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by David Amerman

To the Waaklesky School District Board:
Please excuse my dear Aunt Sally.
Let me explain.

First off, let me apologize for that first shocker. My dad had every intention of being a chaperone for our field trip to the Rocky Mountain chocolate factory. He had his L.L. Bean travel bag all filled up and ready to go. Heck, he even dusted off his trusty chaperoning megaphone. Ol’ Mikey, as he calls it.

But at about 5:30 in the morning, my dad got a call from Mr. Jeremy that all the salespeople had to go to an emergency briefing in St. Cloud. Some dopey shit about pathogens or cathode rays or something like that.

After he stopped talking to Mr. Jeremy, my dad woke up Aunt Sally and asked if she could take his place chaperoning the field trip. She didn’t seem too excited until the words “chocolate” and “factory” were mentioned.

We left for school ten minutes later (even though school didn’t even start for another hour). By that time Aunt Sally was so excited she could hardly contain herself the whole bus ride down to Minneapolis. I didn’t know she loved chocolate that much.

(I guess she did since she filled her gigantic Coach purse as well as my leather Jansport knapsack with a crap load of boxes of Rocky Mountain Chocolate after the tour was over.)

When me and my little brother Shannon went back to the bus to drop off our stuff so we could go ice skating at the park, Shannon was holding some sort of needle. The kind that the doctor pokes you with to make you cry and him rich and happy. He said he got it from a candyman who was selling his new recipes on the side of the road next to the factory.

It didn’t look like any candy I’ve ever seen, but the candyman told Shannon it was a special kind of lollipop called “A Dreamy Lime.” It must have come from Europe or Oklahoma or some shit because it wasn’t spelled the way normal people spell a dreamy lime. It was spelled “adrenaline.”

Shannon set his candy next to Aunt Sally’s purse, which was now oozing shiny, gooey melted chocolate out the top. I didn’t want anything to do with that nasty mess, so Shannon and I got off the chartered Lorenz bus and ran to catch up with the rest of the group.

On our way to the park, we passed Aunt Sally. She looked kind of sleepy and she twitching and making funny popcorn sounds with her back. I wondered what was wrong with her so I followed her back to the bus.

I tried to ask her as she was wedging herself back into her bus seat, but I was interrupted by some loud rude sounds coming from the moistened fat underneath Aunt Sally’s butt chin and then a sudden loud shriek that made me jump high enough to set an Olympic record. Aunt Sally stood and I stared in shock at Shannon’s dreamy lime needle poking out of her ass.

Two silent minutes went by. Then Aunt Sally started to vibrate like my dad’s Blackberry. She yanked Shannon’s needle out of her voluminous jello mold butt, pushed me into Bobby Trent’s backpack with tremendous force, and sprinted toward the driver’s seat.

Just as I scrambled back onto my feet, Aunt Sally hit the gas pedal. It was like she’d just seen Speed for the first time and was drawing some demented inspiration from the plot line. I got thrown against the seats in the back and I held on there for dear life.

Once Aunt Sally hit cruising speed, and remembering what I learned in Little Rascals Boot Camp, I army crawled my way up to Aunt Sally to ask her what the great green gravy fuck she was doing. This time, she had an answer. Apparently, Aunt Sally did get a job after all.

I didn’t even know the CIA was hiring middle aged drug-addicted fat folks from north central Minnesota but, to my surprise, my Aunt Sally told me she was on a secret mission to stop the KGB’s efforts at dominating America.

I’ve always had the impression the KGB is supposed to be as smart as the CIA but if, as Aunt Sally whispered, their big, evil plan was to replace the mustard at Hardee’s restaurants with moldy Romanian mustard to control the minds of American youth, I hafta think Mother Russia probably didn’t think this one through.

As I mulled this over, Aunt Sally got the bus up to a speed of about 70 miles an hour and was heading straight for the Hardee’s on Hamline Avenue. I tried to talk her out of it, but Aunt Sally was not about to listen to my reasoning. She was acting like my little brother Shannon did the time I gave him a bottle of Mountain Dew.  He was hyper for five hours and he shaved his eyebrows. The only difference was that Aunt Sally had a bad case of the jitters and she also was about to destroy the only decent Hardee’s in Minnesota.

I knew I couldn’t stop her without causing the bus to veer into oncoming traffic, so I bolted back to the dinky bathroom and started praying. Forty-two seconds later, it happened.


The toilet splashed a puddle of Smurfy blue stew in my face. It sure wasn’t anything like the blue raspberry fun dip I had on the way down to Minneapolis. But nothing could have prepared me for the sight that awaited me outside the chrome lavatory door. Clicking off the “occupied” light, I bore witness to Fast Food Ground Zero.

Aunt Sally had driven right through the two-story burger joint with a precision that would have made Sandra Bullock look like a prison short bus driver. I wondered how many people my dear Aunt Sally had slain until I saw a surprisingly intact sheet metal sign lying next to the right front tire. According to the sign, the St. Paul Hardee’s had been closed three weeks ago due to economical turmoil.

Well, that’s my story. Aunt Sally told me to tell you that she is genuinely sorry for sitting on my brother’s dreamy lime needle and causing the following infractions to occur:

1. Destruction of an abandoned fast food eatery.

2. Use of a chartered bus to destroy a fast food eatery.

3. Making Vice Principal Roglerts chase after the bus on foot and eventually fall down an open manhole. We’ll be sure to attend the funeral on Wednesday.

4. Leaving behind 34 students and teachers and instilling fear within them that they did not have a ride home.

5. Spilling melted Rocky Mountain chocolate all over Mr. Roglerts’ satchel, which contained a 32GB iPod touch that was loaded with 28 GB of pornography and was labeled with Principal Koebbler’s name, address, and cell phone number.

It won’t happen again.
Graham Mackenrow
6th Grade


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