Benny Jay: Hey, Barn Boss….

December 20th, 2009

I wake up to see that Big Mike took a shot at me — again. Basically, called me a wuss. Something about walking the dog. Don’t really know, cause I can’t read past his first paragraph – my shame’s just too strong.

It’s the second shot from Big Mike — aka, The Barn Boss — in the last few weeks. The first one came when he made fun of me for being scared of everything.

After that bit ran, my cousin – who knows everything about everything – called to say: “Dang, I ain’t sayin’ nothin’, but Big Mike called you out….”

“Oh, yeah,” I replied. “Well, wait to you see what I have to write about him….”

But I didn’t write a word. Instead, I wrote something about the Bulls. It was the same old problem – I got scared.

I’ve never been much of a fighter. My problem is I don’t like pain. When I was ten, I picked a fight with an eight-year-old girl. Figured this was one fight I had to win. How did I know she was the female Mike Tyson? She slugged me in the stomach. Knocked the wind out of me. I ran home crying. Haven’t had a real fight since….

I go to the computer and read what Big Mike has to say: “Benny is like a rhinoceros….”

A rhinoceros? The man called me a rhinoceros! Those are fighting words, but what should I do?

I know! I’ll walk the dog. I do my best thinking when I walk the dog.

Out we go — me and Nicky. I make sure to take the alleys – slippery with ice – so she won’t pee or crap on anyone’s lawn.

But the time I get home, I’ve made my decision. I’ll pretend I never saw Big Mike’s blog bit. Yeah, that’ll work. Instead, I’ll write about the Bulls. Can’t write too much about them.

Feel all good about my decision. Lie down to take a nap….

The phone rings. It’s Milo.

“I just read the Barn Boss’s slap in the face to you,” he says.

“Oh, I didn’t read his blog bit today….”

“Oh, no? Here let me read it to you….”

“No, no – that’s okay….”

“You can’t take this lying down,” he says.

“How `bout I take it standing up….”

He ignores my joke and says: “You can’t just bend over and flip up your skirt….”

“I don’t wear a skirt….”

“He basically told you in front of the whole world — `fuck you, bitch.’”

“Okay – no, he didn’t….”

“That’s how I see it, Benny boy. And if I see it that way, everyone else will see it the same way….”

“But, Milo….”

“No buts about it – you gotta tell him to fuck off….”

“Fuck off?”

“Fuck off….”

“But he’s the Barn Boss, Milo….”

“True, the Barn Boss is a ruthless player – he’s liable to pull a gun or a knife or a straight razor….”

“A straight razor?”

“If I’m correct, that his weapon of choice….”

“Milo, I hate straight razors….”

“Don’t worry, I got your back 150 percent. You gotta counter attack. The way I see it, this will be great for your career. All the great writers have their literary feuds. Gore Vidal versus William Buckley. Mary McCarthy versus Lillian Hellman. Eric Zorn versus Mary Schmich….”

“Eric Zorn versus Mary Schmich?”

“Don’t worry, Benny, I got you covered 100 percent….”

“I thought you said 150 percent?”

“One hundred, 150 – whatever. Here’s what you do. Go to the liquor store, get yourself a bottle of Wild Turkey. Drink half the bottle. Smoke a joint. Then tell the Barn Boss to fuck off. I’d do it for you, but I’m really busy….”

He hangs up. I put down the phone. I look out the window. He’s right, of course – Milo’s always right. The time has come to take a stand.

I go to the bedroom, stand in front of the mirror, curl my lip like Elvis Presley, and practice my line.

“Hey, Big Mike — you can just fuck off….”

No, too wordy.

“Hey, Barn Boss – Fuck off!”

Perfect.

I pick up the phone. I take a breath. I dial his number. The phone rings….

“Hello,” growls the Barn Boss.

I open my mouth to say my line, when….

“Hey, dad?’

It’s my younger daughter, just come home and yelling up the stairs.

“We got anything to eat? I’m starving….”