sister in and grinned, saying, "Oscar, this is my sister, Sheila."
The same Sheila.
Oscar Rat
