Diamond In The Very Rough
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'Filthy, stinking rich. Well, two out of three ain't bad.'
Bonz had always been able to do a pretty good impression of a corpse. He had, however, never before done an impression of Edvard Munch's 'Scream' minus the vocals.
"It's not that bad," Bandit Keith tried to console his friend. But he'd never been a very good actor – or thinker – and thus, wasn't very convincing.
At all.
Coming out of his shock, Bonz glared at the bumper sticker in his hand. "I am neither filthy nor smelly," he declared, taking hold of the strip of sticky-backed paper and ripping it in two. He gave a satisfied smile at the loud tearing sound his actions made.
"You're not?" Keith asked dumbly.
Scowling at his soon-to-be ex-friend, Bonz hissed through gritted teeth, "I do bathe everyday, as a matter of fact, Howard."
Wincing at the sound of his hated last name, Keith whined, "Well, you don't look it. Your skin is practically gray."
Huffing and stamping his foot, Bonz said petulantly, "It's genetics. I can't change my complexion." He made a noise of disgust and added, under his breath, "Just like you can't change the fact that you're a congenital idiot."
Having not heard his friend's catty words, Keith persisted in his valiant – but failing – efforts to cheer Bonz up. "Well, maybe we should get whoever sent this back."
Bonz's eyes lit up. Clapping Keith on the back, he enthused, "That's the smartest idea you've had all day!" He ran out of the room, going to find his computer and look up an insult.
Keith smiled for the few moments it took the insult disguised as a backhanded compliment to sink in. "Hey," he growled, stalking after his friend. He may not have been the brightest crayon in the box, but he wasn't dense.
Much more than a diamond, anyway.