He’s the worst, the absolute worst. I’ve always hated bullies, and he’s no exception. His name is Bob; to me, he’s Bully Bob.
He’s in a bad mood tonight. So what’s new?
When he’s in a bad mood, that’s bad news for me. I have to pay the price. He manhandles me as he sees fit and really pushes my buttons. Hard. Much too hard.
I’m amazed that all my parts are still in working order. I only wish that his weren’t.
He’s owned me for six months. About five months too long, I’d say.
I’ve had it. ENOUGH! Tonight I plan to give him what he’s given me. Trouble. And plenty of it.
Okay, I’m not human. I’m a cellphone. But can cellphones fight back? You betcha! You see, if I concentrate really, really hard, I can move both myself and other things. The effort will be worth it to bring my owner down — and I DO mean down.
He deserves it. In spades. I’m sick of the late-night phone calls, just when I’m ready to call it a day and relax. Worse yet, he always seems to be screaming, as if he doesn’t need electronic transmission of his words. Idiot!
No rest for the weary. After the phone calls, it’s often on to taking selfies. My owner is happiest when he focuses on one thing — himself.
Now Bully Bob is busy in the kitchen, so I have a chance to whip off my beige leather case and put it on the floor near the dining room table. Right where he will walk when he comes in from the kitchen. The case blends in with the light-colored hardwood floors. He won’t notice it until it’s too late.
To be on the safe side and to ensure he has a nice trip, I pour a little grease around the area. Perfect!
A few minutes later Bob makes his grand entrance from the kitchen. Just as I hoped, his hands are full, holding the meatballs and spaghetti and a salad bowl. Not careful of where he’s walking (yippee!), he slips on my case and is soon flat on his back. Then — a bonus. Struggling to get up, he slips in the grease and conks his head on the dining room table. Bang! I cringe at the sound. At the same time, I rejoice that I caused it.
Bully Bob knocks himself out and is down for the count in a sea of meatballs, spaghetti, and salad. I take a minute to enjoy the scene and then give in to temptation. I activate my camera and take a few colorful photos to share with my cellphone friends.
I hide in the bedroom, making me unavailable for a rescue call to emergency services.
After a few minutes I hear a groan from the dining room. I peek out and see an injured Bob slowly crawling to the landline phone across the room so he can call for help.
When the paramedics arrive, I hear one say to the other, “We have to be sure to save all the evidence. Look, there’s grease on the floor. This one could be foul play.”
Foul play? I’m thinking, as they cart Bully Bob out on a stretcher. No way! Fair play is more like it.
Life is good. At least for now, with Bully Bob out of the picture.
I look for the remote control to the TV. Tonight the choice of what to watch will be mine, all mine. Ah, bliss. Vacation time!
I hope that Bully Bob has learned his lesson. But if he hasn’t, not to worry. I can always arrange another incident.
Accidents happen, y’know.
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Gail Farrelly (Twitter: @gailfarrelly) writes mystery novels and short stories. She publishes satire at The Spoof ( http://is.gd/ZjsZuy). Her short stories are sold at Untreed Reads (http://is.gd/9uwEfO), on the Amazon Kindle, at iBooks, and at many other ebook vendors worldwide. She shares a website, www.farrellysistersonline.com, with her sister, Rita Farrelly, author of the local best seller, NOT IN BRONXVILLE: A SUBURBAN MYSTERY NOVEL. Gail is working on another mystery novel and also a book of spoofs.