#WHO YA GONNA CALL (619)

[cephalopodsquad]

LETS FUCKING GOOO REYYYYY

[stusbunker]

AGA: Word to the Wise

A Supernatural Fan-fiction Denny AU Series

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Benny Lafitte, past Dean/Jo

Other characters: Sam, Bobby, Cas, Mick, Ash, Jo

Word Count: 3000 (whoa)

A/N: Sam gets on Dean’s nerves and Dean ends up taking a late night detour. Big talks ahead.

Special thanks to my beta @cracksinthewalls​ who puts up with my whiny ass. Also grateful for @there-must-be-a-lock​‘s insight.

The bowling league was in lean attendance due to a surprise snowstorm, but that didn’t keep Singers’ Slingers from mopping the floor with their competition. Dean ended on a spare in the last game, putting him just over his average for the night. State bowling wasn’t until spring, but if they kept up their momentum Dean was sure they could place well. And a weekend away would be a welcome break from his usual exhaustion. 

Dean still owed Mick a rematch from last year’s trip. Mick drank him under the table and Dean didn’t want to lose two years running, he had a reputation to uphold afterall. Bartending had cut into his training time, among other things.

Ash was the first one to bow out for the night, knowing his side towing business would be busy with vehicles in ditches for however long the storm lasted. Cas bummed a ride with Mick, since his car had never done well in this weather and he was still dragging his feet on upgrading. Dean knew he had been hinting at shopping around, but Dean wasn’t going to push the topic and get dragged into helping or finagling with the salesman for the guy. Cas could figure it out on his own, and Dean was finally in a place where he felt comfortable letting him. Huh.

Sam had been quiet all night, but Dean hadn’t mentioned it, attributing the sour mood to post-break up blues. They bought Bobby his weekly drink, “team dues” as he called it and settled in along the bar. 

Dean kept the conversation going, trying to keep the mood light, but Bobby was too tired to ham it up and Sam was not amused by his brother’s antics. Once Bobby polished off his last beer and headed home to Ellen, Dean was rolling his eyes in exasperation.

“Fine, you know what, I’ll reel it in, don’t want to interrupt your sulking,” Dean muttered after another joke fell flat. Sam winced at Dean’s jab, which Dean instantly regretted. Though it did seem to shake Sam out of his funk, if minutely.

“So, tell me about Benny,” Sam brought up with elephantine grace.

Dean stared at Sam like he proclaimed he was quitting the law firm and joining the circus, coulrophobia and all. 

Sam huffed. “What?”

“Nice segue there, counselor,” Dean grumbled. “What about him? Hmm, you want a new bowling bag? Because that was already on my list for you for Christmas.”

“Dude, you don’t have to do that. I mean, that’d be great, but no, I was kind of wondering what your deal was? Like do you hang out a lot?” Sam started fishing.

“Yeah, totally, everynight,” Dean deadpanned. “I mean I only work two jobs when I’m not moving your sorry ass back into Mom and Dad’s.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Sam said, waiting to figure out where he was going with this line of questioning and just shot in the dark. 

“What I’m trying to say is, is this, like, a Cas thing?” Sam choked out, unable to put it any more delicately. 

Dean burned with shame as his hackles raised in defensiveness. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Sam cocked his head and pursed his lips, unamused and unimpressed. “You know what I mean, man. Don’t make me spell it out.”

Dean wouldn’t budge, he dropped his beer with a thud. “Well, you’re gonna have to, because I have no fuckin’ idea what you’re talking about.”

“Dude!” Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“The fuck is your problem? You got something to say, just say it, Sam.” Dean fumed, daring him with a murderous glare. Sam inhaled pregnantly, face still inching towards bitch mode. Sam eyed the bartender who was trying not to listen and the late game bowlers who suddenly decided they could catch up lane side instead.

What Dean didn’t realize was that he needed Sam to say it. He yearned for it, for his truth to be spoken, and known without him having to say it himself.

“Look, I know this isn’t something we talk about. But, I just want to make sure you’re okay. Alright? In the beginning with Cas, it was like you were obsessed, man. And since he just always seemed to need something from you. I just want to make sure you’re not getting used, I guess,” Sam unraveled the heart of his concern without saying too much, which Dean was not expecting, at all.

Dumbfounded, Dean retreated, annoyance trumping any chance at relief. 

“I think I can handle myself, thanks,” Dean spat. Petulantly, he took a sip from his beer, the cold glass solid in his hand, giving him something to clutch or even throw, if it came down to it.

