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Alonzo and Toe signed the handwritten document. The waste managers bore witness. Then Ruddy had to sign as the buyer. He took a good four minutes, as he proudly printed his new USA name, which was barely legible: Ruddy Whore. This rattled the Shoesingsmiths a trifle. Alonzo and Toe gave each other that “oh, oh,” look, then they looked at the money bag. Alonzo shrugged. “Fuck it, we’re good to go.”

Then the witnesses signed: Washington Goldwater Reagan and K.Y. Des Moines. Alonzo, being in his pajama bottoms, had no spare change for a tip for the two accommodating witnesses. He whispered to Ruddy about “a little something for the gentlemen teamsters?” Ruddy didn’t go to the bag, but reached in his pocket and pulled out a messy ball of bills.

Turning his back to Alonzo, Toe and the two witnesses, he totally forgot about his bare butt problem. He separated out from his wad two $1,000 bills. Ruddy turned around. He wondered why they were all looking away, except for Toe, who winked at him with an “Oh, wow.” Ruddy handed each of the garbage men a thousand dollar bill (over their shoulder) and said, “You gentle stinky up pick men thank much.”

K.Y. Des Moines was incredulous: “Is this real?”

Washington Goldwater Reagan, who was leading the way back to the truck, mumbled to his partner, “Shuddup and keep walkin’. Ummm, umm, this day has started out real fine.”

Alonzo ran four copies off of the “bill of sale” on his sputtering copier. He gave Ruddy the original and three copies. Alonzo, being a fair man, cautioned Ruddy, “Put those someplace safe.” Ruddy obeyed and stuffed them deep in a front pocket of his buttless overalls.

Alonzo dumped the money on the dining room table. They counted it twice. It was all there. Four hundred one thousand dollar bills.

Then Ruddy threw the Shoesingsmiths a curve: “We move today in. You take and go money Florida today.”

They were stunned at first. “Ruddy, that’s absurd. We can’t just—” Alonzo stopped in mid-sentence and looked at Toe. “Do you need anything you can’t get in a suitcase?”

Toe said, “Let’s go, Alonzo. Call the airline, and then put that money someplace safe.” They gave Ruddy all the keys. And then Toe remembered: “Oh, by the way, Ruddy. There’s a two-year-old Cadillac in the garage if you want it. We can’t drive anymore because we’ve gotten so many tickets for driving too slow.”

Ruddy was very grateful. “Yes, I license new have. Thank. You may have sticky of the duck?”

Alonzo figured out Ruddy wanted some duct tape. Toe found a half a roll in a kitchen and gave it to Ruddy. They said their goodbyes on the front porch. Toe shed a tear as they watched their Santa Claus walk down his new driveway, bare-assed, amongst the goats, to the gate, which Toe started to open for Ruddy. Alonzo yelled to Toe, “Wait.” They watched as Ruddy climbed up on the gate and retrieved the seat of his overalls and two pieces of white cloth that had been his boxer shorts. Ruddy dropped his overalls and sat down buck-naked from the waist down, and duct-taped the seat of his overalls back on. Then he carefully aligned the two pieces of his boxer shorts and taped them securely. He stood. His bareness glistened in the early-morning sun. He gracefully slipped into his shorts. The duct tape was a bit rough on his scrotum. He pulled on the overalls. The taped-up seat gave him some sort of a “hip” look. Only after Ruddy was fully dressed did Toe leave to open the gate: she didn’t want to miss one second of Ruddy’s nakedness. Ruddy turned toward the Shoesingsmiths and waved. He shooed the goats back, and off to work he went, with a new house deep in his pocket. Alonzo watched with Toe as their Mr. Too-Good-to-Be-True walked away with a bounce to his step and a duct-taped ass. Alonzo looked at Toe and asked seriously, “Are we shit-fuck nuts?”

