Course I developed a theory. Mrs F, see, shes kept up with Robbie across all a his miserable ass years. She calls him on the last day of every month plus she sends birthday money and holiday cards and sometimes drops by with angel food cake or pasta salad. Middle school she did it, high school she did it, after Robbie dropped out she did it, and she does it now even though Robbies a grown ass man. That nice old bitch is dependable as hell! So heres my theory. Mrs F reminds Robbie about times he dont want to be reminded of. Every time he gets a phone call or birthday card or pasta salad, more time has gone between him being a young ass hero and him being a fat ass loser thats got cannibal mice in his walls.

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I met Mrs F back when I first knew Robbie. Lady brought us a strawberry pie so good I strawberry puked after me and Robbie feasted the whole thing. Mrs F has long brown hair with a gray streak like a garter snake and little round glasses that make her look smart, and the first time she talked to me I was shy as hell. I was all <Yes maam> and <No maam> and my feet kept shuffling like I was a poopypants baby, just like Robbie said. Thats why I feel fat boy on this one. Nice folk like the Fullertons? They dont need to be seeing Robbie while hes spoiling away like meat in a dumpster.

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Im mostly psyched it isnt the dealer man calling back to grief Robbie. Midget hasnt stopped dancing for supermilk so I join her clowning ass and we kick through the takeout boxes Robbie uses for plates and big gulps he uses for ashtrays and dried up medicated pads he uses for hemorrhoids and we dont even care about the mice running scared all over. In the kitchen Robbie mumbles the same crap he always does to Mrs F, <Uh huh> and <Nuh uh> and <I guess>, so I get inspirationed and tell Midget what we oughta do is make sure the doorbell works before all them trick or treaters come over to ring it.

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