“I didn’t say---,” Sam broke off. “Fine! You know what? You’re on your own. Just remember that I should have listened to you about Ruby and now I’m paying the price for my own stubbornness.”

Sam stood and reached for his money clip, tossing an extra five on the bar for the dramatics. He gave Dean one last chance to come clean, to own up to what they weren’t saying. Dean stared straight ahead, eyes unfocusing on the liquor labels behind the bar as if Sam had already left. So he did, just as he came: pissed and questioning his brother’s motives.

    Dean didn’t go home after that. Instead he absently followed a plow down the main road until he happened upon a familiar turn off. Which he took slow and steady until it ended in a T. The little brick ranch at the end of the lane held a lot of memories. And it was more inviting than ever with its Christmas card perfection in the falling snow. Dean put the Impala in park and let the radio play, wishing he had a joint just for the sake of something to do. 

He wasn’t there ten minutes before his phone rang, which he answered without processing the caller ID.

“You gonna come in or you just gonna sit out there feeling sorry for yourself?” Jo’s voice sliced across the line.

“Didn’t know if you were still up,” Dean bullshitted.

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say. Backdoor’s open,” her unimpressed reply. She hung up before Dean could make up an excuse to leave. He slouched out of the car and trudged down the long country driveway. As soon as he had stomped the snow off his boots, Jo welcomed him in with a firm hug and an appraising glint in her eye.

“Thanks, it’s a real mess out there,” Dean explained.

Jo just shook her head at him. “How’d ya bowl?”

“619 series, finished strong in the last few frames,” Dean answered. “Were you at your folks?”

“Nah, just know it’s Wednesday night, which means the boys were at the alley,” Jo smirked as she reached atop her fridge for the good stuff. 

She held up the whiskey in offering and Dean nodded, bending out of his coat. He slipped it over the back of a chair and settled in at the vintage kitchen table. She poured him a glass and watched as he inhaled the first round like he had been outside for hours and needed to fight off a much deeper chill.

“Well alright,” Jo resigned herself to playing shrink and poured Dean another drink. “So, what’s got you stuck in your head, hm?”

Dean weighed his head from side to side as he let the whiskey roll over his tongue. He never got far into a pouting session when Jo was around, but he also didn’t know which chamber of his heart he could stand to prop open for her inspection tonight.

“How’ve you been, Jo? You still schooling those truckers on taking care of their own rigs?” Dean sidestepped with ease.

“You know it,” Jo confirmed. “Not a day goes by that I don’t have to put another asshole in his place. Pays good, though.”

Jo had followed in Bobby’s footsteps and became a mechanic, but two Singers were already one too many for the shop and salvage yard. So she took her skills out to the interstate and made a name for herself as the only female diesel technician in four counties. Dean used to hate it when she would fix something faster than him, but it had been more than a decade since her skills had made him feel inferior. Dean knew Jo’d be his boss someday, but he wasn’t too worried about those far off futures; Bobby wouldn’t retire unless Ellen made him or killed him first.

“How’s Rufus holding up?” Jo teased, knowing her dad’s old friend was getting worse for the wear, much like John had.

“Stubborn, and as glib as ever. Good thing your dad rehired him, because he’s a bit too mouthy for most customers,” Dean admitted.

    Jo hummed with nostalgia. “I gotta swing by and bug you guys sometime, but it just keeps getting busier.”

    Dean sighed. “I hear that. What’s it been? Labor day? No. I haven’t even seen you since the Fourth. Christ!”

“Yeah, well, you’ll see me next week for Thanksgiving, don’t get too sentimental about it now,” Jo quipped. She took a short sip off the bottle as Dean swirled the last of his second helping.

“I’m seeing someone,” Dean staggered the words, like he wasn’t sure if their meanings and sounds fit together.

Jo sighed dramatically, “Finally, the truth is revealed! What’s up? She’s not pregnant, is she?”

“No.” Dean had to bite back his guffaw. “Definitely not.”

“Okay, then why the sad face? Not pulling a Ruby on ya, I hope?” Jo tested the waters.

“No, it’s--uh--- it’s been good. Really good. I just, kind of need to make up my mind if I’m in it for the long haul. Ya know?” Dean clarified, relaxing with each little confession. 

“Uh-oh it’s getting serious,” Jo mock whispered.

Dean rolled his shoulders. “No, well, it could be. I don’t know.”

Jo giggled. “I can’t believe you! You’re fucking twitterpated, aren’t you?!”

“Jo, if you start making Thumper jokes, I’m shutting up right now,” Dean warned with a pointed finger. “Care to top me off while you’re at it?”

