Frenchie woke up to the sound of cute little birds chirping outside of his window. “It’s going to be a beautiful day,” Frenchie said with a big open mouthed smile. “Life is good,” he said. “I’ve got people in my life that love me, God up above me shining his grace down upon me, amazing friends, and a kick-ass job. I’m truly blessed!” Frenchie, skipping into the bathroom, began to brush his teeth. “The dentist says that if I have no cavities on my next check up, he’ll give me a bag of Skittles!”
Frenchie, as people viewed him, embodied innocence. He still had the same childish hair cut that he had in the fourth grade. It was a beautiful helmet of brown hair that rested neatly on the tops of his ears. His boyish dimples were pure and wholesome. There was simply nothing about him that Jeffrey Dahmer wouldn’t have found irresistible as 100% prime fuck bait.
Frenchie continued to talk to himself in the mirror, like an innocent young boy.
“I sure hope the Skittles cover up that awful post-check up taste I always have in my mouth…” Just then, Frenchie heard his mother yelling from the kitchen.
“We just can’t do it, Wayne! We can’t!” said Frenchie’s mom.
“Look, honey, I don’t like it anymore than you do, but all I’m asking is that we turn down the thermostat to save a little on our energy costs!”
Frenchie tip-toed out of the bathroom and peered into the kitchen, trying hard to not be noticed.
“I don’t know what else to do, Terry!” Wayne said. “If we don’t cut back on a few things, we’re going to have to sell the house!”
“NO!” Frenchie shouted. “I don’t wanna move! I don’t wanna go to a new school! I DON’T WANNA MAKE NEW FRIENDS!” Frenchie ran into his bedroom and slammed the door.
“See what you did?” Frenchie’s mother said to Wayne. “We both know how fragile he is and you go and spew your venom.”
Wayne sat down at the kitchen table and put his hands over his face.
“You better fix this, Wayne,” Terry said. “And I ain’t lowering the thermostat, motherfucker.”
Hours and hours passed. There wasn’t a single word said in the Williamson household, aside from the screaming sobs coming from Frenchie’s bedroom. It was now 10:00 at night. Frenchie hadn’t come out of his bedroom all day. Wayne, concerned for the well-being of his little man, knocked on Frenchie’s door.
“Hey, Frenchie, it’s your Pops. Can I come in?”
No answer.
“Hey, come on, son. I know you’re upset,” he said. “How about you let your ol’ dad in and we wrestle around like old times, huh? Would you like that?”
No answer.
“Frenchie, you open this goddamn door before I kick it in, you hear me!?”
No answer.
“PUSSY!”
Wayne stormed off, leaving out the front door. He needed to be alone. He needed to feel the cool, warm summer air. How was it possible for the air to feel cool and warm at the same time, Wayne wondered.
Frenchie was, in fact, awake. He was busy playing ARMA 2 online. He was a moderator, teaching other Frenchie-like guys how to play the game. Frenchie was soothing his wounds the best way he knew how.
“Ok, go around the corner and wait for my single. There’s enemy turrets up ahead and…uhh..just…” Frenchie began to cry into his microphone.
“Uhh, Captain?” one player said online. “Is everything ok?”
“I just found out my parents have to sell my house and they’re going to make me move away from my friends.”
“Aren’t you 23 years old and a college graduate?”
“UGGGGHHHHHH” Frenchie rage-quit the game and rage shut off his computer.
He began a rampage of destruction in his bedroom. Frenchie started by tearing down the life-sized Jeff Gordon poster. And then he stopped. That was all he did.
Wayne was outside, standing in front of Frenchie’s car. He was staring up at the sky.
“God,” he said, fighting back tears. “I need a miracle.”
Wayne closed his eyes and hung his head. As he opened his eyes, he noticed his shoe was untied. “Stupid Velcro,” he said as he raised his foot up onto Frenchie’s front bumper.
Without warning, the entire front end of Frenchie’s car fell off, taking Wayne down with it. Wayne fell head first onto the hood of Frenchie’s car. “Gaw Dam,” Wayne said, dazed.
As he sat up slowly, he looked at the bumper on the ground. As he stood up, he bent down to pick up the bumper when he saw it. Right before him, he knew that God had answered his prayers and had sent him down some miracle shit. Wayne was staring at Frenchie’s Hannah Montana license plate with the look of a madman.
“Of course!” Wayne shouted. It made perfect sense. Thousands of children all across the country went batshit crazy for anything Hannah Montana. Wayne, that ever scheming bastard, was going to take advantage of it. He was going to make homemade episodes of the Hannah Montana show and pass them off as “lost episodes.” And he knew who would make a damn fine Hannah Montana.
Frenchie was sitting on his bed when Wayne barged in. “Frenchie,” Wayne said, nearly out of breath. “I need you to come down to the basement.”
“Can’t you see I’m brooding, dad?” Frenchie said in his usual condescending tone.
“I don’t give a fuck what you’re doing, Frenchie,” Wayne snapped. “Get your ass down to the basement. I just found a way to save our house!”
Wayne and Frenchie made their way down to the basement. Wayne motioned for Frenchie to sit down in one of the foldable lawn chairs that were set up.
“Listen, Frenchie,” Wayne said in his serious tone. “I’m sure that you’re aware that our lifestyle has gotten out of hand. I mean, your mother runs the furnace every day of the year and simply refuses to let anyone touch the damn thing. You know how much money it costs to heat and cool our home in a year with a crazy woman like that? Anyway, we either have to make some changes or we’re going to lose everything. Now, I think I’ve found a way to make things better. Are you with me?”
“You betcha POPS!” Frenchie said, suddenly enthused.
“Good, then I’m just going to lay this on you. We’re going to make some homemade Hannah Montana videos and pass them off as “lost episodes.” We’re going to sell them to parents who will buy damn near anything with Hannah Montana on it.”
“This is an interesting idea,” Frenchie said rubbing his chin stubble. “Who do you have as the characters?”
“Well, I’ve already done some casting. You’re going to play Hannah Montana.”
“Oh that’s wonderful!” Frenchie said.
“Yeah, I knew you’d like that,” Wayne said. “So are you going to devote yourself to this 100%?”
“You better believe it!”
“Good,” Wayne said. “Your boyfriend, Ricardo, is going to be this German Shepherd I picked up at the Humane Society.”
“I don’t know, dad.” Frenchie said.
“That’s perfect! That can be your catch phrase! Say it again!”
“Dad, I’m being serious. I don’t know.”
“Fucking brilliant! WAYNE TRAIN STRIKES AGAIN!”
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