From Bumper, with Love

“I feel sure that unborn babies pick their parents.” -Gloria Swanson

Randi Dick's belly was showing as she was layin’ all purdy and sweet on the table, and back in the day, lawd, I'd have popped me a chub right there. But these days, thangs is different.

I'm different.

I've done changed.

Even still I couldn't help but notice the OMGYN rubbin’ on Randi’s belly all seductively with some kinda x-ray dildo thang that projected, like a uh, microwave image of one of God's greatest miracles.

There it was. Right on the screen. A baby. And not just any baby.

“Lawd Jesus he's got three legs!” I shouted. “No baby STRONK! nooooo sweet baby STRONK! NO!” I turned to the nurse who was feelin’ up on my ex wife and I said, “Bench, that baby got three legs, there's been some sort of mistake, bench.”

Randi interrupted me and said, “Don't you be cussin’! That ain't a leg. That's a hog.”

Oh hell yeah, I thought. Boy ain't gonna have no trouble in the future. Unless he cuts that bad boy off. Like his granny.

“I'm sorry for cussin’ atcha ben-... nurse bench,” I wiped some ace sweat from my forehead I'd left there for drama. “It's just I'm nervous, and when I get nervous, I tend to get a lil’, shall we say, ‘bad ace as fuck' with the way I start talgin’ at folks. I like to get up in they face and be like, ‘BITE IF YEW GON' BARK MOTHAFUGGER! C'MAWN! C'MAWN!! GET YEW SUM!!!’”

My ex interrupted on me like, “FRED!”

I rolled my eyes.

“But of course,” I continued on. “This ain't the time nor the place. I recognize that. But I ain't ‘polagizin’ to ya cuz dat ain't my styyyyyle.”

The OMGYN was nice enough about it. Didn't say shid, but nodded. I respected that.

But then, she hit me with some shid that caused me to lose my mothafuggin’ cool.

“So the baby is gonna be named STRONK TWO,” She said. “That's very unique.”

Smart ace.

“It's what his daddy would've wanted,” I said. I kissed two fingers, patted my lasagna region with ‘em, and pointed to the sky. I grabbed a barbie doll sized bottle of fireball liquor from muh jorts, took me a big ol’, fat swig of it, and poured the rest out on the floor.

“Miss yew boy,” I said.

“What about his other daddy?” She asked.

“Other daddy?” I replied. “Ma'am, I ain't his daddy, I'm his granny. I understand your confusion, but I gaslit the fug out of this baby's daddy and he thought I was his mama and, well, I just can't kill the bit. Yew understand.”

“This baby is a chimera, Mr. Dick. TWO men created this baby. TWO. Can you count to two?”

What the hell was her problem?

“Can you count to don't fuggin' talk to me like that?” I turned to Randi. “What she on, neow?”

Randi sighed. “Apparently the baby has two biological fathers. On accounta me havin’ a coocoo that won't quit.”

“Damn you and your resolute giney joe, Randi!” I said, “STRONK and who else, womern? STRONK and who else?”

That's when she said it.

The two words that could piss me off the most.

“Hayes Hanlon.”

You think you're soOoOoOoOo fuggin' coo’, don't cha, Hayes Hanlon?

With ya jiggly ace, and sexy mustachio.

Reckon you think it's real fuggin’ coo’ to gahdang sleep with another man's ex wife and mix up your semens with someone else's and make a two daddy'd baby with my ex, too.

…bet yew were wearin’ that Intense Title as well. Lawd yes. Flexin' in the mirror with toothpaste stains all over it. Lookin’ at ya self fuggin’ on my ex. Takin’ my ex to gahdang…

POUND TOWN!!!

YEW THANK YOU'RE SO FUGGIN' COO’!?!?! YOU WANNA SMASH EX WIVES AND MIX SEMENS WITH MY PRECIOUS BOY STRONK WHO FUGGED OFF SOMEWHERE AND I'LL NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN!?!?!?

HUH???

DAT WHAT YOU THANK, BOY!?!?!?!