“Okay, okay, gosh.” Jo rolled her eyes dramatically as she poured him another drink before pointedly putting it back on the fridge. “But you’re in deep. You’re all blushy about it.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m ready to go big. It just means they’re willing to put up with me until I say the word,” Dean tried to downplay his feelings and Benny’s confession.

“So do it! Bust out the grand gestures already,” Jo encouraged.

Dean scoffed, “I’m not built for commitment, you know that!”

“Except you kinda are! You’ve changed, Dean,” Jo insisted, head hung to pour her honesty from her eyes. “I don’t know when it happened, but you’re not that reckless boy that I knew. You’ve always been a good guy, but now?---- Maybe it’s been since Sam came home, I don’t know. But somewhere along the way you grew up.---- It’s okay to let yourself want something more, you know.”

Dean grumbled and rolled his neck, breaking the eye contact. She always could do this to him, just like her mother, see straight through his every defense. “I always thought it’d be you, you know?”

Jo smiled without teeth. “Firsts can do that to people. But, we’re not those kids anymore, Dean. So, if you’re asking for my permission or seeking my approval---?”

Dean dropped his head to his hands, thick fingers poorly hiding him from Jo. “It’s a guy, Jo. I’m--- I don’t know--- Bi? I guess?”

“Dean?” Jo waited until he stopped being sheepish and looked at her, even if it was only out of the corner of one eye. “You’ve been head over heels for Cas for years. If you dare tell me this is about him, so help me, I will throw you out right now.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh ruefully at that and toss back what was left of his whiskey. “You saw that, huh?”

She didn’t answer, waiting for him to work through it on his own.

“It’s not Cas.” Dean smacked his lips and held up his glass for a refill. Jo stood and brought the bottle back to the table. Dean poured himself three fingers worth and pondered the sloshing liquid before he continued. “Your mom know?”

Jo licked her lips, cocked her head, and sighed.

Dean closed his eyes and asked, “Bobby? Fuck!--- my mom?!”

“No one has ever said it out loud, Dean. I don’t know who knows, honestly. But we’re family, that doesn’t change.” Jo grasped his wrist firmly, he held her hand to his and then she slapped her other one on top. Time stopped long enough for Dean to accept that his secret was finally out, but also that it was safe.

“I can’t believe I’m talking about this with you, of all people.” Dean thumbed her knuckles, staring into eyes he knew as well as his own.

“Really? Who else would you be talking to about it? Sam? Ash, maybe?” Jo giggled. “I’m honored, actually. It means you stopped hating me.”

Dean pulled his hands away and took another drink. “I never hated you.” 

“Okay, well, maybe it means you stopped hating yourself,” Jo corrected.

Dean’s brows crooked incredulously.

“Too much?” Jo asked apologetically.

Dean shook his head and sighed. “You are your mother’s daughter.”

“Now you’re the one being rude,” Jo muttered before taking a solid drink off the bottle this time.

Dean let himself relax, let the whiskey and conversation work into his muscles and set his worries aside. They talked like the old days and about the old days. Those in between years after high school and before anyone was ready to face responsibility. When half their friends went to college, they had just kept on working. After another hour, Jo leaned back in her chair and started scrutinizing him once again.

“You know how I know you’re happy with what’s his name?” Jo teased.

“Beh--- I didn’t tell you, fuck! Benny, his name is Benny. Goddamnit Joanna Beth,” Dean cursed through a chuckle; more details dragged out of him than he had planned on.

Jo cocked her head and considered the name.“Benny, right. You wanna know how I know?” Jo pushed.

“Fine, how?” Dean held up his hand, beckoning for her to hit him with her response.

“Because this is about the time of night you start giving me the lazy once over. But not tonight,” Jo proclaimed, chin out condescendingly. She had him, every few years they’d find themselves back in each other’s beds, for a night or a weekend and then they’d move on. He always thought of her as his home, his starting point. But maybe they weren’t the same thing at all.

“You still look good, Jo,” Dean replied, trying to save face.

“That’s not what I meant, Dean. Besides, I know!” Jo snarked, straightening her spine and tossing her hair over her shoulder. Dean couldn’t hold in his laughter anymore and it spilled out over a toothy grin, making Jo almost choke on her drink. God, Dean felt like anything was possible. That life was good. 

After the hysterics had calmed down, Dean exhaled. “Thanks, Jo. I needed this.”

