BUTT-HEAD'S HAPPY REUNION
Chapter One
Algernon Head picked up the phone on the second ring. "What is it Meredith? Do you have the Penrose motion done?" Some days, this job…
"No, Mr. Head, I'm halfway through it, but you have a visitor—No, stop, you can't just go in there, Mr. Head's very—"
"Butt-Head, that you, dude. Huh-huh." The door opened and a tall, skinny blond man with adult acne and a Megadeath tee entered Algernon Head's palatial office."S'up. You did that chick out there yet? Nipples got hard when she yelled."
Head rubbed his eyes and reviewed the interloper. Did he call me…?
"Butt-Head!" Acne-Boy turned and waved at the secretary."I'll get your huh-huh, number later, babe…get back to your desk, that's an order! Huh-huh." This creature seemed to be awash in self-merriment.
Good gracious, it's Beavis. Beavis. Butt-head hadn't seen Beavis in person since, in a cheerful fit, Beavis had taken the Driver's Ed car and excitedly (and fatally) run down Van Driessen, Coach Buzzcut and Principal McVickers.
Butt-head had checked out a few jailhouse pictures in Ann Rule's "The Cornholio Killings" but hey, Beavis hadn't changed, just gotten a LOT taller. Still had all his hair, which was more than Butt-head could say. Wait. I'm not Butt-head anymore.
I'm a lawyer now—the new principal, a Ritalin enthusiast, changed everything. The Army, college, law school, now Beth and the kids.
"B-Beavis? How're you out of jail, man?"
Beavis was cleaning his nose with a Mont Blancpen he'd found on the desk. "Evidence, not enough, too much, Legal Aid, man…been out three weeks. Eighteen years, what a drag…you got nachos?"
Butt-head, (no, NO, Algernon Head!) looked sadly at his two hundred dollar pen. "No, Beavis, I don't have any nachos. The doctor says too much cheese is bad for my cholesterol. "
Beavis grinned "Cholesterol? Can Ya Spell That, Punk?" A giggle. "Remember? Buzzcut would say shit like that. Chol-les-ter-ol." Beavis's eyes rolled back in his head. "Cholesterol" Then faster. "Clstrl!"
Meredith came back in the office with two of the firm's security guards. "Mr. Head, if you need…" But she was at a loss, watching a grown man pull his shirt just above his head, and lol his tongue out at her.
"The cops! The fuzz! Gonna kick your ass with the moves I learnt in the joint!" Beavis babbled, pulling his shirt back down and throwing up a leg, and posing his hands in a sad, parallel motion, as if channeling David Carradine.
One of the obese security guards stepped a little closer, and Beavis toppled on his ass.
Chapter Two
In the 7-Eleven, Beavis happily munched on the nachos he'd just ordered, wiping cheese more on than off his chin. Jeez, Butt-head looked bad. No hair, and that suit, worse than the pressed ones in the Parole/Release Clothing room at Lompoc.
"Beavis, my life has changed dramatically, but it's been really good—you really should wipe your cheek—wait." Butt-head fussily took out a monogrammed handkerchief, dabbed it on his tongue and wiped Beavis's cheek. Then he looked at the hanky, shuddered, and dropped it in a nearby garbage can.
"They're different from us, Beavis" Head-Bang Garcia, incarcerated for using his mom's severed head as a bowling ball, had once said. "People on the outside, they get warped. Society and all that shit."
After all Beavis had tried to do for Butt-head, too. Butt-head's dad was a dick—he moved in with Beavis, summer before middle school. Mrs. Beavis, who boinked with the Burger World fry cook, got her hopeful son and his friend jobs…great!
And shit, Beavis earnestly tutored Butt-head in five subjects for all three years they were in 10th grade-
Beavis goes away for one little stretch…and dude's falling apart here. No hair, office with no air in it, and he's not even groping the secretary…
Butt-head was a mess, man!
