“Do you want to say that again?” My father’s voice was like ice.
I sucked in a breath and ducked my head. “Dad, I’m gay.”
The slap came out of nowhere, so fast I didn’t feel it until it had already happened. My cheek burned.
“No son of mine is going to be a bloody fairy!”
I tried to look up, but my head felt too heavy to stare at anything but the floor.
“Look, Dad… I can’t change this.”
“It’s unnatural, that’s what it is!”
“It’s not unnatural,” I protested without thinking. “There’s been gay penguins. And gay flamingos! It was in the paper.”
My father ignored me.
“How am I going to live with this shame, eh? Did you think about that before you started bending over for random men?!”
I winced.
“Dad, I have a boyfriend. I wouldn’t have sex with random men. It’s dangerous.”
My father didn’t reply. After a long moment of silence, I dared to look up. A vein throbbed in his temple, threatening to explode.
“Dad?” I ventured. My voice cracked and broke.
“You’re not my son,” my father said, and stormed out of the room.
Showing posts with label Flamingo Fun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Flamingo Fun. Show all posts
Saturday, 19 May 2012
Flamingo Fun by Sam Smith
The Exotic Burger Van was fantastic. I’m really disappointed that it got shut down. It was run by this old guy who used to wear a blue hairnet over a backwards cap and had a face like a bulldog with stinging nettles in his mouth. He carried a gun tucked in the back of his trousers, the silver handle poking out whenever he turned around to put a burger on the incredibly dangerous looking grill. He didn’t speak much. I always tried to start a conversation, because he seemed pretty interesting, but all I ever heard him say was, “Onions?” His name might have been Gareth.
The small white trailer was always in the same place, at the back of the Homebase/Halfords car park. It never moved. There was an old Ford Mondeo attached to it, but I think Gareth just used to sleep in it. The sign on top of the van read “The Exotic Burger Van” in red block capital letters on a background of jungle leaves. Under the small counter where Gareth would lean out and hand you the food, there was a crude painting of a snake eating a burger made of its own still-attached tail. Thinking about it, that was pretty weird.
But the burgers! They were incredible! The first time I went there was a total accident. I was walking home at six in the morning after camping with a few friends and I was desperately hungry. I smelt the meat on the air and almost magically ended up in front on The Exotic Burger Van. I looked up at the whiteboard menu. Every burger was made of some ridiculous animal. Hippo, kangaroo, shark, it all sounded crazy. I couldn’t see just a regular hamburger and was a bit put off, but I was far too hungry to move from that spot. I ordered a flamingo burger, expecting it to be kind of like a chicken burger from KFC. It wasn’t. It was so much better. It was like eating the hand of God. I cried a little as I ate it.
I thought I might just have still been a little stoned from the night before, so the next day I came back to The Exotic Burger Van and got another flamingo burger. Again, it was absolutely amazing. For the few months, I came back every day and got a weird burger. I couldn’t be happier about my choice. There was doubt in my mind that the burgers were actually made from what they called. As if Gareth could actually get his hands on grizzly bear meat through some shady dealings to feed it to the hungry people of Bristol. Honestly though, I didn’t care. I just kept eating them.
When I found out that Gareth had been arrested for poaching wildlife from the Longleat safari park, I did feel a bit bad, but mostly I was just mad that Gareth got caught. I broke into The Exotic Burger Van, but it had already been emptied by the police. Where am I supposed to get my fix of stupid animals now? I can’t go back to eating beef and pork. It’s just not the same.
The small white trailer was always in the same place, at the back of the Homebase/Halfords car park. It never moved. There was an old Ford Mondeo attached to it, but I think Gareth just used to sleep in it. The sign on top of the van read “The Exotic Burger Van” in red block capital letters on a background of jungle leaves. Under the small counter where Gareth would lean out and hand you the food, there was a crude painting of a snake eating a burger made of its own still-attached tail. Thinking about it, that was pretty weird.
But the burgers! They were incredible! The first time I went there was a total accident. I was walking home at six in the morning after camping with a few friends and I was desperately hungry. I smelt the meat on the air and almost magically ended up in front on The Exotic Burger Van. I looked up at the whiteboard menu. Every burger was made of some ridiculous animal. Hippo, kangaroo, shark, it all sounded crazy. I couldn’t see just a regular hamburger and was a bit put off, but I was far too hungry to move from that spot. I ordered a flamingo burger, expecting it to be kind of like a chicken burger from KFC. It wasn’t. It was so much better. It was like eating the hand of God. I cried a little as I ate it.
I thought I might just have still been a little stoned from the night before, so the next day I came back to The Exotic Burger Van and got another flamingo burger. Again, it was absolutely amazing. For the few months, I came back every day and got a weird burger. I couldn’t be happier about my choice. There was doubt in my mind that the burgers were actually made from what they called. As if Gareth could actually get his hands on grizzly bear meat through some shady dealings to feed it to the hungry people of Bristol. Honestly though, I didn’t care. I just kept eating them.