“You sure did, nobody else was gonna hand you your ass so kindly,” Jo agreed, standing and taking the bottle and Dean’s glass with her to the counter that held the sink. He whined comically, but knew her timing was right. She leaned back and smirked.

Dean grew quiet and Jo waited to see if it was exhaustion, the alcohol or something else. She didn’t have long to prepare.

“How’m I gonna tell my dad?” Dean asked, the pain and panic pulling at his face until she saw the telltale tears well up.

“Fuck ‘im. I mean it, if your dad can’t get his head out of his ass to see how happy you are, he isn’t worth your time,” Jo said adamantly.

Dean let his thoughts roll to the side of his head and licked his lips, biting against the tremor. He quickly wiped away the tears that escaped and inhaled wet and ragged. Jo slipped to his side and ran her hand through his hair, letting his face fall against her chest as he breathed through the onslaught. Dean couldn’t help but think how motherly the affection felt.

She pulled back to look him over at arms’ length. 

“So what now? You want the couch? Or should I call you a ride? I’m sure Sam owes you one,” Jo asked, as no nonsense as ever.

“I’ll be fine,” Dean dismissed her concern, rubbing up his face to wipe off his nose.

“Well, you ain't driving.” Jo held up his keys. Dean blanched, feeling his pockets for them, fruitlessly. He stood to snatch them, but she had already skipped across the kitchen, too far to catch. “Nuh-uh, no way I’m letting you risk your baby. Or your thick skull in this weather.”

 Dean put his hands on his hips, and blinked through the dizziness. He realized he hadn’t stood in a few hours. “Sam.”

“What’s that?” Jo prodded mischievously, ear leaning in as if she couldn’t hear him.

“Very funny. Call Sam, will ya?” Dean rolled his eyes as she scrolled through her contacts, murmuring the names under her breath. His keys were raised in victory, as if he couldn’t reach them above her head. He could have snagged them in an instant, if he wanted to.

 While Jo woke Sam, Dean checked his own phone. Ignoring some texts from his mom and Cas, he selected the conversation with Benny. There were no new messages since that morning. Dean hesitated before relocking his screen.

“Sam’ll be here in twenty. You want something to eat? I’ve got chips.” Jo offered, opening the cupboard.

Tagging: @flamencodiva​ @dolphincliffs​ @dontshootmespence​ @fookinghelljensensthighs​ @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @wingedcatninja​ @defenderrosetyler​ @ericaprice2008  @crashdevlin​  @mylovelydame21 @cajunquandary​ @itmighthavebeenintentional​​ @thoughtslikeaminefield​ @there-must-be-a-lock @tatted-trina6​ @cracksinthewalls​ @atc74​​

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Tell me what you thought?

Part 10: Spit it Out

[gummyvitamin]

𝑸𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆 + 𝑾𝒂𝒚𝑽 𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔: 𝑻𝒆𝒏

♡ 𝒌𝒖𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒘𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒂𝒔 𝒙𝒊𝒂𝒐𝒋𝒖𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒈

college classmate!ten x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff; college au; friends to lovers

words: 619

*disclaimer: this post is not at all meant to undermine the severity of the pandemic; this is meant to help cheer up those who are bored or in low spirits because of quarantine. it is so so important to be mindful and do what we can to stop the spread. stay safe, please please wash your hands frequently, and help protect others by avoiding public spaces, wearing a mask and maintaining social distancing :)

uve been stuck at home for over 3 months now

and each day that passed by only left u feeling worse and worse

online school had drained u of all of ur motivation

u hadn’t met up with ur friends in what seemed like forever

and oh my god if u have to stare at that same my hero academia poster on ur bedroom wall for just one more day ur gonna /lose it/

but the Only Thing stopping u from combusting in the hellfire that is isolation is ur best friend ten

u hadn’t been able to meet up in person ever since u both got sent home from university 

but u never once felt like u had lost touch with him

because every single day, without missing a beat, ten would facetime u from his home with his cats by his side

and u would just watch him play with them for hours like cmon ~serotonin~

like sometimes he’s proudly showing off the new cat toy he had made 

and other times he’s just got them on his lap purring in the background while u both just talk about ~life~

and once his cats had had enough they would just yeet themselves out of his lap making u laugh at him on the other side of the screen

but u honestly really appreciated that fact that he would share this time with u everyday

and ten absolutely knew how important this daily call was for u bc he knew how much isolation was affecting u