Toe grabbed Alonzo’s wrinkled ass. “Yes. C’mon, big boy. Let’s go to fuckin’ Florida.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“asshole whorp…”

Ruddy arrived at work right on time. He was busting to tell Frarn and all his co-workers about his new house and his new USA name. But he was met at the entrance by Frarn and Mauricerd Chifforobey, the Vice President in Charge of Plant Maintenance. They rushed Ruddy into Chifforobey’s office. Ruddy noticed a large framed picture of Zip on the wall behind Chifforobey’s desk. They sat Ruddy down in front of the big shiny desk. He felt a bit uneasy. Frarn patted Ruddy on the shoulder and said, “Relax, Ruddy. It’s good news.”

Chifforobey smiled at Ruddy and reached across the wide desk to shake hands with him. “Congratulations, Ruddy. You’re the new foreman of Maintenance Operations.”

Ruddy felt a brief out-of-body experience. “But Frarn job his I no job Frarn’s?”

Frarn stepped up. “It’s okay, Ruddy. I’ve been promoted to Vice President in Charge of Production, so it’s a happy day for both of us.”

Ruddy was almost delirious with all these wonderful things happening to him. “USA love Ruddy quick. Thank Mister Chibbo, and Frarn friend America USA make one me happy Ruddy Whore.” Frarn and Mauricerd Chifforobey were a little stupefied, but shrugged and laughed heartily at Ruddy’s “joke.”

Mauricerd, with a fatherly smile, and arms around Frarn and Ruddy, said, “Well, fellas, enough of this lovey-dovey bullshit. Let’s go make some steel.” He led the way back into the plant.

When Ruddy returned to his work area, his co-workers applauded him. “Way to go, Ruddy,” they said. They liked this strange man. No one made mention of his duct-taped ass.

They had grown to expect the unexpected from Ruddy.

When Zip and Dollette returned home after their little trip, they were shocked to hear about the move, but were happy for their “Whormkovdovskivichykchevs.” Layzee proudly corrected them. “No more long, long name. Now we Mr. and Mrs. Whore—USA name.” She beamed.

The initial shock to Zip and Dollette was tempered by Layzee’s obvious bliss.

Zip tried to talk to both Ruddy and Layzee about the “name problem,” but there was no way he could make them understand. They saw nothing wrong with the meaning. Ruddy reasoned, “Woman good sell woman money make to happy man happy, not bad? I Whore make happy Layzee very I cheap happy too?”

Layzee laughed and gave Ruddy a hug, nearly squashing Swetty. They were so happy at the time that Zip didn’t want to burst their bubble. They had a new home (with goats), Ruddy’s promotion, and Butty’s meteoric rise from kindergarten to fourth grade. The Whores were in a zone of USA euphoria. So Zip just avoided the problem. He rationalized, “As they learn the seamy side of life, they’ll make up their own minds.”

As far as the new home and “how in the hell” Ruddy had pulled it off, Zip was completely “befuddle fucked.” He figured some bank must have given him a shady deal, especially with his promotion. Ruddy’s foreman salary was $85,000 a year. Zip then thought, “I’m bullshittin’ myself. Aw, fuck it. It’s beyond my little brain.”

“Buddy Whooray? Buddy Hoosay? Buddy Waurez? Whoohey? Buddy….” The fourth grade teacher calling the roll of her new class was trying to convince herself it was a Spanish name.

“Do you mean Butty Whore? B-U-T-T-Y W-H-O-R-E?” The question came from the last row, straight down the aisle from the teacher’s desk. The young prissy teacher blushed profusely. The fourth graders giggled at first, and that built into squealing laughter when they turned around and saw this little guy with the weird name.

Butty stood up amid the hilarity and addressed the class. “My name is Butty Whore. I came from kindergarten to fourth grade because I’m smart.” (Butty had lost all traces of an accent. He spoke clearly and correctly). Butty continued, to an attentive, silent class, “I’ve been on two nuclear submarines and I was awarded the Captain Jab Nads Navy Cross, a medal for actions above and beyond the call of duty.” The teacher was dumbfounded. She did not interrupt the diminutive orator. “I’ve fought dark beasts in a dirty boxcar. I’m happy to be in the USA and to be in this class. Thank you, Miss MacPekkancy, for having me.”