Chapter Three
Cynthia Hastings Head looked fondly at Chauncey and Chelsea, who were engrossed in a documentary concerning the way paper was made by the Finnish in the 18th century.
It was almost time for dinner, and then to see Chauncey in the dress rehearsal of "The Nutcracker" and Algernon hadn't quite gotten home yet.
He was always in by seven. Cyn wondered…There's the Volvo, pulling up. Cyn and Algy had both been concerned about the Volvo not being environmentally conscious as a car, but they really needed something to tool around Austin in, that was stable and durable.
Cyn went to the kitchen for a minute, to see how Bonita was doing with the vegetarian goulash, when the door slammed. Slammed. We never slam!
"Jesus, Butt-head, you got a spread here, Huh-huh—what's that a picture of? Not a chick."
"That's a Monet, Beavis. It was auctioned—"
"That's not mon-ey! It's like,a picture of a field or somep'n. Why don't you have Jenny McCarthy?" There was a pause. "Can I smoke? No, wait, I don't have any Marlboros."
"We can't have smoking in the house, you know it's—"
Cynthia came out to behold a tall blond man with severe acne pits, who looked much like the panhandlers in front of the coin laundry downtown. He was scratching his –crotch. And squeezing an acne spot on his chin with the other hand.
The tall pitted blond man was now approaching the stereo, pulling out the CD to Pietro Rigacci's "Barcarolle", and dropping it on the floor. He then put in another CD, and turned the music up high, and Cynthia wondered if it was cats dying.
"MAH NAME IS CRUM!
LOCKED IN SATAN'S REC-TUM!
SLASHED MAH NAST-TY MUM
WITH A BROKEN BOTTLE OF MADIERA RUM!"
"Aint it great, Butt-head?" the blond pitted man was inquiring of Algernon, who, Cynthia was distressed to observe, was dancing a bit to the awful screeching.
"That's my cell-mate Crumley Finch, man. He's doing life without for matricide, but he has his own label. Huh-huh-huh."
The blond man noticed her. "Hey bebeh. Wassup. I'm George Beavis." Methodically, the lunatic continued to squeeze his crotch as he stared at Cynthia quite intently. "Butt-head's my best friend, I just got out of prison."
Algernon?" Cynthia asked faintly, but incredibly, her beloved Algy was laughing, almost against his will as George Beavis began picking his own nose with his long, pink tongue.
Chapter Four
"What're we having, dear?" Daddy asked, as Chauncey and Chelseastared at the peculiar guest.
"Citrus grilled chicken breasts, marinated in lemon and black pepper." Mummy looked dismayed, Chauncey thought. Chauncey's chums in Junior Mensa called him Psych, hopefully because Chauncey was so perceptive.
"She said breasts. Grilled breasts, like a cannibal." The peculiar visitor was gobbling rolls that he'd swiped on the fat-free butter. The visitor, Mr. Beavis, turned to Chelseaand opened his mouth, waving his bread crumb covered tongue at Chelsea, who blanched.
Mummy attempted to remonstrate. "Mr. Beavis, we have no hard or stiff rules about table manners—"
"You said hard you said stiff. Hard and stiff. Stiff and hard. I'm stiff, baby."
"Beavis-you shouldn't—huh-huh-huh. You did though, honey, you said stiff, and before that, you said breasts." To Chauncey's eye, Papa was disintegrating fast . Chauncey had never seen Daddy smile before. It was positively emetic.
"Beavis, you noodge, you don't eat potatoes au gratin with your fingers. What're you, in the goddam zoo? No you were paroled, right? Huh-huh. Shoulda paroled Manson first, right?"
"Potatoes Grottin?" We used to cook Potatoes O'Brien in stir. And Lobster Newburg and Eggs Benedict. They sounded like bank robbers…huh-huh."
"Jesus, Beavis. Have you ever eaten at a table before? It's not like the old days in front of the Zenith 20 inchset, man. You look like a gobbling wart-hog."