(plus it gives him a chance to see u all cute and smiley😳)

like sometimes ur conversations would just go on and on and on

but u had absolutely no complaints! in fact u really enjoyed it

bc talking about the “insane plot twist !!” of some new show or how ur banana bread recipe ended in the smoke alarm going off just like,,,restored some of ur humanity during such a stressful and uncertain time :’)

and ngl the more u both talk, the more ur just looking at him like “wait aha he’s like,,,kinda cute and mad respectful😳”

and today tens just sitting there with a cat cradled in his arms, gently petting its head while its snuggling up to his chest all nice and comfy🥺

and ur just kinda zoning out watching the scene in front of u bc ten is just so pretty whattttt

he sees u lookin kinda dazed and is just like “u okay? if ur tired u can hang up”

and u just snap out of it and r like “haha sorry ur just so cute:’)”

wait /shit/ u just said that out loud u fool

ur about to attempt to cover for ur slip up by being all like “nO i mEanT uR cAt aHa”

but ten beats u to it and is just there smirking like “LOLL I know right?😏”

and ur this close to reaching thru the screen and clocking him in the face

but then he’s like “but ur really cute too ya know,,” and u could tell he was being /100% serious/

and ur like wait really👉👈 and he just laughs and says “if I didn’t like u too do u think I’d spend so much of my own precious time calling u every day?”

which is Very True lol 

and u were so shook at how casually that exchange went

but the whole thing just felt so natural and u knew u would always feel comfy and safe with him by ur side

and now u couldn’t wait to be able to see him and his cats (but mostly his cats) in person again bc wowie he’s just so great:’)

[vicandsade]

1941-12-12 - Mr. Buller’s Christmas Gifts: (alternate titles: 34 Christmas Gifts for $20, Christmas Shopping for Mr. Buller)

[See additional commentary at The Crazy World of Vic and Sade]

[hear the episode here or here]

We have three familiar Vic & Sade tropes here: 1) an episode whose structure seems to be an excuse for Paul Rhymer to make up a list of hilarious names and addresses; 2) one of Vic’s bosses making an egregious violation of boundaries; and 3) Christmas as a source of social strain. We also have a theme that is less commented, but is something I remember talking about with my grandma when I interviewed her about Vic & Sade: it’s a show from the 1940s, a time when women were relegated to a few traditional roles, but were slowly beginning to challenge them. It’s a show written primarily for an audience of women, who were the ones at home during the day listening. And, while it was written by a man, he seemed to understand so much about what women were experiencing.

If your news feed is even a little feministy, like mine, you may have heard that “Society is finally beginning to notice the issue of mental load, and the very gendered nature of it”. Well, here, all the way back in 1941, we have an episode that is all about the unacknowledged mental load -- or "women’s work,” as it might’ve been called back then. Also known as “lady stuff.”

SADE: Nuisance? It’s a lot more than just a nuisance. It’s a big mean job of work.

VIC: Well, I didn’t know, kiddo.

SADE: No, you never know. That’s the “man” of it.

VIC: Most trivial thing in the world. Handed me a wad of bills and said, “Gook, here’s twenty dollars. Next time the missus goes shoppin’, ask her to pick me up a few Christmas presents and mail them.”

SADE: Oh!

VIC: Well, that’s not much of a chore, is it?

SADE: I hafta pick out a buncha presents, wrap ‘em, address ‘em, mail ‘em, huh?

VIC: Well, I never thought anything about it, Sade. I imagined it was something you could maybe do in five minutes.

Mr. Buller is being really gross, Vic is being dense, and Sade is right to be wrathful. He shows a complete lack of awareness of a) what kinds of things his close relatives might like, b) how much stuff costs, c) how much time and effort and thought and personal knowledge Christmas shopping for this many people takes, d) and WRAPPING, e) and MAILING, f) and how much postage costs... This stuff isn’t trivial. And because Buller is unaware of what the work actually involves, he has not given Sade anywhere near enough information to complete the task well. Sade is supposed to know what to buy everyone based purely on their names and addresses, using her magical female brain, and be able to stretch $20 between 34 people (okay, so that’s about $350 in 2020 dollars, which sounds like a lot, but subtract a chunk for postage and you’re left with about ten bucks a person -- not nothing, but not much). 

But Vic is a good guy. As soon as he sees how mad Sade is, he admits he’s wrong (“Okay. I’m a fathead.”), even though he still doesn’t quite understand why. As Sade asks him pointed questions and he realizes how little he’s thought this through, he begins to see what he’s gotten her into. At the end, they are a perfect team again: Vic volunteers to do the mailing and wrapping, and Sade, her mood improved by the pure ridiculousness of some of the names on Buller’s list, accepts Vic’s suggestion to just buy everyone handkerchiefs. Problem solved.

