Chris Auman Fiction

Author's Note: This story was written for a Fiction Writing class at DePaul University in 1990. It's actually a future chapter in the Adventures of Jim Bob & Pencilneck which I had started two years earlier but have yet to finish.

It could have been Arizona and it was definitely desert that Jim Bob and Pencilneck were now barreling across at a redneck pace in their tan 1969 Chevy Nova. It was stifling hot inside the car and it was stifling hot outside the car as well.

"Man, Jim Bob, I've got to admit that it is stifling hot in this car."

"Yeah, well it's pretty damn stifling outside too."

"Well, heck then, why don't you get back inside. Nobody's makin' you sit out there."

Jim Bob sloppily re-entered the car through the driver's side window.

"Hey Pencilneck?" asked Jim Bob once safely in the passenger seat. "What is that up there?

Jim Bob was pointing to a large brown lump up ahead on the shoulder of Highway 12. "It looks like a bum or something with its thumb stickin' up in the air."

"Should I run 'im over?"

"Let's see if he's okay first."

The two boys pulled the tan 1969 Chevy Nova over to the shoulder of the road to investigate. Upon closer inspection, Jim Bob and Pencilneck discovered that the odd lump on the roadside was indeed a bum.

"Hey dude," said Pencilneck friendily as they approached.

"Eat a desert turd, longneck," said the bum, who continued to lay motionless in the gravel.

"This guy smells like a desert turd." whispered Pencilneck to Jim Bob.

"Of course I smell like a desert turn, longneck, I'm a stinkin' bum. We stink!"

"That's Pencilneck, sir," corrected Pencilneck.

The bum opened his other eyelid, which had been closed up to this point, and examined Pencilneck closely for several minutes.

"Say... you're right," Sorry."

"Common mistake, don't worry about it."

"So," replied the bum gathering the energy to rise to his feet but not succeeding. "You gonna give me a lift or not?"

"Where ya headed bum?" asked Jim Bob.

"Off the ground," replied the bum after a hearty and quite smelly belch that sort of unsettled the boys already sort of unsettled stomachs.

"This is gonna be one long-ass ride," the bum sighed. "C'mon boys, I've got places to go. Gimme a lift."

Jim Bob and Pencilneck reluctantly helped the old bum to his feet and into the back seat of the Nova. It was assumed that the bum would be given a ride to where ever Jim Bob and Pencilneck felt they should dump him and take what little money he might have.

"Hey bum," asked Jim Bob. "Where you headed anyways?"

"Don't matter, s'pose," answered the bum, who was sitting up now. "As long as I get my fifty miles in before sundown."

"What do you mean fifty miles, bum?" asked Jim Bob.

"I meant fifty miles boy. Wha'dya think I meant? Government says fifty miles a day, five days a week, Mondays and Wednesdays I get to take a bath."

Jim Bob and Pencilneck were puzzled by the old bum and both turned around in their seats to question him further.

"You mean Uncle Sam makes you low-lifers loafers move fifty miles a day?" questioned Jim Bob. "Keep the trash from settling in one place."

"Are you that clueless, my friend?" asked the bum. "The government don't make me move fifty miles a day, five days a week, they pay me to move fifty miles a day, five days a week. I'm a bum for chrissake, not a goddamn welfare cheat! I earn my money like everyone else."

Jim Bob and Pencilneck were so engrossed with what the bum was saying the they were forced to not steer at all and trust that the Nova would maintain a steady course.

"That doesn't make any sense, bum!" cried Jim Bob. "Dude, this is America. In this country we care about what happens to the less fortunate among us."

The tan 1969 Chevy Nova was quiet for a moment as it cruised across the muggy desert, running over every small lizard and rodent that got in it's way.

"You two gentlemen," began the bum after several minutes of quiet contemplation, "sound as if you've lived in some hick cheesetown all your lives. Haven't you ever heard of a little school of study called the social sciences?"

The boys shook their heads no, they had not heard of a little school of study called the social sciences.

"Well," continued the bum, "these social scientists found out that the homeless and hungry people are functional to society."

"Functional?" asked Pencilneck.

"Yes, functional," It's like crime. Crime is a protected institution in this country. This country has the biggest, baddest, best darn crime rate in the world, because it has been proven to be functional to our society. Us, as humans, need crime."

"We need crime?" asked Jim Bob.

"Well, hell yes, boy! Crime strengthens norms and serves as a diversion of discontent among the downtrodden. Same with vagrants and bums. Think about it."

"I get it!" exclaimed Jim Bob triumphantly. "The government is givin' you bums handouts in the hopes that you'll get off your lazy butts and make somethin' out of your loser lives!"

"Yeah," agreed Pencilneck.

"NO! Haven't you been listenin'? I said crime and vagrancy and shit are detrimental to society. Don't you read? That makes them fuckin' A functional! Do you think the government would let a sixty-seven year old, penniless, washed up old wino like me do something that was functional and good for this country if they couldn't have some part in it?

"No?" answered the boys.

"Damn straight. That's why the government decided to lend a helping hand and pay off all the bums and winos and maybe put a little respect back into the world's second oldest profession. I was once a no good hobo, but now I'm a bona fide government official, get it?

"Yeah, we get it bum, thanks," replied Jim Bob.

"Good, then shut up and let me catch some z's."

After the bum was soundly asleep Jim Bob and Pencilneck decided that they too would like to help their country and be functional to society. So, while Jim Bob continued a steady speed of 86 miles per hour, Pencilneck lifted the bums wallet and rolled him out into the darkness of the now dark desert.