Dammit Jason -- Flash Fiction

Originally posted October 25, 2014, and then again in last year's A to Z Blogging Challenge, this is my personal favorite blog post. I had fun writing it and I have fun every time I reread it. Hope you enjoy it, too.

image from people.com

“Dammit Jason.”

“Honest Mom. I didn’t mean to kill her. She’d a killed me if I hadn’t done it.”

“Eighteen years old and you can’t handle your granny’s pig?”

“But she was gonna bite me. More’n bite me. She’d a killed me.”

“Dammit Jason. She’s a pig. Granny’s the one you’re gonna have to run from when she finds out you killed her pig.”

“That’s why I called you. I knew you’d know what to do.”

“You just be sure that blanket’s coverin’ up the floorboard. I swear the only danger my car’s ever been in has been you. You and your friends. Just two beers, my sweet Aunt Sassy. Smelled to high heaven for three weeks and now there’ll be blood all over.”

“But she ain’t bleedin’.”

“She ‘isn’t’ bleedin’.”

“I know, Mom. That’s what I just said.”

“Dammit, Jason. You said ‘ain’t.’”

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

“You pick up her front part. I’ll get her back legs.”

“She’s still warm.”

“And why wouldn’t she be? I came right over didn’t I?”

“Mom! I think she moved.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Pick her up. She can’t bite you now. You just wait ‘til your father hears what you’ve done.”

“Do we have to tell him?”

“No, Jason. We don’t have to tell him anything. You have to tell him. Now get in the car.”

“Can I turn on the radio?”

“No, Jason. You can just sit there in the quiet and think about what you’ve done until we get out past the Simpson place.”

“We gonna dump her in the river?”

“No. We are not going to dump her in the river. I’d have nightmares for weeks thinking of that poor, dead, bloated pig driftin’ on down to the Gulf. Your Granny loved that pig.”

“Did you hear something?”

“No, Jason. I didn’t hear anything except your snufflin’.”

“I ain’t snufflin’. Isn’t. I’m not snufflin’.”

“We’ll dump her in that old irrigation ditch just this side of the levee.”

“Mom, she’s movin’.”

“Jason, wishing and imagining isn’t going to make her alive again.”

“Stop, Mom! We gotta get out. She’ll kill us both.”

“Dammit, Jason.”

J is for Jason -- flash fiction, a re-post.

Today is the day I HAVE to do our taxes and I can't think of anything else so I'm re-posting my favorite bit of flash fiction about a woman's favorite son, Jason. It was originally posted October 25, 2014. Hope you enjoy it.

image from people.com

“Dammit Jason.”

“Honest Mom. I didn’t mean to kill her. She’d a killed me if I hadn’t done it.”

“Eighteen years old and you can’t handle your granny’s pig?”

“But she was gonna bite me. More’n bite me. She’d a killed me.”

“Dammit Jason. She’s a pig. Granny’s the one you’re gonna have to run from when she finds out you killed her pig.”

“That’s why I called you. I knew you’d know what to do.”

“You just be sure that blanket’s coverin’ up the floorboard. I swear the only danger my car’s ever been in has been you. You and your friends. Just two beers, my sweet Aunt Sassy. Smelled to high heaven for three weeks and now there’ll be blood all over.”

“But she ain’t bleedin’.”

“She ‘isn’t’ bleedin’.”

“I know, Mom. That’s what I just said.”

“Dammit, Jason. You said ‘ain’t.’”

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

“You pick up her front part. I’ll get her back legs.”

“She’s still warm.”

“And why wouldn’t she be? I came right over didn’t I?”

“Mom! I think she moved.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Pick her up. She can’t bite you now. You just wait ‘til your father hears what you’ve done.”

“Do we have to tell him?”

“No, Jason. We don’t have to tell him anything. You have to tell him. Now get in the car.”

“Can I turn on the radio?”

“No, Jason. You can just sit there in the quiet and think about what you’ve done until we get out past the Simpson place.”

“We gonna dump her in the river?”

“No. We are not going to dump her in the river. I’d have nightmares for weeks thinking of that poor, dead, bloated pig driftin’ on down to the Gulf. Your Granny loved that pig.”

“Did you hear something?”

“No, Jason. I didn’t hear anything except your snufflin’.”

“I ain’t snufflin’. Isn’t. I’m not snufflin’.”

“We’ll dump her in that old irrigation ditch just this side of the levee.”

“Mom, she’s movin’.”

“Jason, wishing and imagining isn’t going to make her alive again.”

“Stop, Mom! We gotta get out. She’ll kill us both.”

“Dammit, Jason.”

Dammit Jason -- flash fiction

image from people.com

“Dammit Jason.”

“Honest Mom. I didn’t mean to kill her. She’d a killed me if I hadn’t done it.”

