Much less baD

By Jeffrey Asch

Mitchy, a daydreamer who always seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, finally gets a lucky break when a winning lottery ticket falls into his possession. However, before he can cash it in, he has to keep it away from his boss who owes the Russian Mafia a ton of money, twin brothers who believe the ticket is "henceforth and therefore" lawfully theirs and his sister who just wants to be "the richest bitch at the Jersey shore."

The only one who seems to be on Mitchy's side is a local librarian with a kick-ass crooked smile.

In other words, it's a love story. Only funny.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9781667886817

Book preview

BK90074982.jpg

Much less baD

JEFFREY ASCH

Copyright © 2023

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-66788-680-0 (Print)

ISBN: 978-1-66788-681-7(eBook)

To Loren,

Jordan & Christine, Alana,

Isla and Oskar.

You guys make my heart happy.

Author’s note:

No farts were harmed in the production of this book.

(However, some were dealt. Others, smelt.)

(But none hurt.)

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1 Gumballs

Chapter 2 Ted Junior

Chapter 3 Around heer-rah

Chapter 4 Breasts and Bellies

Chapter 5 Bam. Bam.

Chapter 6 Smile

CHAPTER 7 Snake

Chapter 8 Money for

Chapter 9 Marone

Chapter 10 Whoop. Whoop.

Chapter 11 Calzones

Chapter 12 Creamed corn

Chapter 13 All good things

Thanks

About the author

CHAPTER 1

Gumballs

Mitchy hated it when the guys at the construction site made fun of him. After all, there was nothing funny about him. Not really, anyhow. He was just easily distracted by his thoughts. And when he was distracted, he ended up doing things that some people considered funny. Like last week when he brought a sardine sandwich to work for lunch and left it out in the hot summer sun because he was distracted by a pretty blue bird flying across the sky and started wondering if birds ever fly just for the heck of it. The way Mitchy figured it, zooming across the sky must be about the most fun thing to do in the whole wide world. He liked watching the gulls and ducks fly at the beach. He loved the way they took off into the wind, then at what seemed like just the right moment, they flipped around and whooshed away with the air current. That was so cool. Yes, flying had to be the coolest. Certainly more fun than walking. As far as Mitchy was concerned, walking was boring. One foot in front of another. Step. Step. Step. What’s the fun in that?

But flying, man, that had to be the best. Mitchy supposed that if he had wings, he’d fly all over the place. He’d fly to work. He’d fly to the grocery store. He’d fly to the beach. He’d fly to… to … to?

Hmmm. That just about covered all the places Mitchy went.

Well, thought Mitch, I bet if I could fly, I’d come up with more places to fly.

Then he thought about all the things he’d see while flying. Like the tops of trees. And the tops of houses. And the top of buildings. And the tops of … of … of.

Bummer. Another fairly short list of flying pros.

Then he wondered, if I could fly all the time, would flying still be so much fun?

Probably not.

Then he was just sad.

Mitchy’s lofty thoughts about birds and flying and where he would fly and what he would see when flying occupied his mind while he pushed a broom around the construction site where he was employed until lunchtime. By then his sardine sandwich, which he had forgotten to put in the cooler with all the other guys’ lunches, had been baking in the sun and searing ninety-degree heat for a few hours. Thus, when he unwrapped it, it smelled pretty bad. But not so bad that he couldn’t eat it. So, he ate it. That’s when the guys began making fun of him.

Mitchy, yah packin’ a skunk for lunch?

Dude, you puttin’ that in the mouth you kiss your motha wit?

Mitchy, you cook that or shit it outta your ass?

The thing that Mitchy hated about the guys at the construction site making fun of him was that the words he needed to defend himself got stuck in his brain and didn’t make the trip to his mouth until hours later, when he was in bed, tossing and turning and replaying the events that led up to him being made fun of. Finally, the perfect biting, derisive comeback would roll down from his brain, bounce around his mouth, until he could no longer hold it in, and he’d blurt out a razor-sharp, noteworthy retort, along the lines of: "You shit your lunch outta your butt."

Unfortunately for Mitchy, because this usually happened at around 4:00 in the morning, no one heard these cutting jewels. Well, no one except his sister Donna, who he lived with in a small, messy third-floor apartment in a turn-of-the-century (the last century, not this century) white wooden building on the main street of the oceanside community of Sprayview, New Jersey.

Upon hearing Mitchy’s sharp barbs, Donna, who more than likely was fairly buzzed at this time of the pre-dawn and flipping through her Insta feed to find out what she missed out on by being at the wrong bar at the wrong time, would reply, Hey, Mitchy, you dumb shit, who ya tawkin’ to?

At which time Mitchy rolled over and got real quiet, so she’d be the dumb shit tawkin’ to no one.

When Mitchy really thought about it, which he did a lot, it was not like the guys he worked with at the construction site were so funny, or even funny at all. When he really, really thought about it, most of their jokes were really just variations on the same theme: Mitchy screwing up.