Butty smiled at the teacher and sat down. Miss MacPekkancy squirmed a little and cleared her throat. “Okay, let’s get started.”

The 32-year-old virgin schoolmarm was clearly intimidated. Butty was very attentive in class. He never raised his hand to answer a question, even though he knew all the answers. When he was called on, he answered quickly and correctly. He was far ahead of the class. He got all A’s, and his conduct was perfect. However, the conduct part was in flux. The class resented this little know-it-all, and so did Miss MacPekkancy. Little Butty sensed the antipathy.

One day, about three weeks after Butty entered the class, Miss MacPekkancy decided to have a show and tell day. The students were all to bring something to class that was out of the ordinary and to tell a short story about it. Butty wore his Jab Nads Navy Cross to class and gave a thrilling account of how he had earned it (much abridged). He then boldly walked up and down the aisles with the medal hanging from his neck so the students could get a close look and feel the heavy, handmade medal, made from the shell casings of 50-caliber bullets. Butty definitely had the best story—by a considerable margin. However, Miss MacPekkancy thought Butty must have been lying, so she gave the best grade to Beulah Frival for her story about buying her new lacy pink dress, which she was wearing, with pink patent leather shoes to match.

After school that same day, Butty was accosted by the class super bully, Stoner Cloktoyd. Stoner had flunked first grade and third grade twice, so he was really big for a fourth grader, and older: he was 12. Butty was still four, and small for his age. Stoner threw Butty down hard on the pavement in front of the school building. He yanked Butty’s Jab Nads Navy Cross off over Butty’s head, nearly pulling Butty’s ears off with it. Stoner slung the medal with the ribbon streaming from it toward the busy street. The heavy medal struck a speeding motorcyclist on the forehead just above his right eye. The trailing ribbon circled his neck and brought the medal back for another blow, this time between the eyes. The speeding motorcyclist, now unconscious, with his screaming lady companion behind him, crashed though a fruit market and on into a bathhouse next door, ending up in a steaming pool full of naked fat people. The cyclist floated on his back, out cold, wearing Butty’s Jab Nads Navy Cross. There were no fatalities.

Stoner quickly left the scene of the crime, limping badly. Butty had managed one hell of a good kick to Stoner’s right shin in the brief scuffle. Stoner would wear a cast from his foot to just below his knee for three months.

After the attack, Butty lay on his back on the rough pavement, trying to get his bearings. He noticed Miss MacPekkancy peeking out one of the classroom windows on the second floor. Butty stood up, a little shaky, and waved to her. She quickly ducked away from the window without returning the wave.

Butty walked home, very concerned about the loss of his Jab Nads Navy Cross. He had not the slightest concern for his bloody nose or his badly skinned elbows and knees.

The medal was quickly traced back to Butty, thanks to Miss MacPekkancy, who lied about who the culprit really was. She, being the only witness to the melee, did not even mention Stoner. Butty caught all kinds of hell, but never implicated Stoner. Ruddy paid the damages, not believing for a second that Butty was to blame. Butty did get his Jab Nads Navy Cross back. The ribbon was torn.

The incident was not mentioned in class by Miss MacPekkancy. Stoner gave some evil looks to Butty, but didn’t press his luck, because the little “smart ass” had kept Stoner’s name out of it. Stoner’s cast was very itchy.