I can't take what you did back and I know you wouldn't anyway ya sorry ace sumbitch. Deadbeat ace daddy. Ain't nothin I can't stand MORE than a deadbeat ace, sorry ace sumbitchin’ daddy with a sexy mustachio and an ace that could turn Medusa to stone.

Did yew give ‘er a mustache ride, you bastard?

Well, that's fine. Because come Rev 68? I'm giving that Intense Title a mustache ride of my own.

And I might nut on it, too.

Just to spite you.

So, why did I lie to Fred and tell him Hayes Hanlon was the second baby daddy of my chimera baby STRONK?

I don't know. Maybe because I'm a g.d. genius. You ever think of that? 

Let's see. In that moment where my bitch OBGYN told on me for having two baby daddies at once and Fred actually understood enough for me to need to tell the truth, I knew I could give Fred any answer. Any answer, that is, but the truth.

So who else should I have said, but the incredibly handsome man holding the title he's fighting for at ReVival 68?

Will it not make Fred more wild, more dangerous, and more desperate than ever? 

And haven't those conditions brought out the most fearsome aspects of his otherwise unserious character?

And if Fred wins that title? If Fred fuggin’ Dick becomes Intense Champion? I'm like 75% sure his pay will go way, way up.

And if his pay goes up, that means my pay goes way, way up.

You know, if you get Fred high or drunk or maybe even just a belly full of food, he might just tell you that Reality is manipulating him.

But Reality ain't got shit on me.

Never has.

Never will, neither.

Speaking of Reality.

Hello.

Nahhhhh, I'm just kidding.

It's not Reality.

It's me!

Bumperrrrrr!!!

Awwwwwwwww yeaaahhh. Long time no see, bitchessss. Hey, remember how my face used to look like this:

ツ

Well, I got me a sexy lookin’ face job. Lip fillers, eye fillers, hell, titty fillers. Now i look like this:

👁 👄 👁

If I had an ass, you best believe that thing would be a diaper butt—and you also best believe it’d be full. Yes, I had me a glow-up.

Don't ask me how…

Don't ask me anything.

The extraordinary traumas I endured only began when Fred left me in that Mariot hotel room, after the best violent, but friendly sex of my entire life.

They got much worse and… very, very dark. The kind of darkness that comes from places most minds can't truly comprehend until they're in it, you know?

At one point?

I got shot. Several times.

No one cared because I'm just a car bumper that Fred Dick personified and gave this backstory to, to explain the insane coincidence in a way that Reality doesn't have to be involved.

Holy shid.

It felt good to just say that. Wow. Damn. It's been so pent up–

Anywayyyyyyyyy!!!

You wouldn't believe this if it were in a movie.

But I… Fred… well…

We saw each other again!!!

He was storming out of some baby doctor office in a strip mall, and I was attached to a FIAT near a bush in the back of the parking lot.

I heard an angry, gutteral southern voice, garbled and unruly. “I'M GAWNA FUGGIN MURRRRRDERRRR YEW HAYES HANLON!”

I'd recognize that tone of voice from anywhere.

When we locked eyes, Fred took off his wig and held it over his chest like a gentleman. It wasn't the red rug he used to have, I'm pretty sure he stole it from a Beatles costume sitting on the clearance aisle of a porn store.

Yes, those still exist.

Ha, not that I'd know. Because I'm just a car bumper.

And I'm definitely not Fred Dick playing pretend real good-like.

When we locked eyes, I knew he could tell it was me. He'd left a stain that looked like Brazil down towards my right side and, it was still there. Like a birthmark made of love and bust.

“It's you,” he said.

Yes, Fred. It's me.

“It's really you,” he said, eyes full of tears.

I don't know if he took it as a blessing or some kind of sign from our lord and savior Jesus Christ amen, but he just started kicking the shit out of me right there.

Just bang, bang, bang, foot to ass, you know? Foot to ass, foot to ass, foot to ass. Big boot to the ass. And then...

Ouch!!!

I hit the ground. Free from the FIAT which had given me a purpose over the greater part of the last few months.

But I needed more than a purpose.

