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hs38150.jpgbuy prints of select halfsquatch photographs at etsy or dawanda. (prints of all photographs are available upon request) day 38

“David! David!” Andrea Thompson called her son’s name as she raced up the stairs to his bedroom. She’d heard his screams from the kitchen where she was experimenting with various pan shapes and baking temperatures for her latest creation, a giant cinnamon bun in the shape of a Sasquatch footprint.

Her appearance startled Rebecca and she backed away from Dave, who was hunched over on the floor beside his desk, one hand clutching his head, the other his balls.

Wo haben Sie Schmerzen?

“Everywhere,” Dave said. “It hurts everywhere.”

“We will call a doctor.” Andrea turned to face Rebecca. “And we will call your father. And perhaps the police.”

Rebecca dropped onto the corner of Dave’s bed while Andrea pressed Bob Richman’s number into the phone. Dave stood and set his swivel chair back on its legs. His eye caught the monitor as he straightened his back, and then he understood.

“Your father is on his way,” Andrea said. “Now for the police.”

“Mom, no. Please don’t call the police. Please don’t.”

Andrea followed Dave’s gaze. She fixed on the computer screen. “Filthy! Both of you!” She looked at Dave, then at the screen. The animated silhouette of a man fucking a Lady Sasquatch from the rear played alongside the logo. “Verdammter Idiot! You are disgusting.”

They waited, successfully dodging each other’s eyes, but compelled periodically to look in the direction of Dave’s desk, at the monitor on which the animated Sasquatch sex clip churned in an endless loop.

“Can we turn that off, please?” Dave pleaded.

“No. We cannot. I think your father should see what kind of a boy you are – how perverted. Sex with animals. It is sick.”

Rebecca started to cry. Dave wanted to go to her, to explain.

“It’s not like that,” Dave said.

“It’s not like what?” Bob Richman walked into the bedroom. Immediately, he went to Rebecca, tried to hug her, console her. She pushed him away. He pointed at Dave, who was wearing only his boxer shorts. “What the hell is going on here?”

As he moved closer to Dave, Bob was distracted by the image on the computer screen. Dave laughed nervously. “I mean, you should understand, right?”

In an instant Bob’s hand was broken and Dave was out cold.

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                                                                                                                                                          ©2008 pamela klaffke