Tommy Puke and the World's Grossest Grown-Up
Robert T. Jeschonek
My best friend, Tommy Puke, slams down his half-eaten slice of extra-anchovies pizza and springs up out of his chair. "'Scuse me, Josh," he says. "I gotta go puke on somebody's parade."
Turning, I see what he's talking about. On the other side of the mall food court, some older girls are picking on a younger girl. It's three against one--bad odds for the one getting picked on, for sure.
But the odds are even worse for the ones doing the picking. Because once Tommy Puke gets involved, they don't stand a chance.
Not that I won't back him up anyway. That's what best friends are for, after all. "What can I do, Tommy?" I ask the question as I get up out of my chair to follow him.
"Keep your head down once the loogie storm starts." Tommy swats one of the flies that are always buzzing around him. "Then be ready to pull the girl out of the line of fire before I break out the heavy artillery."