When I found out that Gareth had been arrested for poaching wildlife from the Longleat safari park, I did feel a bit bad, but mostly I was just mad that Gareth got caught. I broke into The Exotic Burger Van, but it had already been emptied by the police. Where am I supposed to get my fix of stupid animals now? I can’t go back to eating beef and pork. It’s just not the same.
Flamingo Fun by Lesley Whyte
"Flamingo. Definitely a flamingo."
"Really? Why?"
"'Cause they can fly and breathe underwater. You can't beat that."
"What are you talking about? Flamingos can't fly."
"No, it's penguins that can't fly."
"I'm telling you, flamingos can't either. And I hate to burst your bubble, but I don't think they live under the water either. I think they just like being near it."
"You're getting all wrong. Flamingos can swim and fly. God."
"Look, I'm not being funny, but they can't do either. And you-"
"Fine, fuck it, I'd be a penguin and flamingo hybrid. I'd be a pink penguin. What kind of stupid fucking question is it anyway? What would you be?"
"Dog, probably."
"Huh. I like dogs."
"Yeah, me, too."
"Really? Why?"
"'Cause they can fly and breathe underwater. You can't beat that."
"What are you talking about? Flamingos can't fly."
"No, it's penguins that can't fly."
"I'm telling you, flamingos can't either. And I hate to burst your bubble, but I don't think they live under the water either. I think they just like being near it."
"You're getting all wrong. Flamingos can swim and fly. God."
"Look, I'm not being funny, but they can't do either. And you-"
"Fine, fuck it, I'd be a penguin and flamingo hybrid. I'd be a pink penguin. What kind of stupid fucking question is it anyway? What would you be?"
"Dog, probably."
"Huh. I like dogs."
"Yeah, me, too."
Flamingo Fun by Meg Burrows
Pink ruffles,
men in neon tights,
people all smiling wide with
touchy tongues.
One step, two step, three step,
Floor! Holding a bottle of tequila.
men in neon tights,
people all smiling wide with
touchy tongues.
One step, two step, three step,
Floor! Holding a bottle of tequila.
Flamingo Fun by Ryan Kane McGuire
This flamingo was my favourite, but it is broken now. I had seven flamingos. This one was my favourite.
They all stood in their formation in the front garden, coyly propping themselves up on one leg. Sometimes they looked like they were shielding their beautiful pink plastic feathers from the muck, and sometimes they looked playful. Teasing me.
Yes, yes... Last Friday. What happened? Well, I was playing with Svetlana... this one. My favourite one. Mr Dewberry came walking past my garden, that rotter, that horrible man, and he started talking to me.
“Oh, Kevin, Kevin, when are you going to grow up and stop playing with those stupid plastic birds, eh?” What a bugger. No, he didn't actually sound like that. I apologise. My impression was tarnished by anger and for that I am very sorry, mister policeman. What? No, I didn't say anything else to him that day. He walked off with his pointy-faced wife.
Well, then I went in and had lunch, then I took Svetlana for a walk, then... oh. Right. Well, in the evening, once Mr Dewberry had gotten home – I could tell, I watched out the window for two hours until he came back – and then I got the spare key Mr Dewberry always left under his flower pot, and let myself in.
What next? I told you. We killed Mr Dewberry. We bashed his silly, mean brains in. 'We' as in me and Svetlana. I told you that already. That's why she's all broken. Look at her, poor thing... this one was my favourite.
Sorry? Why do the others have blood on them? Well, we let them watch.
They all stood in their formation in the front garden, coyly propping themselves up on one leg. Sometimes they looked like they were shielding their beautiful pink plastic feathers from the muck, and sometimes they looked playful. Teasing me.
Yes, yes... Last Friday. What happened? Well, I was playing with Svetlana... this one. My favourite one. Mr Dewberry came walking past my garden, that rotter, that horrible man, and he started talking to me.
“Oh, Kevin, Kevin, when are you going to grow up and stop playing with those stupid plastic birds, eh?” What a bugger. No, he didn't actually sound like that. I apologise. My impression was tarnished by anger and for that I am very sorry, mister policeman. What? No, I didn't say anything else to him that day. He walked off with his pointy-faced wife.
Well, then I went in and had lunch, then I took Svetlana for a walk, then... oh. Right. Well, in the evening, once Mr Dewberry had gotten home – I could tell, I watched out the window for two hours until he came back – and then I got the spare key Mr Dewberry always left under his flower pot, and let myself in.
What next? I told you. We killed Mr Dewberry. We bashed his silly, mean brains in. 'We' as in me and Svetlana. I told you that already. That's why she's all broken. Look at her, poor thing... this one was my favourite.
Sorry? Why do the others have blood on them? Well, we let them watch.
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