Roscoe was built like a condom filled with marbles with a forehead to match. He stood in the light of the rising half-moon, wearing almost exactly what Candy Bar had on, except it didn't fit well. It hung in tatters and gravity was doing its best to pull it to the ground. He had bloody cuts across his shins but he didn't seem to notice them. I had never seen anything like him. His mother must have diapered his face and nursed his ass. He stood there, knuckles to the ground and glanced back and forth between myself and Candy Bar.
"Grunembarks." he said, almost belching it out.
"He won't tell me what tribe he's with." said Candy Bar.
"muckelfritz." he replied.
What the hell was he saying? I couldn't tell if he was speaking or had gas. And his breath was starting to bleach my hair. I've come across decomposed bodies that were less offensive than Roscoe.
"Shummmizz fil duffaloong" he spat out and pulled out a long cricket bat from behind him. He swung it a couple of times in my direction as if to make a point. He did. I looked at Candy Bar.
"What am I? Flypaper for freaks!" I said and stood up from the ground. Candy Bar turned her head to me, a quizzical look on her face. She looked as baffled as Adam on Mothers Day.
"We've never seen you before. Roscoe wants you to follow us to our camp.... or else." she said.
"dra meg baklengs inn i fuglekassa!" I replied. But sizing up the situation, I decided I would play along with them until I could get away. Besides, Roscoe didn't need a stick, his shorts and breath were killing me.
Candy Bar led the way with me following and Roscoe taking up the rear, tripping on every blade of grass. At least I was upwind. After a few minutes we came to a clearing on the edge of the field with a low burning campfire in the middle surrounded by a few large logs and some bags and blankets. Roscoe pushed me over to one of the logs and in that lilting voice of his directed to sit my arse down. At least that is what I thought he said. I watched as Beauty and the Beast seemed to have a private conversation and then Candy Bar walked up to me, standing a few inches from my face.
"Who are you?" she asked and Roscoe appeared to mimick her with a grunt of "hummille noxx".
I watched as Roscoe started to root around in one of the bags.
"My name is Slade and I need to take a whiz." I said suddenly remembering priorities.
"You have to prove you're not a spy." she said and turned to Roscoe. He handed her a lump of something that slowly started to ooze through her fingers. "Eat this" she said and plopped it in my lap. It sat there, oozing. And oozing.
"No thanks, I'm on a strict bean curd diet." I said and poked at it with a finger. It wasn't Jello.
"Eat it...or else." she said and Roscoe stepped closer.
"Ok, OK!" I replied. I looked at it again and could have sworn I saw it move by itself. "You have a fork or some catsup?"
I could actually hear Roscoe's breathing get faster and he pushed Candy Bar slightly to the side. He still had the bat in his hand, resting on his shoulder. Oh, what the hell, I thought and grabbed a handful of the stuff and shoved it in my mouth.
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