(Author’s note: G’day, everyone! First classes have come and gone for the week [or at least they will as of tomorrow night at 6:30PM]. I hope to be writing a bit more, considering I am going to need some time away from writing autobiographical pieces, biographical pieces, short fiction, and scripts. So much writing, so little time. Anyhow, here’s today’s Fictioneers.)
Ten Little Bottles
by Miles H. Rost
“Big ones! Small ones!” Beano slurred, “So many different types!”
Beano looked completely hammered. and fully animated. I was merely annoyed.
“Beano! What the heck are you talking about?!”
He turned his rotund frame my direction, and smiled one of those smiles that can irritate an IRS agent. It was the smile that I knew from my time in the Army with him.
Again, flustered was I.
“What about Mexico, Private?!”
“I found all these bottles in an empty house. And I drank them all.”
“And that’s why you’re drunk now?” I asked, blinking at him.
“Permanently drunk. Not sure how!”
And now people know why I will never visit Mexico.