Elmore:  When're we eatin'?

Deb:  Around two.  I refuse to have plates of food available for launch
during the game.  Get the hell out of those cranberries.

Elmore:  Just a little bit.

Deb:  You'll ruin your dinner.  Go on, sit down.

Billy came out of the back, hair wild, a faded Emmitt Smith t-shirt
encasing his muscular torso.  Elmore's t-shirt touted Neon Deion Sanders.
My Randy Moss jersey was quite new by comparison.

Billy:  You ready to watch the Boys kick some Viking ass, Elmore?

Elmore:  Damn straight, Billy!

Cockeyed optimists, both of them.  Considering the fact that Billy
immediately went for the Heinekens, they were liable to be a little more 
than cockeyed by game time.  Billy smirked at my purple.

Deb:  I'm reserving comment, gentlemen.  Leave my kitchen, please.  

Billy and Elmore blasted through the swinging door and immediately
flipped the channel to Fox, for the pregame shows.

Deb:  Soup's on, people.

Billy:  So...smells great.  Bring it on.

Deb:  I'm a waitress?

Billy:  Shoe fits, girl.  I'm gonna kick Madden's ass someday...

I brought the first loaded plate to Elmore, followed it with another
for Billy, and finally served myself.  As I sat down to eat, Billy held
out his empty plate.

Deb:  So?

Billy:  More.

It wasn't a request, more like instructions.  I put my plate down on the
coffee table and went to the kitchen to load Billy up.

Billy:  Need some gravy on the turkey, baby.

I knew better than to think he might get up and get it himself.  I 
trudged back, dumped gravy on everything but the cranberries, and returned
to the front room.  I tried to drop the plate in Billy's lap but he wasn't
that caught up, and then I attempted to return to my own plate.

Elmore:  Ma?

Elmore grinned sweetly.  I looked longingly at my own food, then got up
to get Elmore more to eat.  I refilled Elmore's plate and returned it to
him, picked up my plate and tried to decided where to start.

Billy:  Got more-a that jello shit?  An' them cranberries?

I put my plate down with a bang and snatched Billy's.

Deb:  Cranberries and jello shit...comin' right up.

I stalked to the kitchen, slapped a few spoonfuls of both on the plate
and returned.  I knew better even than to try and sit down.  I just waited
for Elmore to finish up and dangle the empty plate at me.  He didn't
disappoint me.

Elmore:  Ma...some-a th' sweet stuff?

Deb:  Jello and cranberry shit...Jesus, when did you two forget how to
walk...?

Elmore smiled his thanks at me, which was a lot better than the plate
handing in mid-air until I could manage to grab it.  I made the trip to the
kitchen again, feeling like I was wearing a path in the carpet.

Finally I figured out a way to eat, standing behind Billy's chair.  There
was some slight revenge involved - I let the crumbs from my dinner roll
fall down the back of his t-shirt.  At last the meal was over, the dishes
rinsed and put in the dishwasher, and it was time for kickoff.  I hightailed
it down the hall, to the 36" TV Billy had recently put in the bedroom.
There was no way I was going to sit out in the line of fire.  I had no
intention of watching the game at first.  I would gauge the success of the
Vikings based on the volume and content of the roars coming from the
living room.  But I wound up tuning in.  It was that or cheesy holiday
programming or fishing shows.

Billy:  Hit 'im, HIT 'IM, HIT THE BASTARD JESUS CHRIST WHATSA MATTER
'TH YOU STUMBLEBUMS!!?!?!?!

Elmore:  Aw, SHIT!!!

Deb:  Go, GO, GO!!!!   Awwwwwriiiight!!!!!

Billy:  Shut the hell up down there, woman!

Deb:  Ain't no Moss growin' in Texas Stadium today!!!!  Yeee-hah.
even!!!

Billy stormed down the hall, kicked the bedroom door in.  I grinned
sweetly up at him from my place in the dead center of the bed.

Billy:  Shut.  Up.

Deb:  Sorehead.

Billy:  It's early.  Boys'll have the Queens talkin' outa the other side
of their fat mouths yet.

Deb:  Could be.  Go on, siddown out there in Loserville.

The first quarter was probably the most intense for me.  The Vikings came
roaring out of the box and scored three times.  After that, it became an
offensive battle in which the officials were biased toward the hometeam.
Billy and Elmore were equally convinced that the officialing was the best
they'd ever personally seen, to listen to them.

Billy:  Offsides again!  Damn!

Deb:  WHAT THE HELL YOU MEAN, A FLAG ON TH' PLAY???  THAT'S THE SECOND
TOUCHDOWN YOU'VE DISALLOWED!!!  IDIOTS!!!

Elmore:  Clippin'!!  Billy, you see that, right there!!!

Deb:  You stinking blind zebra!  You see that!  Dummy!  Facemasking, that
was facemasking on Carter, you ass!!!

Elmore:  Lookit that!  Late hit!  

Billy:  C'mon, c'mon!  Thirty-five year old Pretzel Boy quaterback...HIT the
bastard!

