Jamey Dunham

Stand-Off in the Kitchen of an Angry Sun

It’s almost too early for coffee and the sun glares at me as it pulls itself over the windowsill, but I’m happy.  I’m making an omelet.  I’m standing in the kitchen, whistling in my boxer shorts, and my testicles are swinging in perfect time.  It’s going to be a great day.  It’s already a great morning and the first egg I broke was a double yolk.  The rest of the eggs are quite normal, as is the milk, and the butter, and just when I reach for an onion to liven things up, three mice appear from behind the toaster.  They are dressed like Mexican bandits and they demand my cheese.  They have little sombreros, little pistols, and the one in the middle has its whiskers waxed into a handlebar mustache.  As I stand  pondering the intricate mechanics of their tiny firearms, they inch across the counter and repeat their demands.  No one moves.  The only sound is the slow suck of hot water through coffee grains.  Just then the toaster goes off and we are all struck by the image of hot toast framed against a window full of angry sun. 
 

An American Story

Two possums dressed as children (their mother raised them as such) were crying when their father (not a possum) came home.  Their mother (not a possum either) was already there.  She stayed home with the children everyday and kept house (though actually they lived in a bog swamp).  There was a family dog too but it doesn’t come up until later (when it dies).  Now the mother had sent the children outside to play so she could get some cleaning done (an optimistic thought in a bog swamp).  The children sat under a tree and ate the apples that had fallen to the ground (they were rotten).  The ripe apples were still hanging from the boughs but the children were not allowed to climb the tree because they hung from their tails (which disturbed their parents to no end).  As the children stuffed their mouths with the brown, sticky fruit, their dog, Ernest (a Laplander), bounded across the street to join them and was struck by a car.  Now I’d like to tell you the dog died quickly, so I will, but actually it was a long, agonizing death involving hours of grueling pain and convulsions. The children were devastated.  They ran into the house bawling, which is how their father found them when he came home with the money he had stolen from the bank.  He was a raccoon and a master thief.  He and his accomplice had been planning the heist for weeks.  His wife had known nothing about it, although she knew his accomplice all too well.  He was a dashing possum with a broad toothy grin and a weakness for tragic women. 
 
 

In Posse: Potentially, might be ...