"C'mon, Butt-head, I never had such boring chow, man. No nachos? No pizza? You must be in hell here, man."
"Beavis, you butt-munch, where's your manners? My family thinks you're a freako, huh-huh…freaky Beavis!"
Mr. Beavis, the peculiar guest, threw a roll at Daddy, but his aim was off, and it went over Chelsea's ducking head.
Daddy, who apparently had lost his mind completely, took a lima bean and batted it with his butter knife at Mr. Beavis, but it lodged in the cleavage of Mummy's gown, the gown she was supposed to wear at Chauncey's ballet.
"So whaddya do, kid?" Mr. Beavis stared straight at Chauncey. "Jesus, you look like Stewart. What happened to that little homo?"Mr. Beavis addressed this question to Daddy.
"Oh, Stewart and Todd Ianuzzi, our cool Todd actually are faggots, and live together just outside Highland. They have one of those faggot antique stores. Todd is Stewart's bear."
Mummy was appalled. "Algernon, how can you make such homophobic—"
"So whaddya do though, Butt-head, Junior? You want to bone Taylor Swift? Me too!"
Daddy coughed. "Beavis, Chauncey's only ten."
"What about the chick? She looks—"
"She's twelve, dude."
"Old enough to bleed, old enough to breed. That's in the Bible."
"Chauncey has a ballet dress rehearsal tonight, and we're all going to see him!" Mummy said firmly and proudly, but Chauncey could infer she was sweating.
"I'm playing the Nutcracker Prince!" Chauncey said with asperity.
All the table tensed over Mr. Beavis's next comment on this one.
Part Three
"Would you like some Chablis, Mr. Van Driessen?" Todd was smiling, and David Van Driessen smiled. It was one of the few moves Van Driessen could make, to smile…and he still wanted to brighten everyone's day. How good that he could still be a human sunbeam.
"Todd, I'm not your teacher anymore. Call me David, I'm your friend." Van Driessen said this with a gentle smile. David Van Driessen touched his chin to the steering stick of his mobility chair the WheelSurge ™ and moved just a bit closer, and smiled.
"And no, I don't drink wine anymore; it seems to fill my urine bag too quickly. I shouldn't have said that at dinner. I'm so sorry."
But it was clear that Todd was looking distastefully at the bag that connected Van Driessen's catheter…but that was just a cross to bear. And Todd had come such a long way! Such an angry young man, expelled from Highland High for bopping a French teacher with a fire extinguisher. And now it turned out that Todd was gay, a closet case who had been filled with anger about his repressed sexuality.
Van Driessen had often felt some puzzlement over Lenore, the school secretary who he'd asked out in the old days, and who had been carrying on a secret affair with Todd in his third senior year…why would a sensible woman prefer such a lummox (who was really gay, it turned out) instead of David Van Driessen, loving and considerate?
But again, things go as the Great Spirit wants them to! Van Driessen realized he couldn't question the Karma that had caused him to be a human punching bag at Highland High during his own school years…and then had been rejected by the University of Texas!
This of course because gentle and understanding as young V.D. was…his SAT's weren't terribly high. Nor were his grades at Slippery Rock State Teacher's College…which ended David's dreams of becoming a psychologist.
No, it was back to Highland, to pay off those student loans…as a teacher this time…and although Van Driessen had tried to make a difference, in the end, he'd been run over and paralyzed by Beavis, perhaps the biggest moron in the State of Texas.
"Here we are people!" Stewart Stevenson walked into the beautiful dining room bearing a gorgeous meal of cassoulet…wonderful! Van Driessen had had to re-learn to chew, and this would be a great test. Those great people at the Physical Therapy rehab…
"David, usually I make this with Proscuitto and chicken, but I know you're a vegan so I increased the beans instead." Stewart smiled, and carefully put the platter on the dining room table.
Todd snickered. "Beans, beans, good for your heart, makes you—"
"TODD!" Stewart snapped. "Remember what your etiquette teacher told you."
