Smoochy everyone!

Smoochy Til’ Death
By Heidi Ferguson

You could say that Smoochy was a bitter old woman. She was old, somewhere around 85. She was bitter occasionally, but seriously, what old person isn’t a little bit bitter? Mostly though, Smoochy was a very unique and clever woman who was always finding ways to manipulate her four idiotic sons. After all, they were the ones who had put her in Mt. Pleasure Happy-Time Seniors Camp. Which, by the way, was the most deceiving name ever. There were no mountains, no pleasures or happy times, and it was certainly not a camp. The only thing true about that name was Seniors, which was unfortunate. The only thing Smoochy hated more than her living quarters were the cranky old people that seemed to have the place infested. They just sat around griping about how their kids never visit them anymore and about their achin’ backs. Smoochy couldn’t take it, which is why she was trying to escape on a daily basis. She’d tried going out the window, but having a trick hip made climbing out the bushes impossible and she ended up yelling for help for several hours. She’d tried sneaking out the door during the night, but there were night guards exclusively for this purpose, and they surprisingly didn’t succumb to her batting of the eyelashes and showing a little ankle.
So here she sat, in a musty old armchair that smelled like death, plotting out her next move. Enter in Nurse Cujo, as Smoochy liked to call the dog-faced nurse who she was convinced was trying to fatten her up to eventually eat her.
“Your son is here, Smoochy,” she grunted and showed in Roberto, son number 1.“Hello mother,” he said, grimacing.
“Hello…Roberto. So you’ve come to ask me for more money, have you? You know, I have more to do than to just wait to die while accommodating my greedy and ungrateful children.”
“Yes, mother, I have heard your story before. So let’s cut to it, I am in love.”
This was no surprise. Roberto was constantly floundering from woman to woman, showering them with love and gifts until the next girl came along to fall for his wiles.
“What’s the tramp’s name this time? Oh never mind. I am not giving you money just to throw it away.”
“It’s different this time, Smoochy. I really am in love. Her name is Bertha, and she’s the most wonderful girl in the world!”
Nurse Cujo came in again, merely grunting, and showing in Smoochy’s second oldest, Higglesworth. He was quite round about the middle, much so that no shirt would properly fit him and he seemed to be constantly popping buttons. He reminded Smoochy so much of Humpty Dumpty that although his real name was Ted, Smoochy insisted on calling him Higglesworth.
“Hello Smoochy. I am here to present to you my latest money-making scheme, as you insist on calling them.” He was shoved aside by Freedrick, her curly red-headed skinny son who sweat so much he permanently smelled like sour milk.
He was here no doubt, for money to invest in one of his feather-brained friends’ businesses like an ostrich farm or some nonsense like that.
“I’m surrounded by idiots,” she mumbled, as they all kneeled around her chair, staring up at her with money signs in their eyes.
“And where is Pat?” Smoochy asked, noticing that her slightly-less idiotic and favorite son was not present.
“Oh Pat,” Higglesworth laughed. “He’s probably still in class or some foolishness.”
“You shutup, porky,” Smoochy snapped. “Pat is the only one who didn’t want to put me away in St. Moron’s Camp for Jerks.”
“Well, Mother, since we’re the only ones here to visit you, we obviously love you more than dumb old Pat,” said Roberto.
“Yes, yes! And now, about my friend Bob Sanjaya’s new eggs-only restaurant…” Freedrick started in.
“Be quiet! All of you.” The three chumps stared at her. “I have just received my $700 for the week. And seeing as I have nowhere to go, I have decided to hold a contest for my own amusement. Whoever wins will get the money and can throw it away on whatever bimbo or hair-brained scheme he likes.”

The contest is up to you! Submit your ideas for a contest and whoever wins will get a virtual pat on the back! And your idea will be included in the next installment of Smoochy Til’ Death.