Large Marge


I was hoping to have Pinky Anderson and the Traveling Flea Circus completed by now, but it seems our hero is easily sidetracked. So, I’m sharing with you another part of his adventure. The man has missed out on so much in his lifetime. It seems he has a lot of catching up to do.


“Life, in general, has countless variations, all of them focused on a mindless theme.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” stammered Pinky. He had been in the club for about three hours. He shouldn’t be feeling like he was, being on his second beer and all. Maybe it was the hangover. Or, his empty stomach. Well, it really wasn’t entirely empty. He’d had two of the cookies from the plate that had been passed around, and a square of brownies. He wanted more of the brownies. They were real chocolatey. But they went fast. As soon as he could make his way to his feet he was going to look up the baker. He definitely wanted more of those delightful brownies.

Pinky accepted the cigarette that Large Marge passed his way. That’s the way she introduced herself—Large Marge. But Pinky thought it best to refer to her simply as Marge. She was a big woman, but the name had negativity attached to it as far as Pinky was concerned.

That cigarette smoked kind of funny. Maybe that’s the way tobacco tastes. Pinky is definitely not a smoker, but he was just trying to fit in with the crowd. He assumed that everyone was low on funds. Each and every one of the young people in the room were rolling their own tobacco. It was a way to save money, he figured. Maybe he’d get one of the kids at the bar to teach him the technique. Who knows. It might come in useful some day.

It was all I could do to keep from breaking out in laughter when Pinky told Lori and me this part of his adventure. He was so serious and animated. He actually got up off his barstool and pranced around like he was performing on stage. I guess his tattoo was not bothering him much by then. Time, and a few shots of whiskey, can accomplish much.

“Well, think about it. We all go through an existence we’ve labeled life. Each of us are,” Marge held up her hands, shoulder-width apart, and displayed quotation marks, the first two fingers of each hand looking like animated, two-taloned claws as they waggled up and down in Pinky’s face, “living to accomplish, at the end, the final curtain lowering act of death. If we’re all just living to die, then why shouldn’t we attempt as many variations on life as we can? Because the final act is always the same for everyone. We die. That’s it. We just up and die. There’s not much else to look forward to.

“So, Pinky, how are you going to live tomorrow?”

Pinky and Marge were sitting comfortably side by side on a love seat that was discreetly tucked away in the shadows at the far end of the room. Pinky remembered it exactly, because his grandparents had had one just like it. It was light tan with a floral design.

Pinky responded to Marge’s inquiry with an answer that befit a character of his standing, “I’ll wake up, take a few deep breaths,” Pinky breathed deeply. That made him extremely lightheaded. “Whoa. That doesn’t do that in the morning when I’m getting out of bed. I like to get some much needed oxygen to my brain in the morning. Wow. I think I need something to eat. Where’s the lady with the brownies. A little more sugar might help.”

“Pinky, you don’t need more sugar. You need to stir up your life. You’re in a rut. Tomorrow you should try something new for yourself.”

“Nope. When I get up tomorrow I going to do like I do every morning, fix myself a cup of coffee. After the caffeine takes hold, and rattles my brain a bit, I’ll think about your question some, and probably decide to take a shower before continuing with my life for the day. A shower in the morning just seems to start the day off right.

“Hey, here comes the brownie lady. Miss, do you have anymore of those brownies. They were great.”

“No. I’m on my way to take another batch out of the oven, though. I’ll get you a nice warm one. Have another cookie while you wait.”

Pinky snatched the cookie out of the young ladies hand and began chomping away, hungrily.

“Why don’t you take a bath?”

“What? Take a bath? I’m eating a cookie and I’ve been promised another brownie. Why do I want to take a bath?”

“Tomorrow morning. Mix up your routine. Take a bath.”

“I always take a shower.”

“Pinky, you’ve got to try a variation to this rut you’ve gotten yourself into. Try taking a bath.”

“I’m taking a shower.”

“Well, you’ve got to try something different. Drink a cup of tea instead of coffee.”

“I don’t like tea.”

As their conversation continued, with Marge doing most of the talking, Pinky was becoming ever more lightheaded. He was having difficulty keeping his eyelids open. The room was in a slow spin, and Pinky found it difficult to follow Marge’s words. He thought he could see them, but they tended to mix with all the other sounds pelting his eardrums.

Pinky looked Marge’s way. He had trouble focusing on the large woman. He uttered his final words for the night. “Just butter my butt and call me toasted. I’m burnt.” The man, stoned for the first time in is life, fell over, face down in Marge’s lap.

“Oh, Pinky. I didn’t know you were that kind of guy.”

The brownie lady walked up with a plate of warm chocolatey confection. “I don’t guess he wants another brownie.”

Marge, a broad smile on her face, giddily responded, “No, dearie, I think we’re leaving.”


I hope you enjoyed what I have shared here.

Good night, Mrs. Jackson, wherever you are.