Todd hung his head.
"Forgive us, David" Stewart simpered gently. "Toddie is still in Neanderthals Anonymous I'm afraid. We have almost de-Philistined him, but it takes time."
Todd looked daggers at Stewart. "Dude, you don't have to embarrass—"
Stewart interrupted once more. "We're down to one Anger Management class a week, Todd. Let's progress forward, shall we?"
Van Driessen smiled again, and moved his face slightly. Being paralyzed from the neck down, as a result of George Beavis's mishap with the Driver's Ed vehicle had limited nearly all movement below the neck, except an occasional and quite humiliating spasm
Of course, Van Driessen had no resentments, he was living on his own, and his personal care attendant was dozing peacefully on Stewart and Todd's refurbished 1934 divan, a Chesterfieldchaise lounge in the parlor.
Of course Van Driessen could move the WheelSurge ™ by using a joystick that he pushed with his chin. This could propel him quite easily. There were some in the RehabilitationCenter down in Laredowho had been so damaged they could just push with a breath machine…so V.D. was lucky. No resentments at all. He was a blessed man.
"Stewart, the meal smells heavenly, and I can awaken Delgado to feed me—"
"Nonsense!" Stewart said, and Todd looked a bit truculent. True, Stewart had seen Todd staring a bit longingly at Delgado's butt in those Costco black jeans…
"I'll feed you, David, just like I feed my year old niece…very patiently."
"Yeah, here comes the airplane into the hanger, with the spoon, man" Todd said snickering.
Well. They compare me to a drooling, incontinent infant. That's fine. I have to put on a brave face, and let my soul shine, Van Driessen thought.
Bang! Bang! SMASH! "Beavis, you ding-dong, you don't hit the damn pane, that was nice stained church glass, butt-munch!"
"16th century beveled glass" Stewart said faintly.
"So they're homos? Butt-head…homo-ville. Whose on top heh-heh—"
"Better than flogging the dolphin, what you've been doing in stir, turd-breath, huh-huh…but its prob'ly Todd. Todd humpin' Stewart, night and day."
"Yeah, Butt-head, one of my cellies in the block used to lick another dude's ass, it was called rimming. You think Todd rims…he eats Stewart's BUTT?"
There was another crash, and rustling in the vestibule, and into the dining room came—unbelievably—Beavis and Butt-head.
Butt-head, his dress shirt now open to his navel, spoke first "Hey, there Stewart, Todd—hope you don't mind us dropping in, for a moment—Beavis here has just been sprung out of the joint—Mr. Van Driessen! What gives? The true-crime book said you were offed…Beavis offed you or somethin'!"
"And he bounced up again-ka-chung, even after I ran over his ass…popped right up there!"
Van Driessen closed his eyes. It couldn't be…and yet, there was that voice, the owner of which had guaranteed that V.D. would never salsa dance again.
Todd and Stewart were both a bit shaken, and Van Driessen tried to take control of the situation, helpless as he was in his chair.
"Hello, boys" I must try not to sob "I am not dead, although I was in a coma for nine months."
"You got to CUM for nine months. Hear that, Butt-head? Nice chair you got there, Van Driessen!" Beavis was fascinated by the WheelSurge ™.
Beavis came a little closer, and poked the WheelSurge ™."Last time I saw you, your bung-hole was on the front bumper of the driver's ed car, dude…you were heh-heh…roadkill, road smush."
Butt-head looked around the ornate living room. "So this is how faggots live huh? Homo heaven." Todd's fist tightened and Stewart rubbed his arm softly.
Van Driessen tried to be patient. He had gone through extensive post traumatic stress disorder counseling and meditation lessons in the rehabilitation center. There had been an extensive lawsuit that had fallen to pieces as the Beavis family was almost completely indigent…
Van Driessen had actually been in the rehabilitation center almost as long as Beavis had been in prison! And of course Van Driessen would take the high road in all this. Let go of old bitterness, right guys?