Also of note: this is apparently the first use of the name Ishigan (Hishigan?) Fishigan from Sishigan Michigan, who will come up frequently later on as a personal friend of Uncle Fletcher’s. 

Transcript

ANNOUNCER: Well sir, it’s early evening as we enter the small house halfway up in the next block now, and here in the living room we find Mr. and Mrs. Victor Gook. Vic has apparently said something to upset his wife, because she’s regarding him wrathfully. Listen.

SADE: Nuisance? It’s a lot more than just a nuisance. It’s a big mean job of work. 

VIC: Well, I didn’t know, kiddo.

SADE: No, you never know. That’s the “man” of it.

VIC: Most trivial thing in the world. Handed me a wad of bills and said, “Gook, here’s twenty dollars. Next time the missus goes shoppin’, ask her to pick me up a few Christmas presents and mail them.”

SADE: Oh!

VIC: Well, that’s not much of a chore, is it?

SADE: I hafta pick out a buncha presents, wrap ‘em, address ‘em, mail ‘em, huh?

VIC: Well, I never thought anything about it, Sade. I imagined it was something you could maybe do in five minutes. 

SADE: Uh, that’s the “man” of it. I bet if somebody give you a bucket of paint and a brush and said “Next time the missus is down on Center Street, ask her to put a coupla coats of green paint on the People’s Bank Buildin’,” you’d take it.

VIC: Oh, hey! A ray of sunshine! Buller wants you to buy yourself a Christmas present. He’ll pay ya for your trouble.

SADE: What kind of a Christmas present?

VIC: Any kind you want, I guess. Take it out of the twenty dollars.

SADE: [disgusted] Oh, Vic.

VIC: Okay. I’m a fathead.

SADE: How many Christmas presents am I supposed to pick out?

VIC: I got a list here in my pocket.

SADE: Well, let’s see it.

VIC: Buller says, “I’m a bachelor, Gook. I don’t know what to buy for people. Think your missus’d help me out?”

SADE: Is that the list?

VIC: Yeah. Uh, “Mr. and Mis’ R.K. Lieferts, 1109 West Kilgore Avenue, Pittsburgh, Ohio.”

SADE: Well, who are Mr. and Mis’ R.K. Lieferts 1109 West Kilgore Avenue Pittsburgh Ohio?

VIC: I dunno.

SADE: Are they Mr. Buller’s cousins or uncles or in-laws or something?

VIC: [sheepish chuckle] I dunno.

SADE: What shall I buy for them?

VIC: Oh, heck.

SADE: How much shall I spend on them?

VIC: Well, have a heart, kiddo.

SADE: Read the next name.

VIC: If I’m to be tortured and made miserable over this, I’m almost tempted to take the job on myself.

SADE: [laughs] You go right ahead.

VIC: It don’t strike me as such a task, walkin’ in a department store and pickin’ up a few odds and ends.

SADE: Don’t it?

VIC: No.

SADE: Read the next name on the list.

VIC: Uh, “Cyril, May, Eugene, Agnes, Harry, and Edna Gooding, Rural Route 8, Minneapolis, Minnesota.”

SADE: Is that all one family? 

VIC: I s’pose. All got the same last name, Gooding.

SADE: Are they children?

VIC: I dunno.

SADE: Does Mr. Buller want 'em each to have a separate present, or does he want just a single present for the whole outfit?

VIC: I expect you can use your own judgment on that. ‘Cause he says, “Tell the missus she’s a free agent, Gook. Won’t make the slightest difference to me what she picks out.”

SADE: Read off them names again.

VIC:  “Cyril, May, Eugene, Agnes, Harry, and Edna Gooding.”

SADE: Six cigars, or shall I buy baby rattles?

VIC: Well, I imagine they’re children.

SADE: Do ya? What makes you imagine that?

VIC: They sound like children.

SADE: “Sound like”?

VIC: Oh, seven, maybe?

SADE: Brothers and sisters, you s’pose? 

VIC: Yeah. 

SADE: Six brothers and sisters, all age seven. Boy, there’s an outfit that’s got that Canadian family with their quintuplets backed off the map.

VIC: Send ‘em handkerchiefs. You can’t go wrong on handkerchiefs no matter what their age is.

SADE: Any others on your list?

VIC: Uh, quite a few more.

SADE: Uh.

VIC: “Mr. and Mis’ Margaret Gack, 218 South Union Boulevard, [Humphrey Sidin’], Michigan.”

SADE: Mr. and Mrs. Margaret Gack?

