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Lawton Raynell Schnardlicker, You Are The Man!"Lawton Raynell Shnardlicker, if you were any hotter, the janitor would find a pile of ashes where you currently stand!" Never one to lack confidence, Lawton squeezed a dab of Crest onto his index finger, rubbed his remaining front tooth, then licked his finger and wet the patch of hair in the center of his forehead that connected his eyebrows. Glancing at himself in the mirror once more brought a huge smile to his face. "Hey you! Yeah you…the fine specimen of manhood in the mirror! I am talking to you! If I weren’t straight, I’d ask you out on a date!" Lawton drew imaginary pistols from their holsters and whispered with a wink, "Lawton my friend, you’re gonna be more popular tonight than a six–pack in a Twelve–Step meeting!" Lawton gracefully swept the toilet plunger up in his arms and danced across the men’s room floor at the Chevron. He had been bathing in the sink there since his toupee fell into his own toilet during a furious sneezing fit caused by his new cologne. He blamed it on the pollen. The blistering rash on his face and neck, and the seventy nine cents a gallon price tag, should have told him that the cologne was the culprit. A truck driver with an overactive bladder burst into the restroom, interrupting Lawton’s painfully loud rendition of Wild Cherry’s "Play that funky music (White Boy)." Terrified by the encounter, the truck driver scurried back out the door, choosing to wait until the next exit to seek relief. Lawton shrugged his shoulders and swept up his favorite mauve plaid jacket from the wall mount urinal where it hung. "Try and find this grade of polyester in good men’s clothing store. Just ain’t to be had anymore," he muttered to himself. The jacket material matched his orange seersucker pants in thickness only. A small tear in the rear of his trousers was deftly camouflaged by the faded red boxers he wore underneath. Lawton stopped just outside the restroom door, oblivious to the station owner who leaned out of his office shouting expletives at him. He could hear nothing over the Bee Gees soundtrack that played in his head. He smiled and looked heavenward, pausing only briefly to duck the crescent wrench that had been thrown at his head by the angry owner. After a few moments of soaking in the warmth of the sun, he snapped his fingers and gave a thumbs up sign. "If it weren’t for me brother sunshine, you’d be the sizzlinest thing out here today!" Pulling a worn felt beret from his jacket pocket and perching it atop his head, Lawton clicked the heels of his high top Converse together and entered the flow of human traffic that scampered its way toward the downtown district. "It’s a beautiful day!" he said to no one in particular as he passed the Laundromat. Lawton always picked up his pace at this point in the journey in order to induce perspiration. Like any other man–gift that roamed the city, he had no use for static cling. He usually sprayed his chest and back with PAM to reduce the effects, but it had recently caused all of his body hair to fall out and the margarine scent was strangely off–putting to some. Sweat seemed to eliminate the static, and it was also handy to swab his arm pits with his palms and use the glandular excretions to keep his hair in place. The wet look was all the rage, and he was, after all, a cutting–edge fashion hound. Lawton slowed his pace as he reached his destination. Leaning into the phone booth in front of the establishment, he checked his appearance once more in the chrome trim surrounding the advertisement placard above the phone. He straightened his beret and read the sign overhead aloud: N.A. Meeting – Tonight 6:00pm. "Right on time!" he exclaimed. Cutting in front of an elderly man who had approached the doorway while Lawton slicked his hair once more, he took his place in the front row chairs. The meeting came to order and Lawton leapt to his feet, assuming he should be the first to speak. "Hello. My name is Lawton Raynell Schnardlicker and I am a narcissist…" ©Kenny Blade ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Kenny Blade has been writing full–length plays, skits and monologues and short stories for more than twenty years. He began writing and directing as a youth minister to allow young people of all backgrounds and varying degrees of talent to share in the joys of stage performance. Kenny’s goal with each of his works is to make the experience of the play a complete one. "My greatest satisfaction comes in that each of the plays that I have written are as enjoyable for the performer as they are for the audience." Kenny has recently completed his first novel entitled "Never Trust Whitey." Add this page to your favorite Social Bookmarking Sites. |
