Ryan Quinn Flanagan ~ Wrong Hole

by Horror Sleaze Trash on October 11, 2013

RQF

Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a happily unmarried proud father of none.

 

Wrong Hole

Nicknames have a funny way
of staying with you
well into adulthood.

Especially
the pejorative ones:

Peter Poopy Pants
Nappy Head
Fart Face
Blow Job (girl with initials B.J.)
etc.

Human cruelty has a long shelf life
and no one is immune.

I only think of this now
because I have come across
two from my past
in the last week.

The first was a newspaper announcement
about a woman named Trisha Buell.
When I went to grade school with her
everyone (both boys and girls)
used to call her Trisha
the Mule.
I don’t quite know why,
other than that she used to lug
this large brown backpack
around the schoolyard
wherever she
went.

She didn’t at all resemble a mule.

In fact,
some years later
she got a modelling contract
with some big agency.

But the name stuck.
I’ve remembered it even to this day.
I can only imagine how well she
remembers it.
Must have gotten at least two of three
different eating disorders
out of that one.
Such names have amazing
lasting power.

When I read about her in the paper,
I read her name as Trisha
the Mule.

I thought about correcting myself,
but why start
now?

*

A few days after reading about the Mule,
I went to lunch with the missus at this snobby joint
in Barrie
called: Urban Dish.

Our waiter came to the table
and I recognized him
right away.

After he brought our drinks
and took our orders
I leaned over to my woman
and said:
you know who that is?

Who?,
she asked

That’s Wrong Hole.

Wrong Hole?

Yes, wrong hole.

I recounted the story
of how I had gone to high school
with Wrong Hole,
who had been christened such
after trying to finger some girl
at a party
when suddenly…

Alright, alright, I get it,
I don’t need details.

She seemed angry
and I didn’t know
why.

Then Wrong Hole came with
our food.

I had the “wind” burger
and onion rings.
My woman had
a Ruben sandwich.

I looked at Wrong Hole,
then at my burger.

I got up and excused myself
to wash my hands.

I washed them really well.

Then I came back
sat down
and looked around
for some time.

What’s the matter?,
asked my woman,
you’ve hardly touched your food.

Just think about where those fingers
have been.

She dropped what was left of her Ruben
onto the plate
and pushed it
away.

Unfortunately,
we both
knew.

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