Things went pretty well the next few weeks. Butty, however, didn’t forget. It was video day in class, and Miss MacPekkancy asked Stoner to go to the class closet in the back of the room and get the video monitor and bring it to her desk. She would always ask Stoner to do this because no one else in the class, including the teacher, could lift the 24-inch 45-pound chunk of electronics. So the big, strong class bully, with cast thumping, limped to the back of the room proudly, chest puffed out, showing off to his girlfriend, Beulah Frival, who was a vision in her new pink lace dress and pink patent leather shoes. Beulah sat like a little princess in the front row. Stoner lifted the 24-inch monitor, along with the disc player and a swarm of cords and plugs, all balanced on top of the monitor. Stoner grunted and started to the front. Miss MacPekkancy was clearing her desk to make room for the bulky monitor. Miss MacPekkancy summoned the class’s attention. “Today we’re going to watch a baby alligator hatching….”

As Stoner walked by Butty, he whispered, “Asshole Whorpp—” but he doesn’t finish his nasty remark. Butty had put his little Nike-clad foot out just enough to catch Stoner’s big toe sticking out of the cast. The bully started stumbling up the aisle, trying desperately to catch his balance, but the thrust of the heavy monitor kept pulling him forward faster, faster and faster, the whole 25 feet to Miss MacPekkancy’s desk, which he hit like a truck. The monitor jumped into the teacher’s lap like a cannonball. It knocked her over backward, along with her chair, against the blackboard. At the same instant Stoner had hit the desk at full throttle he did a somersault with a crazy twist over the desk and landed on top of the exploding monitor which was on top of a screaming Miss MacPekkancy. The whole load now smashed all the way to the floor. They hit with a room-rattling thump, followed by some harsh crashing sounds, as the rest of the video equipment rained down. “Ohhhh, why God, why?” Miss MacPekkancy moaned. Stoner’s screams were suddenly cut off—he’d ended up all twisted around, with his face buried deep between Miss MacPekkancy’s abundant thighs. His legs kicked desperately as he tried to free himself, but his chunky body was wedged upside-down, sandwiched by the desk and the monitor and a whole lot of cords and plaster from his broken cast. Miss MacPekkancy was on the bottom of all this, pinned by the weight of the monitor and Stoner’s nosedive. Her legs were splayed, dangling in mid-air; they bracketed Stoner’s stubby legs, which had gone limp. A muffled, blubbery cry was heard; and Stoner sank even deeper into no man’s land.

In a matter of seconds it was over.

There was a moment of eerie silence. Then Miss MacPekkancy started to scream maniacally, “Get off me, you clumsy idiot, imbecile, moron.” Stoner was so tightly wedged he couldn’t breathe; his face was totally submerged, allowing for no air.

There was the sound of a plunger unplugging a toilet bowl when Stoner finally broke free. He staggered around in circles, whimpering like a baby. Butty noticed that Stoner’s face was bloody and that he was making choking sounds, and gagging. Snot was flying as he whirled around crazily, his eyes bulging.

Butty jumped up and ran to the crazed Stoner. He somehow managed to hug him from the back. Holding him tightly, he gave a jerk, which actually lifted Stoner off the floor. Stoner continued to panic, spinning, bucking, running, jumping. He was out of control, but Butty hung on. Stoner rammed into the front of little Beulah Frival’s desk. She cowered. Stoner halted for a moment. Butty repeated the Heimlich Maneuver three more times. The third time did it. As Stoner fell backward, with Butty clinging to him like a monkey, Stoner made a loud, raw, room-shaking puke sound. Out shot a bloody tube of cotton with a little string tail. It looped nearly to the ceiling and landed with a splat on Beulah Frival’s desk and rolled into her lap, seriously soiling her pretty pink lace dress. She screamed for a solid hour until her mouth kept moving, but no sound was coming out.

Miss MacPekkancy somehow had slipped out of the classroom unnoticed during Butty’s life-saving action. Stoner went to a corner of the room, bawling like a newborn calf, “My face is bleeding, my face is bleeding, my face is—isn’t it?”

Butty stood in the debris behind the absent Miss MacPekkancy’s desk, his head barely above the desktop, and announced in his most serious tone, “Class dismissed.”

Stoner never returned after that fateful day. His parents sent him to live among the Hutterites.