Deb:  There ya go again, Troy-boy, throwin' the ball away...hoo-hoo!!

I considered a loud comment on the concidence I'd noticed, that Cowboy
and coward each started with the same three letters, but I knew it would
be a bad idea.  Billy would come screaming down at me and the only coward I
could name without hesitation at that moment was me.  I thought it though,
and snickered a lot.

Billy:  Goddamn Emmitt Smith!!!  Go, boy!

Elmore:  See that...hole big enough t'drive that Suburban through!  Boy
just walked right in!

Deb:  Ya got lucky!

Billy:  Twice!!!

He had me there.

Deb:  Intentional grounding, you WUSS!!!!!

Billy had apparently had enough of my disparaging remarks regarding the
Cowboy quarterback, and he steamrollered his way into the room.  I had
added my favorite Viking hat to my ensemble, the one with the horns and the
cheesy yellow braids.  This was a hat that I had worn on more than one trip
to the Metrodome, and every time the Vikings screwed things up, I would
turn the hat inside out and upside down and put it on, to demonstrate my
disapproval.  The hat had been rightside out and rightside up all day.  I
also had my Viking brick, which I had mostly been heaving at the damn
officials, and a Purple Pride towel that the Skeptic had sent me.

Billy:  Will you shut the hell...oh, goddam, if you don't look like a
horse's ass!  

Deb:  Explain to me why there're so many more horse's asses than there are
horses, then.  And who do the numbers like?

Billy:  Gonna paddle you.

I waved my towel at him and he left.  He knew when he was outflanked.
So I told myself.

Elmore:  Outa bounds, he's outa bounds!!!!

Deb:  Come on, come on, comeoncomeoncomeon...YESSSSSS!!!!

Billy:  Goddamit, Marv Albert!!!!!

Elmore:  Whyna hell ain't they stickin' Deion in there t'cover 'at damn
boy!  Shit!

Deb:  Wouldn't do any good!  Stick a fork in the Boys, cause they are
done!!!

Billy:  That's it!

I'd done it.  Giggling madly, I grabbed my towel and my brick and my hat
and we all went down between the bed and the wall.  I wiggled under the
mattress and started crawdaddying across the floor.  Billy threw himself 
across the bed, which had the effect of nearly aborting my escape attempt,
but I managed to recover and rolled out just as his shoulders and upper
back disappeared over the side.  With his hips and tight fanny the only
thing visible, I decided that I might as well be hung for a sheep as for a
goat.  I swatted that backside as hard as I dared, then lunged for the 
door.  It was liable to be the only time I ever got away from him, and I 
didn't intend to blow it.

Billy:  Elmore, dammit, grab that little...

But Elmore was laughing too hard.  He would make it look good, but only
after I had made a clean get away and found a bush to cower behind.  Billy
was liable to take this one to the streets.  Not only had I spent four
hours ripping on his beloved Cowboys, but I had been right.  I managed to
sneak into the garage and get the Suburban out before he could maul me, and
I drove on down to the Corner to do a little work that I had been putting
off.  Before I knew it, I looked up and the clock said it was ten thirty.
Then the door opened, and Billy let himself in.

Billy:  Nowhere t'run to, baby, nowhere t'hide.

He gave me one of those evil little grins of his.

Deb:  Doesn't matter.  In the Corner, no-one can hear you scream.

Billy:  Won't hear you scream, punk.  And you will...

He approached me, fingers flexing and stretching, and I knew that what 
was in store for me was not a paddling, but worse.  He was going to tickle.

Deb:  Oh, come on, man...mercy...

Billy:  Hell!

Deb:  You know what happens when you tickle me!  I've got no jeans here!

Billy:  Gotta washer.  Wrap a towel 'round your ass, truck's in the back,
nobody'll see ya.

Deb:  Man, I'm beggin' ya, please...

I got up from the chair and backed away from him, but there truly was
nowhere for me to go.  I started that mad, nervous giggling that went with
an adrenaline rush.  He lunged at me, and I managed to evade him by leaping
onto the couch.

Billy:  Just makin' it harder, girl.

Deb:  Harder on who?

Feint left, jump right.  I didn't fall for it.  This time.

Billy:  Git on over here!  You do I won't tickle ya.

Deb:  You expect me t'believe that?  How stupid do I look?  Don't answer
that!

Billy:  Stupid enough t'tweak my ass for four hours then run out on me
with my own truck and not tell me where the damn pie is...

Deb:  You can't go lookin' for what you want that's your own...damn...fault
...

I felt the dreaded fingers of A Major Mistake closing around my wrist,
right along side Billy's iron grip.  I had stopped paying attention which,
with that one, was always fatal.  Now he had me, and he was going to make
me pay for every rotten thing I had said the entire day.

Billy:  I found what I wanted, now I'm gonna take care of it...

Deb:  At least let me put on a Depends...!

Billy:  Shoulda thoughta that earlier...

TO BE CONTINUED...

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