The Short Humour Site

Home : Writers' Showcase : Submission Guidelines : A Man of a Few More Words : Links

Writers' Showcase

Rockefeller Center
by Albert Russo

I hope I’ll never get the idea of killing myself, coz I’ve read that more and more teenagers go bonkers the minute their boyfriends leave them. If ever I should have a lover - he’d better behave, coz I don’t see myself falling for all that schmaltz some of my classmates indulge in - you can be sure that I’ll be the one to decide whether he’s worth it or not, and since I have inherited my mother’s felinist genes, if he tries anything funny with me, he’ll be flying out of my door, pronto presto and without any apologies. That will be the day when I commit hara kiri for a bozo.

The Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center just bowled me over, it was so tall. Then too, everything around it looked splendiferous - gee, I’m bowling myself over using such sofistickle words -, the multicolored illuminations, the frozen cascades, the bronze dolphins and the statues of angels, flanked by the two rows of luxury boutiques whose window displays were beautifully decorated. In Paris it’s the Champs Elysées which I prefer during the holidays, with all its trees lit up, but it’s not nearly as exciting as this. And on top of it all we could enjoy watching the people skating on the ice rink, either solo or in couples. The mere thought of me in their shoes gives me goose pimples, coz at the least shove I’d sprawl on the ice like a pancake with mulberries, all black and blue, too ridiculous for words, so I don’t even try.

When my uncle was a student, he would go to the rink in Central Park, twice or even three times a month in winter, with his two cousins who loved it even though they skated any old how and had the grace of two squinting gnous - he showed me some pictures. Poor Unky Berky, he would dread the exercise on account that he couldn’t keep his balance and didn’t know how to put the breaks on, so that he would provoke mayhem among the skaters who happened to be in front of him. They were mad as hell and called him all kinds of demeaning names, which his cousins thought quite funny. I have the impreshun he didn’t fancy them that much, coz they forced him to do many unpleasant things, supposedly to teach him some of the American ways, specially since they thought he was a little sissy. So, whether he liked it or not, he had to watch them play handball with their school team on weekends or stick for hours in front of the television to watch baseball, of which he never learned the rules. Neither have I, and American or not, I can’t stand it; football I find even worse, with them players so beefed up they look like helmetted orangutans overly padded on their shoulders and their behinds like they’re wearing ten layers of Pampers. Hubba hubba Hop! They grunt like oversized baboons.

Excerpt 6 from ZAPINETTE GOES TO NEW YORK by Albert Russo