Numbskullery

Nonsense at its best

Summer vacation was about to end; it was almost over. Both situations being the same, it really made no difference if summer vacation was ending or overing. Whatever the summer of '42 was doing, a kid named Zero and his best friend, Miles, whom everyone called Kilometer for short, were as bored as an oak-planked floor. They couldn’t wait for school to start so they could moan and groan about how much they hated it. With nothing better to do to occupy their brilliant minds, they decided to play a game of Russian roulette.

Zero furnished the gun and bullet; both belonged to Zero’s mom, but since the accident that no one was allowed to talk about, she didn’t do any more shootin’. One afternoon while Zero's mom was sleepin’ off a fifth of Who-Hit-John, he sneaked her gun along with a bullet out of the house. The two geniuses headed off to Widow’s Creek—Widow’s Creek was named Widow’s Creek because it ain’t big enough to be a river—to play a few rounds of Russian roulette.

It was as quiet as a church bell on Monday at Widow’s Creek, but with any luck, the bullet’s exploding reverberations would soon wake even the sleeping willow tree that slept nearby. Kilometer loaded the gun and gave the cylinder a spin. Around and around the cylinder spun; where it would stop, nobody knew. When at last the cylinder stopped spinning, Kilometer handed the gun to Zero. Zero told Kilometer that the guy who spins the cylinder, is the guy who takes the shot. Kilometer argued that what Zero said did not follow the official rules set forth by the Russian Roulette Rules and Regulations Congress in 1881. He insisted that the rules state that the guy who spins the cylinder has the option to shot or hand off.

Zero told him that since it was his gun and bullet, they were going to play by his rules, or not at all. Kilometer reminded Zero that the gun and bullet belonged to his mom. Zero told Kilometer to leave his mom out of it and slugged him one in the jaw. Kilometer staggered like a shrunken tailor and dropped to the ground. Zero then pointed the gun at Kilometer and pulled the trigger: Click.

There was no gunshot. Zero was about to pull the trigger again, but Kilometer held his hand in front of his face (as if that was going to stop a bullet) and said to Zero that he only gets one shot. Kilometer was right as Hannedy. Zero handed him the gun, but Kilometer told Zero that it was his turn to spin the cylinder. Zero spun the cylinder, pointed the gun at Kilometer, and pulled the trigger. The gun fired, but the bullet missed Kilometer, plugging the sleeping willow in its trunk.

The tree didn't react one way or the other to being shot, but Kilometer began yelling ouch, ouch, ouch. Zero told Kilometer to quit yelling because he was not hit. As Kilometer felt for bullet holes in his body, he told Zero that he cheated. He said that it was his turn to shoot. Maybe it was, and maybe it wasn’t, but by way of purloinmanship, it was Zero’s gun and bullet, and since ownership is nine tenths of the law, what difference did it make what Kilometer said.

Since they were out of bullets, Zero and Kilometer decided to play mumbly peg, but neither kid had a knife. It was Zero who suggested that they steal another bullet from his mother and continue their game of Russian roulette. Kilometer said he was out of the mood and suggested they go to the park a hit some fungo. Zero said he lost his glove and besides he didn’t want to hit fungo. Kilometer went to the park and Zero stole another bullet from his mother and went back to Widow’s Creek to play Russian roulette by himself. The game ended when Zero got hungry and shot a frog—not to eat, just to end the game.

Zero and Kilometer spent the rest of the summer doing nothing. Unfortunately, and to the detriment of mankind, they never again played Russian roulette.

The End