The week following the classroom cataclysm, a substitute teacher took over for the temporarily indisposed Miss MacPekkancy. He was a graduate student at Princeton University, going for his doctorate in astrophysics—a Mr. Willie Einstein Mississippi. “I’m Mr. Willie” were his first words to the class. Butty liked Mr. Willie a lot, and by the end of the first day, Mr. Willie realized the little guy was something special. Mr. Willie and Butty spent most of the week discussing the theory of relativity, black holes, the big bang, dark matter and quantum entanglement, while the rest of the class practiced their times tables.

Ruddy had told Zip and Dollette the whole story about the magic rock and roll evening in Gubxermn. Zip told Ruddy that all those performers were of an era gone by, unfortunately—buried by hype and glitzy music videos of blah music called pop. Zip reassured the Whores that the great stuff still existed, and that all the gods of rhythm and blues would live forever on CDs. Zip helped Ruddy and Layzee start a collection. Zip also set them up with some state-of-the-art equipment. Ruddy loved it loud. “Ears make good hurt, rock and roll USA ever for.” Ruddy and Layzee listened every evening to the great music that made their grueling journey worth it.

Ruddy would philosophize. “Rock and roll make bad good feel.”

Layzee understood what Ruddy meant; she interpreted for Zip and Dollette: “When you’re feeling low, rock and roll lifts you up.”

The list was long of great rhythm and blues. They kept adding to their collection until they filled one whole room with vintage vinyl, 45s, tapes and CDs. The Whores could listen until they “all rock and roll we hear and dead we.” They laughed and loved.

Layzee had quit nursing Swetty and put her on a bottle. A lot of people were disappointed. The butcher, the grocery clerks, the pharmacist, the guys at the gas station. Any place Layzee had shopped or run errands, her tit had always been out with the little one attached. Layzee finally quit nursing after Dollette invited her to join her bowling team. At first, Layzee stubbornly tried to bowl with little Swetty latched on like a wolverine. The pain had been horrendous. Also, Layzee had learned to drive the Caddy so generously included in Ruddy’s deal with the Shoesingsmiths. Layzee hadn’t been aware that driving while nursing was strictly against the law. Before Layzee gave up nursing while driving, she had been instrumental in several automobile accidents. One in particular involved a huge truck carrying seven new fully equipped luxurious silver Rolls-Royces. The gawking driver lost control when the nursing Layzee passed him. He tore up 200 yards of steel guardrail before he went off the bridge. The rig and the seven Rolls-Royces fell into a passing pig iron barge. It was a mess. The driver miraculously leaped from the falling load and swam to shore where he fled on foot.

Little Butty had mastered the language. He had no accent and spoke clearly and correctly. His vocabulary was growing rapidly, and his knowledge was far ahead of his contemporaries. Layzee also had lost most of her accent and spoke well. Ruddy still had a thick accent and mixed up his words, but this didn’t hold him back. He could make his point understood and could comprehend most everything that came his way. Still, Butty had started tutoring his dad twice a week. Ruddy got a kick out of it. “Baby teach man baby talk man.” They laughed.

CHAPTER TWELVE

horse mackerel

Butty’s position in the fourth grade became tenuous when a recuperated Miss MacPekkancy returned after a week off for therapy with a leading psychiatrist, Doctor Tauer Aufbaabo.

Doctor Aufbaabo was puzzled by Miss MacPekkancy’s story about the humiliating incident with the Stoner kid and her obsessive fear of a little four-year-old fourth grader. The renowned doctor advised her to eat lots of horse mackerel and drink three 16-ounce glasses of the cheapest whiskey she could find, daily.

