Vultures

The vultures circled a few times to be certain of their find. Once they were sure, they roosted on a nearby Yucca tree till it was time for dinner.

Their find, Jerome Stanley, anticipated their arrival. But he wasn’t quite ready to put himself on the menu.

“You’re not gonna make a PuPu platter out of me!” said Jerome. “I’ll wring your scrawny necks if you come anywhere near me!”

The vultures rustled a little at the sound of his voice, as if to say, “Yeah, yeah. We’ve heard it all before. We’ll wait just the same.”

Jerome Stanley rested his head on his knapsack and licked feverishly at his cracked lips. He hadn’t had a drink of water since he left the house earlier this morning. That was moments before his wife came at him with the shovel. He never knew what hit him.

“Damn fucking desert,” he said. “It’s gotta be five hundred degrees out here! And who fucking tied me up? Jesus! What a fucking nightmare!"

That morning, when Jerome’s wife, Marissa, dragged Jerome from the back of their Subaru station wagon and dumped him on the desert floor, some miles outside of Tucson, AZ, he was still unconscious. She thought about putting a bullet in his head, then thought otherwise. “Why make it easy on him?” she had said to a passing lizard.

She did let Jerome keep his knapsack. It was filled with all the necessities of a no good cheating son of a bitch husband: condoms, lotions, sex toys, cologne, satin pajamas, and a variety of fake ID’s.

“Dr. Jason Sniffer?" she said to her unconscious husband. “Are you fucking kidding me! Who are you?”

Noticing a little leather pouch in the knapsack, Marissa retrieved it and dumped its contents on the desert floor.

“What the Fuck?"

About a dozen diamond rings lay there glistening in the morning sun.

“These can’t be real," she said. “We can barely pay the mortgage at the end of the month. How could you afford these?"

Realizing that she had just answered her own question. Marissa grabbed the bottle of cologne from his bag, and splashed the nasty fragrance over the Hawaiian shirt Jerome was wearing. The same shirt he was wearing when he proposed to her twenty years ago.

“Who were you planning on proposing to today, Jerome?” she said. “I hope when the vultures come that you’re alive long enough to see them licking your bones, you mother fuckin’ douche bag!”

With that Marissa gathered up the rings, hopped into her Subaru station wagon and sped off.

A few hours later, suffocating in the smell of his own cologne, Jerome felt a slight, but welcome, breeze. But it was only the rustling of feathers as the vultures approached.

II

“Cut!” shouted the director. “That’s a wrap! Now let’s get the fuck out of this desert”

Gwenyth Paltrow, playing the part of Marissa, retreated to her trailer for a cold shower, a change of clothes and a carrot. The rest of the crew went about the business of packing up gear.

Nicolas Cage, playing the part of Jerome, remained tied up on the desert floor.

“Excuse me?” he said. “Hello? Fellas? Some one want to untie me? Hey! Where are you all going? Get me the fuck out of here!”

A couple of hours later the crew was back on the road, minus one Nicolas Cage.

Gwenyth Paltrow? You're next.

Morgan Freeman? I love you, man. But enough with the movie narrations.

Meanwhile, back at the desert, Nicolas Cage felt a slight, but welcome, breeze. But, again, it was only the rustling of feathers as the vultures approached.

Hey! Freeman! I said enough! You're this close, my friend.