62. May I smite?

Jeff and I were walking to Patty’s Pub. It was pretty frigging cold out, so we were walking quickly.

I looked over at Jeff. He wasn’t bent against the cold like everyone else on the street was. He was just casually strolling along. That didn’t seem right. I was suddenly bitter. “You prick! You did some hoodoo to make sure you wouldn’t feel the cold!”

He gasped. “Did not! Just because I’m not walking all hunched over, like a monkey fucking a football, doesn’t mean I’m not freezing my arse off!”

I was skeptical, but let it go. “Why do you have to make it cold-ass anyhow? What benefit is there to having my nuts crawl back up into my chest?”

“Dude, I told you. Weather is complicated shit. Do you think I enjoy this cold?” He paused. “Cold-ASS? What does the ‘ass’ suffix add to the sentence?”

“You know, I’ve never really thought about it. I think it makes it more extreme. Kind of like ‘very’.”

He smiled. “Really? That’s the best-ass thing I’ve heard this whole long-ass week! I like that much-ass!”

“No.”

“What?”

“Just no. Too much, friend. Using it in moderation is the key.”

“Oh. Cool-ass?”

“Very nice.”

A small kid walked by. Jeff leaned in closer. “You see that kid?”

“Yes.”

He leaned in even closer. “He’s not wearing mittens.”

I used my best over-emphasized, conspiratorial whisper. “Little fucker! What do you suggest?”

He matched my whisper. “Well, I know his mom told him to wear his mittens. He should totally be wearing them. I know you were disappointed when my last attempted smiting failed. May I smite him?”

“Dude! He’s like eight years old!”

Jeff paused, unsure of why I seemed so horrified – unsure if he should continue – but he continued. He shouldn’t have. “I know that! But I’m pretty sure I can take him.”

“That’s a joke, right?”

He paused, and looked me in the eye. He seemed to make a decision. “Well, der! Of course I’m joking? You don’t really think I’d beat up a kid, do you?”

He laughed uncomfortably.