Tales of Inanimate Objects - 5. Chapter 5
"Alright, Stormy. I'm all lubed up!"
Storm rolled his finger socket. "Don't get cocky now." His thick Irish accent was vocal in the confined space. "It's only Tuesday. We all know Tuesday's are the worst. When ye think you're good, add 'nother layer."
"Man," Roto whined, "I ain't no onion. I don't need no layers. Just one, maybe two, and I'll be slidin' right into that good-good."
"Keep talkin' like that, laddie, and you'll wind up kissin' a gutter. Just because you're new 'round here don't mean you're golden."
If he could roll sideways, Roto would. "I am golden, like a fuckin' potato! Get ready for an easy night, laddie," Roto mocked, "because you're gonna sit nice and pretty while I do the heavy lifting."
Being lifted from the bag, he was ready to strike. The smell of oil and greasy food hit him. Being set on the rack, he waited patiently as Storm plopped next to him. The jukebox was playing a bop, and it took everything he had not to rock to the beat.
When he was penetrated, Roto hummed, "Yeah, girl. Now let me out with that pop."
Held with a hand on his side, he was brought back a bit and his owner stepped forward. "There you go, baby. Stay on that line now."
The wind felt refreshing against his smooth skin as his left, rubber hole smacked. Hitting the wood rolling, he slid his way to a great start. "Incoming, bitches!"
Slapping the first pin, Rito heard the explosion around him. The wood had no chance against his resin. Riding the track back to the start, Roto hollered as he breached the stopper and collided with Storm. "Go on, tell it to me."
"Got 'em all."
"Yeah! Sit and spin, old man!"
"Oi, have some respect. I have to clean up after ye when you fuck up."
"Ain't gonna today! I'm feelin' it. Three-hunned tonight."
The pair trash-talked until Roto was grabbed again. "Hey, now. Stick it in, girl. Don't mess with tradition."
Seeing the line below, Roto cringed. "No, no. One to the left, baby doll. You ain't goin' get your points if we go this way."
The weight shifted. His socket popped and he was too far on the right. "C'mon. Stay on it…" He teetered too close to the edge. Dancing on the line, Roto tried to lean, but his spin was off. He fell in before knocking into a single piece of wood. The only crash he heard was his own.
The dusty gutter was gnarly. "Oh, hell nah! Bitch better polish me off after that shit throw."
Back at the rack, Roto was fuming. "You see that shit?"
"Aye, looks like I got a clean-up on lane twelve," Storm quipped as he was whisked away.
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