Fred scooped me off the ground and carried me with him to his hot pink Hummer. He buckled me in the passengers seat, gave me a kiss on my sexy new lips, and buckled me in.

I was with my soul mate once again.

And all was right in Bumper’s world for the first time in a long time.

“I have stayed true to that first idea that people can have a day in their lives that is very important and if they can reconnect with that day, reconnect with the people they were then, they can suddenly revive their emotions.” -Victoria Wood

Date Night With My Baybeh

Ever been to Olive Garden? It's pretty romantical and sweet. Fred put on a tuxedo and the Beatles wig, called himself a regular “Bingo Star” and toted me into one of, if not the, greatest dining experiences of my life.

But how I was I going to eat? Sure, I had a sexy new mouth with big DSL's, but it was all drawn on by a homeless artist on a mixture of crack and barbituates. Not a great combo for partying, but decent for drawing faces.

Everybody in the restaurant was looking at us like we were totally crazy. So, what, a couple counter-culture forward thinkers on what makes for a healthy relationship are societal oddballs all the sudden? Is that what it is?

Well, if so, we hardly paid it any mind. He pulled my chair out for me, sat me down. When the waiter came, he said, “A beer for me, and two beers for the missus,” then he winked at me. It set my heart on fire. The waiter said, “Three beers. Got it.”

“And keep the unlimited breadsticks comin’,” Fred said in an authoritative tone. “And brang me some damn spaghetti. NO sauce. NO tomato sauce. I don't want to taste even a LITTLE BIT of tomato sauce. NO. Just BUTTER and SALT – enough to kill a small child, ya hear?”

The waiter tried his best to maintain his composure, but his eye twitched. Fred immediately caught onto that, and called him “Twitchy Eyed Bench Boy” the rest of the night (which wasn't very long, as you'll see in a moment.) Not very nice, but I always preferred a bad boy anyway.

Fred told me he planned on taping one of the buttery noodles to my mouth and re-creating a scene from The Lady and The Tramp. I thought that was just so romantical.

But we never got the noodles.

Because Fred wouldn't stop pretending the breadsticks were wieners and smashing them into my face.

He did it so much, and got so sweaty and hot about it, that a couple at a nearby table registered a complaint. Twitchy Eyed Bench Boy came and told us we had to leave. Fred threw all the rest of the breadsticks at the couple, told them they'd declared war on love, and for that, they made an enemy for life. He informed them that one day, he would murder them in their sleep with breadsticks since they got such a fucking hang up about people enjoying them.

Just as they started to call the cops, we got out of there. But Fred did not exit out the door. He got really freaked out and kind of started hyperventilating, then he picked up a chair and threw it at the window. The window cracked but, it didn't break. So Fred picked the chair up and hit the window several more times. Finally it shattered, and he scooped me out of my chair and hauled ass with me towards the pink hummer.

“Are you exhilarated, my dear?” Fred asked as he cranked the Hummer up.

I was beyond exhilarated.

I was horny. So was he. The smell of sex was pungent and thick, like the humidity in New Orleans on a July afternoon. There was no escaping destiny. We were gonna fuck. Long and hard. Violent, but friendly. Just as we'd done so long ago.

But Reality had brought us toge–

Ahem.

But we were brought together by Love.

And Love, the romantical kind I mean, is best expressed through smashin’ your meats together with a loved one.

So that's exactly what we planned to do.

On the way to the hotel, we bumped only the finest of tunes in the hot pink Hummer, subwoofer turned way up, rattling the private regions. We're talking “Baker Street,” by Gerry Rafferty. We're talking “Superman's Dead” by Our Lady Peace. We're talking “Livin’ la Vida Loca” by Ricky Martin.

You know, the classics.

When we got to the hotel, Fred told me he had a confession to make. As he lit sensual candles around the room, he informed me he didn't actually have a penis anymore. He said that all he had was some baked goods. But that if I wanted, we could fool around.

But Fred didn't know that baked goods were my favorite.

We got in the bed and, well…

Let's just say that the bakery was open all night long.

