Don't EVER Do That Again!

“Come on, Wheeler, stop dragging ass!” Scott said, walking backward on the tracks in front of the fat kid, taunting him in a half joking, half cruel manner.



“Sir, yes sir!” Wheeler retorted mindlessly as he trudged along the railroad ties, great drops of sweat pouring profusely from his terrifically red face.



“C’monnnn…. LARD ASS!” Chris joined in, in a crescendo that sounded very like someone shooting dice and calling expectantly for sevens.



Scott and Chris looked at each other. “You-can-dooo-eeet, Lard Ass!” Scott said in his best Mexican accent, and the two of them fell to pieces.



“Screw you guys,” Wheeler said, huffing and puffing along the tracks best he could. With his beet-red head and corpulent white body he looked like a cherry sundae melting in the sun.



“Awe, we’re just messin’ with you, Wheeler,” Scott said, and clapped him on the back. “Gotta keep it up, Jim. Gotta get those pounds off so you can make boot camp with me and Chris. Right, Chris?”



“And so’s you can find your pecker,” Chris added, smiling.



Even Jim managed a brief smile at this before recovering with a few curses.



“Now move your ass, fat boy!” Scott said, returning to his drill-sergeant persona. “Get your ass down that line, Wheeler! “



Wheeler plodded on, a nauseous feeling building in his stomach, head swimming in the mix of sweltering heat and pungent odor of bitter weeds. When Wheeler finished his last mile his thin friends danced triumphantly around him, whooping and hollering. Wheeler reeled, clasped Chris by the shoulders to keep from falling down, and vomited all over his shirt.

“Thanks guys,” Wheeler said, recovering. “But don’t ever do that again.”