FSE

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The house lay still, and everything was peaceful . . . until Craig Jones woke up.

"Damn! I need some cereal."

The twenty-five year old black panther walked out of his bedroom in his stinky drawers, dirty tee-shirt, and blue fuzzy slippers, wiped some snot off his huge honker of a nose, and shuffled to the refrigerator, opening it. Grabbing the carton of milk, he obtained the box of cereal from the pantry, and went to the table.

"Breakfast," the young man exclaimed, happy to have his morning meal provided to him free of charge.

PLOP went the big ass red cereal bowl as he sat down. Most of the crunchiness fell into the receptacle. "Yeeh!" went Craig, as his big black panther paw went for the carton of milk, beginning to pour. He tipped it over, and . . . nothing came out. Nothing came out of the carton; not a goddamn thing.

"Fuck!"

Craig slammed the empty red milk carton down on the table, stomped to the refrigerator, and yanked open the door. "There ain't never nothin' in this house!"

Upon slamming the door, Mr. Willie Jones stood by the refrigerator, stuffing huge, dripping pieces of ripe watermelon into his large panther mouth. Wearing his dog catcher uniform, he looked less than pleased to go to his day job as a, well, dog catcher.

"How come evertime I come in the kitchen, you are in the kitchen, and in the goddamn refrigerator!!"

Mr. Jones stared at his retarded ass son, as if he was some alien from Uranus, who had lost his transport device somewhere between Star XYOY-34 and YI34-98. "Well?"

"Where's the damn milk, man?" asked a belligerent son.

"You best put some damn water on some shit, boy. Now, didn't last night, I tell you to take out the goddamned garbage?"

Craig slumped down, his frazzled tail, and nappy ass hanging out of his pj's, and said "Yeah".

"So, why didn't you do it?"

Craig rolled his eyes up top and looked to the right, shaking his head left and right, like Really, man?

"I forgot."

With a small, sweet, and sarcastic little smile, Mr. William S. Jones placed his half of watermelon with knife sticking out of it under his armpit, and spoke proud, "I wish you was forgettin' right now, man, cuz I'd knock your ass out wit a lef hook, now take out that goddamn trash!"

Mumbling, Craig went back to the table. "Yeah, whatever."

"I remember when I was a boy . . . "

"Oh, man," sighed the young panther man. He had already heard this shit a million times. _I used to walk a million miles in the snow, with no shoes on my feet, to school. Froze my ass off, yes I did. And, yeah, Craig, just had one fork in the house, don't know how lucky you are. _ It was the same old shit, all the time. Damn, his Dad was always buggin'.

"Dad, please."

"No! No, no, "Dad, please." I'm tired of this craziness. You lost your job yesterday?"

"What?!"

The day before, Craig had been caught stealing several cardboard boxes for somebody who needed help moving. Garrith, his co-worker, had caught him in the act, and told on Dan, his supervisor. Then, the shit had hit the fan, and WHAMMO.

"Stealing cardboard boxes? What the fuck you trying to do? Building a fucking clubhouse?"

Craig picked up his bowl of cereal, and slammed it down, causing the whole table to rattle. "No."

"Then, listen, boy, today, the word is job. J-O-B. You go to school, or you pay the rent. Either way, your Mama an' I will be bouncin' booty up in 'ere roun' midnight, yessir..."

"DADDY! I don't want to hear that. Goddamn."

"I don't give a shit what you do or don't want to hear! Now, I'm goin' to work, and if you please, open the windows for at least thirty-five, or forty-five minutes. The smell from the bathroom is sure to spread."

Craig groaned as he got up with his bowl, and went to the sink for some water. A rapid series of knocks from the garage door piqued his interest. "Who is it?"

"Who the fuck you think it is, man? Smokay!"

Smokey Brown was a very short rabbit, but with ears that hung down almost to where they reached the ground. He wore backwards jeans, all the style, and bling, and was sucking on a Tootsie Pop. Pinched behind his ear, and tucked in his pocket, were joints.

Craig opened the door, and in hopped the Smokey rasta.

"What's up, man? My mom's sleepin'."

"'s cool. Listen, y'erd about 'da party last night a' Reggie's?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that bitch, Kimwa?"

"Yeah." Craig's dick began to get hard.

Smokey bounced his shoulders to the "Groove Me" song on the CD player he was listening to as he said, "I fucked her." He smiled proud.

"WHAT?! Damn. You're lucky."

The miniature rabbit took the joint from his pocket, and proceeded to commence the initial toke. "Dude, my Mom is home!"

"Oh. Well, what the fuck are we doing here? Let's go to my crib. My fat ass Momma watchin' Murry or some shit on XFINITY, or some shit like that. She don't give a damn. She smoke, too."

With that said, the two young men exited the house, Craig locking up behind him, and went out into the morning light, ready to greet the day with some eye-opening herb.