"Beavis, I forgive you. I know that holding resentment is like taking poison and hoping the one you resent will die, and serenity is the ability to live comfortably with unresolved problems…that forgiveness is giving up all hope of a better past, and that ego is not my amigo—HEY!"
Beavis was now lifting David out of the WheelSurge ™ and my God, the nerve, he dropped poor Van Driessen onto the floor, and sat in the wheelchair himself.
Van Driessen of course could only move his head and he shrieked at Beavis. "You little son of a—how DARE you move me from my chair. It cost seven thousand—"
"How you get this thing goin, huh?" Beavis grinned down at Van Driessen. "A bung-hole like you, Van Driessen with this cool uh, vehicle. Betcha get lots of mileage on it!"
Beavis leaned forward and inadvertently his face hit the chin control, and the WheelSurge ™ surged forward.
Beavis laughed uproariously, and punched the chin steerer and the WheelSurge ™ shot away from the dining table, unfortunately knocking over a Ming Dynasty Celestial Globe Vase, which, being seven hundred years old shattered on the parquet.
Butt-head, hands in his pockets, strutted over to give the now sobbing Stewart a once over.
"Algernon, your wife is one of my valued customers" Stewart gasped, "But this is highly—"
"So what's it like to have Todd polish your bishop? Does he lick your marbles, you homo ass-wipe. Huh-huh…Butt-head asked this while cocking his head slightly. "Todd always got the best chicks, and now he just splits your little butt apart-right Stewie?"
Todd, who during his reformation had become a volunteer paramedic, was rushing to the prone David Van Driessen's aid. But then he turned. "What did you say, you little shit?"
Stewart's eyes rolled in his little blond head. "Todd, please don't regress any more. You've been so successful in Promise Keepers and Anger Management for—"
"ANGER MANAGEMENT! BUNGHOLE-BANISHMENT!" screamed Beavis as he crashed the WheelSurge ™ into a china closet. "More like Butt-banging management!"
"Yeah, you got AIDS management yet, Todd" grinned Butt-head, who looked more relaxed than he had in years. Pulling a Sharpie out of his shirt pocket, he drew an anus on the Jacquard vintage tablecloth. "It's sodomite city around here, or somethin'."
On the floor, Van Driessen moved his head, which was all he could do, and tried to sound authoritative. "Beavis, stop! I forgive you, but this gives you no right to take my chair!"
By this time, Beavis was standing on the seat of the WheelSurge ™ , motivating it along by pushing his knee into the chin steerer, and, as he made it go neatly over a 1900 two tier inlaid Tea Cart, Beavis strummed his air guitar, singing wildly. Todd was now having a heated interview with Butt-head, punctuating it with slaps to the face. "Look man, I don't need your homophobia. I'm trying to use my words like Stewart and my counselor said to but—"
But Butt-head was in fine form, and was ducking and dancing and ignoring the slaps. Skipping around, Butt-head began singing "I'm Todd, the Fraud, I suck the log." Butt-head picked up a gravy-boat of sour cream and rubbed it on Todd's face, see you get that from licking dick, right Toddie?"
Suddenly there was a huge scream from behind…Beavis had apparently backed the WheelSurge ™ over Van Driessen. But then there was another shout…
"My God…I can move again!" David Van Driessen rose as Beavis, Butt-head, Stewart and Todd stared amid the collapsed living room. "When Beavis hit me this time, he somehow fused my spine to my neck!"
Six months later, as George Beavis got up on stage to receive his full pardon from the Governor for his selfless invention of the Surge-SlamMassage ™, a cure for quadriplegics everywhere, he smiled and nodded as the speech ended welcoming him to the "bosom of the Lone Star State" Beavis turned to his well-paid legal representative (with these medical inventions you gotta have a lawyer to help roll in the millions)
"Did you hear, Butt-head, he said "bosom"
And then together
"Heh-heh-heh!"
THE END