“Eighteen years old and you can’t handle your granny’s pig?”

“But she was gonna bite me. More’n bite me. She’d a killed me.”

“Dammit Jason. She’s a pig. Granny’s the one you’re gonna have to run from when she finds out you killed her pig.”

“That’s why I called you. I knew you’d know what to do.”

“You just be sure that blanket’s coverin’ up the floorboard. I swear the only danger my car’s ever been in has been you. You and your friends. Just two beers, my sweet Aunt Sassy. Smelled to high heaven for three weeks and now there’ll be blood all over.”

“But she ain’t bleedin’.”

“She ‘isn’t’ bleedin’.”

“I know, Mom. That’s what I just said.”

“Dammit, Jason. You said ‘ain’t.’”

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

“You pick up her front part. I’ll get her back legs.”

“She’s still warm.”

“And why wouldn’t she be? I came right over didn’t I?”

“Mom! I think she moved.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Pick her up. She can’t bite you now. You just wait ‘til your father hears what you’ve done.”

“Do we have to tell him?”

“No, Jason. We don’t have to tell him anything. You have to tell him. Now get in the car.”

“Can I turn on the radio?”

“No, Jason. You can just sit there in the quiet and think about what you’ve done until we get out past the Simpson place.”

“We gonna dump her in the river?”

“No. We are not going to dump her in the river. I’d have nightmares for weeks thinking of that poor, dead, bloated pig driftin’ on down to the Gulf. Your Granny loved that pig.”

“Did you hear something?”

“No, Jason. I didn’t hear anything except your snufflin’.”

“I ain’t snufflin’. Isn’t. I’m not snufflin’.”

“We’ll dump her in that old irrigation ditch just this side of the levee.”

“Mom, she’s movin’.”

“Jason, wishing and imagining isn’t going to make her alive again.”

“Stop, Mom! We gotta get out. She’ll kill us both.”

“Dammit, Jason.”

Words Are My Life

Pig or Hog

Actually this is probably a gilt, meaning a female pig who has not yet given birth. She's a Duroc which is my personal favorite breed of swine. 

 

All Natural Sausage

INGREDIENTS:

PORK, WATER,

CONTAINS 2% OR LESS OF: SALT, SUGAR, BLACK PEPPER, SAGE,

RED PEPPER, SPICE EXTRACTIVES.

This is not the list of ingredients in my favorite sausage, but I had some for breakfast this morning and it was pretty good. My favorite sausage has a few more ingredients.

 

The point of these pictures is the use of the word 'Natural' by the marketing folks. Now other than the long line of chosen genetics for the beautiful Duroc, she is natural. I'm sure there is a great deal of pork in her and quite a bit of water, too. And some salt. As for peppers, sage, and spice extractives, I doubt there is anywhere near the 2% listed for the sausage.

 

Now, don't get me wrong. I'd much rather have the pork with additives at my table for breakfast than the pig in the other picture. Though I once knew a perfectly well-behaved Pot-Bellied Pig named Beverly. She had pierced ears and lived in the house. Pigs are very bright and actually quite clean when given the chance to be.

 

But it's the words marketers use that set me off on this rant. The words indicate to me that our society is either woefully ignorant, apathetic, or willing to be led by the nose. The old story of  "I don't know and I don't care. What do you want me to do?"

 

This morning I bought a quart of buttermilk to make biscuits. Normally I use powdered buttermilk because it's cheaper and keeps well in the fridge. That buttermilk I bought today was identified conspicuously as 'reduced fat.' Buttermilk is what you have left after the butterfat is removed? How much fat could there be in it? And, no, they had no buttermilk without the 'reduced fat' identifier. That's because ALL buttermilk is reduced fat. Naturally.

 

Now that I think about it whole milk is only 3.25% fat anyway. About the same as cooked, skinless white chicken meat. Compare that to ground beef which ranges from 3% to 20% depending on how much you want to pay, or how much will cook away.

 

If it ain't got wheat or wheat products in it, it's gluten-free. Including those fat-free after dinner mints and ice.

 

GMO? Give me a break. Most of what we eat is genetically modified either through selective breeding or genetic engineering. We would not recognize the original, natural orange or potato or corn on the cob. Or hog, for that matter. And strawberries!

 

And, friends, if you want a no calorie, caffeine free, artificial dye and artificial flavor free drink that's natural -- try water.

 

I know, I know. Chlorination and fluoridation. That's a whole 'nother story. It's called improved public health and I won't jump on that soap box today.

 

Words! Words! Words to mislead us, massage our insecurities with promises that this or that is better and we needn't think about it, we needn't make any kind of decision because somebody somewhere will show us the way -- preferably somebody who deals in magic. Smoke and mirrors. Snake oil.

 

Come to think of it, I've known some well-behaved snakes who lived in their people's houses, too.