When she entered the classroom on her first morning back, she was a little tardy, and the class was in turmoil. Ratney Sypjize was doing somersaults on Miss MacPekkancy’s marred desk, imitating the ill-fated Stoner. Other students were acting out Stoner’s choking and gagging. Papers were strewn all over the floor with splats of red paint symbolizing “Bloody Video Day.” Filthy words were chalked on the blackboard, many of them misspelled. Also on the blackboard there was a mural-sized crude drawing with colored chalks of Miss MacPekkancy in a very nasty position with a contorted Stoner involved.

It was chaos. Little Butty had tried to prevent the wild rebellion, but the class turned on the little “know-it-all” and scotch taped him to his desk. They used a whole dispenser of Miss MacPekkancy’s tape, over 100 feet. Butty was full-body taped. Even his mouth was taped shut. He was unable to move a muscle or make a sound. Miss MacPekkancy was stunned speechless by these fourth graders gone wild. The hooligans didn’t even notice her.

Having had her prescribed morning 16-ounce glass of cheap whiskey, Miss MacPekkancy cut loose. “HEY, you worthless, spoiled rotten, little cocksuckers, I’ll kick the shit out of every last one of you motherfucking fuckers if your fucking shit-crusted asses are not in your goddamn fucking ass seats instantly, you miserable little cunts.” She staggered up and down each aisle, shrieking spittle-laced “fucks,” “shits,” “cocksuckers” and “little pricks.” Each petrified student she confronted could smell the cheap whiskey combined with the rotting horse mackerel stuck between her teeth. The rabid Miss MacPekkancy raged on, six inches from each bug-eyed face. “I hate all you slimy, pissant, shit-eating bastards and your dumb, cockfuckingsucking parents for shitting you out.” (At this point little Beulah Frival caramelized her drawers.) The crazed teacher, propelled by her wrath and cheap whiskey, continued to fire filthy epithets, like machine-gun bullets: “You fucking morons, shit-for-brains, retarded assholes, syphilitic snots, turd-eating runts, fuckfaced gutter snipes, I hope you all die of VD warts of the brain.” Then she turned suddenly toward a bound and gagged Butty and pointed a crooked finger with a long red nail and—with as mean a sneer as she could muster—she said in a low, animal-like voice, “And you, Butty Whore, you’re no angel.”

Butty nodded in agreement as best he could. It seemed like she didn’t even notice his mummified status. The room was silent, except for the rattle of 26 students shaking.

Each classroom had a two-way speaker system. Somehow in the turmoil the broadcast button had been pushed. The whole school heard Miss MacPekkancy’s 100-megaton explosion.

The principal, backed by four 300-pound security guards and two Doberman Pinscher attack dogs, led a now passive Miss MacPekkancy away. As they guided her out the front door of the school, she turned and screeched, “You’re all a bunch of aborted, shitheaded, cocksucking bastards! Fuck you all and now turn to page 27 in your math book and we’ll get started.”

“Good day, Miss MacPekkancy.” The principal bid adieu to the lunatic as she threw up and then stumbled and fell in her own puke.

Butty was unwrapped, painfully, from his mummy suit of scotch tape. Later that same day he was told he was being promoted to the eighth grade, on the recommendation of the brilliant Princeton post-graduate student who had subbed for Miss MacPekkancy—Mr. Willie.

The eighth graders thought Butty was a joke. The teacher, Stresy Truss, bitched and moaned to the principal about the absurdity of a four year old in the eighth grade. One of the bigger eighth graders, Neon Depravo, picked up Butty, still seated in his desk, and placed them both in the back of the classroom, facing a cobwebby corner. Another student, Bridget Dit, made a dunce cap out of pink construction paper and placed it on Butty’s noggin. The dunce cap was two feet high, and it made a very funny sight. Butty sat that way all through class, every day, for three straight days. On the fourth day, the teacher, Mr. Truss, passed out the mid-semester geometry tests. He felt, because Butty was not in the class the first half of the semester, that Butty could not possibly be expected to take the test. Still facing the corner in his pink cone head, Butty spoke up. “Mr. Truss, may I please take the test? I am in your class. I’m little, but I’m smart.” The class laughed cynically.