VIC: That’s what Buller’s got jotted down here.

SADE: Is the man’s name Margaret?

VIC: I presume.

SADE: What kind of a Christmas present would you pick out for a Mr. Margaret Gack?

VIC: Handkerchief.

SADE: Handkerchief for Mrs. Margaret Gack too?

VIC: Sure.

SADE: Oh.

VIC: “Miss Olive Soppers, 213,529 North Oak Street, Seattle, Iowa.” [quietly] That can’t be right...

SADE: Miss Olive Soppers lives at 213,529 North Oak Street.

VIC: [chuckles] That can’t be right.

SADE: Her home must be right near the edge of town.

VIC: Buller musta made a mistake.

SADE: When are you gonna see Buller again?

VIC: Sometime in January.

SADE: Oh.

VIC: “Cora, Mildred, Arnold, Alan, and Bertie Feech. Anderson, Wyoming.”

SADE: Brothers and sisters?

VIC: I imagine.

SADE: What age do they sound like?

VIC: Oh, heck, kiddo...

SADE: Twenty-two?

VIC: My handkerchief idea is a solution to this whole business. Everybody uses handkerchiefs.

SADE: Read me some more nice names.

VIC: Uhh, “Reverend Griswold J. Fix...Fix...” Holy smoke. 

SADE: What’s the matter?

VIC: This name. I can’t pronounce it. F, I, X, O, L, M, H, T, H, R, Y. “Fixolmhthry,” I guess.  “Reverend Griswold J. Fixolmhthry.”

SADE: Where does he live? Nineteen million six hundred and eight thousand four hundred and two West Grove Street? 

VIC: Lives at 716 Creeper Boulevard, Yatchman, Texas.

SADE: Suppose he’d like a nice handkerchief?

VIC: Probably be charmed with a nice handkerchief.

SADE: Is that all the people?

VIC: No, uh... “Emmett Chindle, Jr. and Moses.”

SADE: Moses?

VIC: Yeah.

SADE: Who’s Moses?

VIC: Maybe his little boy.

SADE: Or his horse, or his dog, or his butler, or his uncle.

VIC: Well, it was awful sloppy, the way he jotted down these names. 

SADE: Uh.

VIC: “Emmett Chindle, Jr. and Moses, Room 619, Indianapolis, Wisconsin.”

SADE: Room...619, Indianapolis, Wisconsin?

VIC: Yeah.

SADE: That’s some dandy address. 

VIC: Emmett Chindle, Jr. and Moses probably live in some hotel and Buller carelessly forgot to put it down.

SADE: Uh-huh.

VIC: “Cyril, May, Eugene, Agnes, Harry, and Edna Jackson, Rural Route Ten, Funnel Orchard, Montana.”

SADE: Well, that’s the same outfit you read before.

VIC: Uh-uh.

SADE: Well, sure it is! Look up at the top of your list there.

VIC: Oh, uh...

SADE: Well, I remember those names.

VIC: Oh, no, by George! 

SADE: Sure. Cyril, May, Eugene, Agnes, Harry...

VIC: Whoa, wait a minute. The people up at the top of the list are named Gooding. And they live in Minnesota. This other gang’s name is Jackson, and they live in Montana.

SADE: Both outfits got the same bunch of first names? 

VIC: Yeah. “Cyril, May, Eugene, Agnes, Harry, and Edna Gooding. Rural Route 8, Minneapolis, Minnesota.” And down here, “Cyril, May, Eugene, Agnes, Harry, and Edna Jackson. Rural Route 10, Funnel Orchard, Montana.”

SADE: Quite a coincidence.

VIC: Yeah. 

SADE: Any more nice people?

VIC: Uh, “Culvert C. Culvert, Culvert Culvert Company, Culvert Buildin’, 2126 Culvert Street, Culvert, Kentucky.”

SADE: Oh, come now!

VIC: No, that’s down here!

SADE: Let’s see once.

VIC: Hm.  “Culvert C. Culvert, Culvert Culvert Company, Culvert Buildin’, 2126 Culvert Street, Culvert, Kentucky.”

SADE: [gasp] Hey, look at all those names!

VIC: Is quite a few.

SADE: How much money did Mr. Buller give ya?

VIC: Twenty dollars.

SADE: And outta that twenty dollars’ll hafta come postage and everything.

VIC: Well, twenty dollars oughta stretch out okay if you buy handkerchiefs. I should think twenty dollars would last--

[telephone rings]

SADE: Telephone’s ringin’, telephone’s ringin’. I’ll get it.