He just happened to screwed up a lot. Because he was distracted a lot. Distracted by thoughts such as, the guys at the construction site are really not that funny. Or, funny at all.

Sometimes his screw-ups were really just a matter of circumstance. Like the time the guys at the construction site told him to pick up their breakfast orders from the deli across the street from where they were working. The whole order was paid for. Everything was taken care of. All he had to do was pick up the order and bring it back.

Easy-peasy.

What could go wrong, right?

But this was Mitchy. And as we covered in some detail already, Mitchy has a lot on his mind.

Everything started out just fine. Mitchy got to the deli and the whole order—7 egg, pork roll and cheese sandwiches, 5 toasted bagels with cream cheese, 3 toasted bagels with butter, 10 hot coffees, 3 hot teas, and 2 iced teas—was waiting for him at the front counter in a cardboard box.

He picked up the box, held it against his chest, walked over to the door and used his butt to open it. He heard the bell over the door ring. He stepped onto the sidewalk just as three kids on scooters came flying by, causing him to swing the box containing the 7 egg, pork roll and cheese sandwiches, 5 toasted bagels with cream cheese, 3 toasted bagels with butter, 10 hot coffees, 3 hot teas, and 2 iced teas quickly to his left. His momentum forced him to take a step or three backwards and one step right in order to keep his balance.

By virtue of some biblical-like miracle, the frivolous hand of fate decided not to give Mitchy the finger. Not one morsel of the breakfast order dripped, dropped or spilled.

Crisis averted. Right? Well, not so fast.

Balanced regained, Mitchy took a deep breath and contemplated the only choice he had to make in order to successfully complete his easy-peasy, no-brainer, even-a-tree-stump-couldn’t-fuck-this-up task: walk down the block to where a traffic light stood at the ready to assist people who needed to cross morning traffic while carrying 7 egg, pork roll and cheese sandwiches, 5 toasted bagels with cream cheese, 3 toasted bagels with butter, 10 hot coffees, 3 hot teas, and 2 iced teas.

Or speed walk across a busy two-lane road, through morning traffic while carrying 7 egg, pork roll and cheese sandwiches, 5 toasted bagels with cream cheese, 3 toasted bagels with butter, 10 hot coffees, 3 hot teas, and 2 iced teas.

Easy decision. Nothing to think about.

Damn the light traffic.

Dodge the traffic.

The way Mitchy saw it, the traffic looked manageable. The guys were waiting. And, really, what could go wrong? Right?

If only I could fly, he thought, I wouldn’t have to worry about the lights. Or about traffic. I could just fly above it.

Another flying pro.

Which led to this breakthrough thought: Hey, if birds can fly, how do they get hit by cars?

Avian traffic fatalities is what Mitchy was thinking about as he took his first step into traffic and felt an itching sensation on the tip of his nose. Unfortunately, his hands were ocupada. So, he twitched his nose like a rabbit and continued on his mission.

What Mitchy didn’t realize yet was that one of the coffees, or the teas, or one of each, was leaking, soaking the bottom of the cardboard box with hot liquid and breaking down its structural integrity.

So, it was a little surprising to Mitchy that as he was making his way through traffic and concerning himself with bird related transportation deaths, his arms and chest started to feel warm. Then, sweat began running down his forehead into his eyes, making them sting and itch and making it really hard to see anything clearly, including the aforementioned morning traffic.

Realizing that something was leaking, he started walking faster. As he walked faster, he felt his pants sliding down his hips.

With no way to pull up his pants as his hands were occupied with carrying breakfast, he resorted to some funky butt-clinching and hip-swiveling moves to stop them from dropping any further. All the while, he was twitching his nose and sweating like a cold drink on a hot day.

It wasn’t long before the guys at the construction site noticed Mitchy speed walking through traffic, his pants sliding down his hips, his nose twitching like a rabbit’s, as he carried their 7 egg, pork roll and cheese sandwiches, 5 toasted bagels with cream cheese, 3 toasted bagels with butter, 10 hot coffees, 3 hot teas, and 2 iced teas.

Now, of course, the coffee, or tea, or whatever was leaking, was leaking faster. And burning more.

But Mitchy was determined to deliver the guys’ breakfasts.

Damn his drooping pants. To hell with his itchy nose and his blurry vision. Screw the cars honking at him. He was going to do this.

He made it through the traffic and across the highway. He made it pass the metal fence surrounding the construction site. He successfully stepped over the curb without tripping. He could see the guys pointing at him. In his mind, they were cheering him on.

After all, he made it.

Squish.

Oh, no.

Squash.

Oh, shit.

With his vision clouded by sweat, and his gate hampered by his drooping jeans, with thoughts of success rushing around his brain, Mitchy didn’t see the pool of newly poured concrete.

But he did feel its pull on his boots.

Yet he kept sloshing through the slushy, thick liquid hoping that if he delivered everyone’s breakfast—the 7 egg, pork roll and cheese sandwiches, 5 toasted bagels with cream cheese, 3 toasted bagels