Nurtured
A Literary Challenge: Stories That Feature a Phone
This guy, let’s call him Randy Clam, if you time it right, you’ll see him laid out at the orphanage like a border collie. He works there most weekdays, seeing that some of those crackhead newborns don’t have a mother, at least not around, but they still gotta eat. Look in his armpit and you can spot this nub that looks like a tick but isn’t. And you know it’s not a tick because ticks spurt red when you squash them, but not Randy’s nub. Randy Clam, his nub shoots white milk. And he’ll stretch out flat on the floor of the orphanage with so many crack babies puppying around his armpit, angling to latch onto his third nipple.
Yeah, I mean it. Don’t tell me guys can’t lactate if you haven’t never met Randy Clam.
Look, check this out. I got a pic of Randy’s nipple that he texted me.
Ok, it’s not a great pic or anything, but trust me this is it, that’s Randy Clam’s teat. Don’t look like much of nothing, but it’s a garden hose when that milk gets to flowing.
What do you mean, why am I showing you this? We got at least 40 minutes to the next stop and neither one of us got books or nothing to read. And we’re beyond the black stump out here, so what are we gonna do until we get to Reno, chew our fingernails? Seems like talking about a guy named Randy Clam that feeds crack babies is a better use of time than slack-jawing out the window.
No, thank you, gummies give me the pee shivers. Wait, look, let me show you this one. For 6th grade we had to do a project about cells, not prison cells but cells in your body, and Randy helped me make a cake that had the nucleus and everything. He said we should use a snowball for that, the marshmallow snowball kind, and we got M&M’s for it and made frosting.
Crud, where is that.
OH, here it is. Found it. Look.
Isn’t it pretty great? And it tasted SO good. Randy Clam, he’s good at basically everything. Like when he teached me how to golf? I could not never even hit the ball in the air except when it went straight sideways, and Randy is all Jack Nicholson. Check this photo out, it’s my favorite of him even though he never wants his face in photos, Randy doesn’t, but it’s like professional stuff. Here, look.
I KNOW, right? Totally so good.
My parents? Mmm, not really? One time Randy sent me a pic and said it was my mom, but I don’t remember her or nothing. Got it around here somewhere, but when you save all these pictures in your phone it can be hard to find something when you need it, you know? Might better tag her so it’s easier next time.
Hold on. Must be farther back than this.
Scroll, scroll, scroll. Ha, sheesh.
Darn it, I’ll be back. I’m gonna wet myself before we get to Reno. Hate these tiny bus bathrooms, but nature calls, you know? Don’t let anyone mooch my seat.
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Oops, scuse me. Sorry. What’s this driver, like, Tokyo drifting up there? Just about ended up in your lap, which, no thanks. No offense or nothing. Know if anyone’s in the bathroom? The light’s not working. No? Ok, thanks.
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Phew, I’m back. Longest pee ever, plus the driver pretty much tossed me into some crusty dude’s lap, which he seemed keen on. But there’s nothing worse than sitting on a warm toilet seat. Gives me the ick so I tried to hover, but with the bus darn near tumping over it didn’t work so good. Plus whoever got there before me left a big brown shark in the bowl. Smelled like, hmm, brussel sprouts maybe? Here, check out the picture I took of it.
Ha! Just friggin around. I wouldn’t take a picture of poop. But if you’re gonna crunch a grumpy like that, maybe hold it to the bus station, for cripes’ sake.
Oh wait, I found the pic while I was peeing. Here it is. That’s my mom, Randy Clam says.
He didn’t really say. Maybe she had a long day at work or something. She was a really hard worker, Randy says. But we got the same eyes, don’t we? People always are like, you’re looking tired today, and I tell em nah, it’s just the sleepy eyelids like my mom got. Like that song, you know? “I Got It From My Mama,” you remember that one?
Oh. Well, it was a while ago. But that’s what I sing, the Fergie part, when people say something about my eyes. Randy Clam, that cracks him up every time.
No, Randy never said nothing about him. Only ever mentioned mom. Bonnie, he said she went by.
Who, Randy Clam? No, he’s like, way older than my mom was. He’s pretty much grandpa age, so, umm, no, him and mom weren’t doing it. Gross.
A test for what? I’m not asking Randy to take a test. You’re being weird.
We’re pretty much to the station, so. I’m grabbing my bag up front. Randy Clam is supposed to pick me up.
I like Randy Clam. And i love Randy Clam being all Jack Nicholson. You killed it, for me movement starts in the mind, and your narrator's mind is well all over the place.
Photo credit: some guy on Reddit. Totally so good. Randy Clam sounds like a legend! Also — what is this game?!?