VIC: Fred and Ruthie.

SADE: Wouldn’t be surprised. Feel like five hundred?

VIC: Sure. “Mr. and Mrs. Joel Eggwalk, Wilkers, South Dakota.”

SADE: Suppose those people are all Mr. Buller’s relations?

VIC: I imagine a good many are.

SADE: [answers phone] Yes? Oh, yes, Fred! Just had an idea it was you. [pause]  No, not a thing in the world. [pause] Why, I bet we’d jump at the chance. [pause] Sure. [pause] All right, Fred, we’ll be lookin’ for ya. [pause] You bet, Fred. You bet. [pause] Goodbye, Fred. [hangs up] He has to pump up a tire. They’ll be here in half an hour or so.

VIC: Uh-huh. Here’s some relations.

SADE: Uh?

VIC: “Glenn, Stover, Helen, Willis, and Farstaw Buller, 560 West Wilk Street, Mexico City, Connecticut.”

SADE: Hm.

VIC: Here’s the last name on the list.

SADE: Hm.

VIC: “Ishigan Fishigan, Sishigan, Michigan.”

SADE: [bursts out laughing] What?

VIC: [laughing] The fella’s name is Fishigan. First name is Ishigan. Lives in a town called Sishigan. It’s in Michigan.

SADE: [laughing] Oh, no!

VIC: [laughing] Yeah! Ishigan Fishigan, Sishigan, Michigan! 

SADE: [laughing] Oh, my stars!

VIC: I’m glad to see your good humor’s restored, Sadie.

SADE: [laughing] Uh-huh. How many names on that list?

VIC: Uh, thirty-four. Can ya...get thirty-four good handkerchiefs for twenty bucks?

SADE: [still laughing] Oh, sure. 

VIC: How much you estimate the postage’ll cost?

SADE: Oh, say five dollars.

VIC: Leaves fifteen dollars for handkerchiefs.

SADE: Uh-huh.

VIC: Well, that’s in the neighborhood of, uh...forty-five cents per handkerchief. Can ya get a pretty good grade handkerchief for forty-five cents?

SADE: Oh, get wonderful handkerchiefs for forty-five cents. 

VIC: I’ll...handle the mailin’ and stuff.

SADE: All right.

VIC: I’ll help ya wrap the packages, too, if you’ll handle the addressin’.

SADE: [chuckles] All right.

VIC: I like to do favors for Buller, because after all, he’s a big shot in the company, and he can--

[telephone rings]

SADE: Telephone’s ringin’, telephone’s ringin’.

VIC: Eh. Good old “Kindly Keep Off The Grass,” “Never Look a Gift Horse In the Mouth,” trustworthy Bluetooth Johnson. 

SADE: Bluetooth is with Rush down at the YMCA. 

VIC: Hm.

SADE: [answers phone] Yes?  [pause] Oh, yes, Fred. [pause] Oh, now, hey! [pause] No, but you’re always treating! [pause] Well, all right. [chuckles] If you wanna throw your lovely spondulix to the four winds. [to VIC] What flavor ice cream ya want?

VIC: Maple.

SADE: Why do you constantly say maple? You appreciate Fred despises maple.

VIC: Tutti frutti.

SADE: He despises tutti frutti also. 

VIC: What don’t he despise?

SADE: Chocolate.

VIC: Okay. Chocolate. 

SADE: [on phone] Fred? [pause] Vic is shoutin’ and screamin’ his head off clamorin’ for chocolate flavor. [pause] Yes. [pause] Yes. [pause] Fine. [pause] All righty, Fred. [pause] Goodbye. [hangs up] “Maple!”

VIC: Well, heck!

SADE: [giggles] How’s that young lady’s address there on Mr. Buller’s list that lives so far out?

VIC: Uh, “Miss Olive Soppers, 213,529 North Oak Street, Seattle, Iowa.”

SADE: [chuckles] And who are the people who live in the room? 

VIC: “Emmett Chindle, Jr. and Moses, Room 619, Indianapolis, Wisconsin.”

SADE: [laughing] And the culvert fella?

VIC: “Culvert C. Culvert, Culvert Culvert Company, Culvert Building, 2126 Culvert Street, Culvert, Kentucky.”

SADE: [laughing] And the man that’s name and address and everything all rhyme?

VIC: “Mr. Ishigan Fishigan of Sishigan, Michigan.”

ANNOUNCER: Which concludes another brief interlude at that small house halfway up in the next block. But be sure to come along when we visit Vic and Sade the next time.