Just because I'm in this mothafuggin Super 8 motel, slappin’ the ol pasta dish against a rusty metal hoe, don't mean I've forgotten one fuggin second about yew. Hayes Hanlon.

I had a dream. To raise a STRONK! baby that only had one daddy.

BUT YEW TOOK THAT FROM ME!!!

And now, I got the opportunity to take from you.

Next Friday night! ReVival Sixty Eight. Some bullshit place in Canada! 

In one corner, none other than Granny Dick—the sleazy man with the spiked Slurpy loiterin outside the coin-op laundromat with a pervert smile—he’s going to ascend the Intense mountain…

…to take on one half of the tag team that FUGGED MY EX WIFE, Hayes Hanlon.

Intense Title on the line.

I'd say this mountain ain't big enough for the two of us, but givin’ the way you scaled my ex ol’ lady? I dont think it nary matters much.

So let me just say dis right hyuh then. 

After the smoke’s done cleared, and the bells done rang, and there I am, center of that mothafuggin’ rang, bein’ crowned the 39th Intense Champion in the history of PRIME? 

I expect yew to step up, be a man, and pay child support for STRONK TWO.

I don't expect the full amount. You only half his daddy, after all. But I expect a fair amount, and I expect it on the first of each month.

If you'd like to have a relationship with the boy? Well, that's fine, but you'll have to fuggin’ KEEEEEL ME FIRST!!!

YOU THINK STRONK TWO WANTS A SEXY ACE, BIG BOOTY DADDY??? HE DON’T!!! HE WANTS A DADDY THAT EAT MEAT AND BUSTS HANDS FREE AND LIFTS HARD WEIGHT AND HAS DEAD EYES!!!

And you don't do that shid.

Not like my precious angel did.

Whatchu done with ya life, Hanlon? Besides taint every legacy you touch.

Intense Title Legacy. Tainted. You don't even rassle an intense style. You rassle like a show off little acehoe, which is fine, but that ain't Intense. That ain't representatory of the Intense Division.

STRONK’s legacy. Tainted. With your inferior genetics that could never dead lift a school bus by the ass end just so I can get my baloney samwich, which I dropped under it and couldn't reach.

But me? 

Shid, boy.

If I'm gonna taint a legacy, I'm goin’ all the way and puttin’ an end to the shid.

I'm puttin an end to yew, muhfugga.

Remember neow. First of the month.  

Don't fug me on this. I'll take yo ace to court and we can get real ugly.

God damn it.

FUG YEW.

That night, after we quite literally smashed mostly flat surfaces against each other for a while, I noticed Fred trying to slip out the door on me.

Not again, I thought. Not after the greatest night of my life.

I looked at him. I pleaded. Don't go, Fred. Please. Don't abandon me.

“I have to,” he said.

Why? I replied.

“Cause if I stay, you'll be the one that leaves.”

And wouldn't you know that just broke my heart into tiny pieces. Fred, I'd never leave you. You're my everything. Hasn't the sexual artworks we just performed together been proof of that?

“That's what they all say, Bumper. And I don't fall for it no more.”

Fred, think about it my love. You're in an Intense Title Match. You can use weapons.

…what better weapon than me? What better weapon than your lover? Your soul mate?

Fred thought for a moment. Then he said, “You wanna be like, my valet? What comes to the rang with me, tellin’ errbody I'm sexy and I'm gonna win and all that?”

Hehe, Freeeed.

I'd love nothing more.

Okay, fine.

You wanna know so bad? You wanna know who the second baby daddy is?

Don't worry. I'm not gonna make an ESPN special where I show somebody bangin’ me and they end up killing everyone they know and love.

But you just can't tell Fred, okay? Not until after ReVival 68. It's a secret.

Promise?

…okay…

The second daddy…

Is Lowell Dot Com.

That's right. 

Both the boy’s daddies are gone.

All he's ever gonna have is his mama, and his granny.

“When you are entrusted with a secret, you become irrevocably accountable for what you do or don't do after your mind is colored by the knowledge of it.” -Joyce Rachelle