I Think I Needs Me Spinach!

A piece of Beth's new sofa was sitting in the yard. All of the small stuff had been moved in and I had been listening to Billy-growls all day about the state of my ankle and how it would improve the state of my ass if I stayed off it. So Beth and I hauled the sofa into the shade, arranged ourselves comfortably around the cooler...and prepared to watch the show of the century.

Beth:  That's right, Deb.  Step out of the way and let a man work.

Deb:  Far be it from me to leave the beer unattended and do something as
mundane as move furniture when there are shoulders to be watched.  Hey,
here's a chair...they're doing so well on their own!

Billy:  You two are about as funny as a stick in the eye.

Deb:  And you should know!!!

Sam:  Are you two through?

Beth:  Oh, you two go right ahead.  Don't mind us.

Deb:  Dirty job.  Somebody's gotta do it.

Sam:  Very funny.

Billy:  Damn!  It's hot out here!

Billy stopped to peel off his t-shirt and stuff one end of it in his back
pocket.  There was reverent applause from around the cooler.

Deb:  Holy...that's my boy!

Sam:  There some reason you need to put on a show, Strannix?

Billy:  It's 95 degrees out here, I'm pickin' up two ton furniture and I
ain't had a damn beer in about three hours!  Whaddaya want?

Deb:  Should we give the boy a beer?

Beth looked at the contents of the cooler, which had been sadly depleted
over the course of the afternoon.

Beth:  Sorry, fellas, but there aren't any lite beers here and what we got
would just slow you up.  Nothin' here anywhere near a third less filling.

Sam could see that Beth was getting silly.  Deputy Sam surfaces briefly.

Sam:  Beth.  I would like.  A beer.

Deb:  Maybe when you're done.

Sam and Billy gave up, with no amount of grace, and went back to work.  
The next thing to be moved in was the heavy mahogany dining room table.  It
was accomplished with much tightening of biceps and thighs, with a little
flexion of the gluteus muscles as well.  Almost too much for the tipsy
female heart to stand.

Beth:  Watch it, Bill!  You're gonna bust that leg off!

Deb:  Careful, there, Sammy!  That table-top's gonna get all scratched up!
Tip it!  That's right!

Billy:  Keep yakkin, somebody else is gonna get tipped, too.

Deb:  Right here?  Where everybody can see?

Sam:  Just move the damn table and ignore those two comedians!

Billy:  Shut your trap, Dawg, you ain't the drill sergeant here.

Sam:  Somebody has to be!  You'd argue with a stump!

Billy:  I'm arguin' with one now !

Deb:  Beth, isn't this just wonderful entertainment?  Do you need another
beverage?

Beth:  Wait a sec...

Beth examined the level in the bottle in her hand.  Could she?  Worth
a try.  She chugged the remaining liquid in the bottle, tossed the empty
over her shoulder into the grass and burped loudly.

Beth:  Yeah, toss me another one.

Sam:  That was pleasant.

Deb:  Here, allow me.

I had recently had a barbarous metal device fastened to my leg which
would supposedly support the pins and allow me to walk without crutches.
It also made a hell of a bottle opener.  I flipped the top off Beth's
bottle and handed it over.

Deb:  Billy, this is some really great stuff.  Too bad you can't stop for
some.

Billy set down his end of the table and started to storm across the yard
to the comedians.  Sam set down the other end, sprinted across to Billy
and grabbed his arm.  They held a heated discussion which we couldn't hear
but which we knew was about us as Billy spent a lot of it waving a fist in
our general direction.  When he looked our way, we waved, Laurel and Hardy
fashion.  Finally they turned and headed back to the job at hand.  Billy
took a brief moment to glare at us.

Beth:  SAAAM!  Bill's lookin' at us!!

For some reason, this struck me as unbearably funny.  I began to giggle
foolishly.

Sam:  Not.  Now.  That clown...what's his name, Starbuck, on the TV said it
might rain later and we need to get this shit in.  Leave 'em alone.  Let's
move.

Sam and Billy continued to move furniture, with a lot of encouragement
and virtually no help from us.  Sweat was pouring off of Sam now, and he
gave up, removed his t-shirt and wiped his face with it.  Beth whistled
loudly, pumping her fist in the air for emphasis.

Deb:  Yeeeeehah!!  Lookit that beefcake!!  Yowza, yowza, yowza!!

Sam glared over to slience us.  It had no effect.

Deb:  Everybody needs to believe in something.  I believe I'll have another
beer.  Beth, could I interest you?

Sam had had it.  He whaled his t-shirt at the comedians, and managed to 
take Beth upside the head with it.

Beth:  Biiiillll, Sam's hittin' me!!!

Billy:  And I ain't stoppin 'im, either!

Sam and Billy had moved the table inside and were slogging toward
the new refrigerator.  They hefted it, straining quite a bit, and quite
visibly.

Deb:  Hey, Billy!  Wanna beer?? Can't have one, you got too much to do!

Sam:  Lift...the...other...end...dammit...

Beth:  Goddam, I'm gettin' excited, here.

Deb:  Maybe we oughta move the couch.  And the beer.  Get a better view.
Lookit the jeans on my boy.

Beth:  Sorry.  I'm mesmerized by the biceps on mine.

Deb:  Quite right...The sacred Roy Willys t-short never did justice to those
beautiful biceps...those perfect pectorals...those delicious delts...those
terrific triceps...

Sam:  WILL YOU SHUT UP???

Deb:  No.

Sam:  What if I offered to SHUT you up?

Deb:  Billlllyyyyyy!  Sam's threatening me!!!

Billy:  I'm gonna come over there in a minute and more than threaten you
both!

Deb:  SAAAAM!  Are you gonna let Billy threaten us???

Beth:  SAAAAAM!!

Deb:  Hey, why dintchoo you idiots use a dolley to move that hummer?  Lots
easier.

Sam:  A dolley?

Deb:  Yeah.  Two wheeled thingy?...

Beth buried her face in her knees.  Her shoulders were shaking so hard
from stifling her laughter that she seemed to be threatening to implode.

Sam:  Beth.  Can it.

I knew she was laughing, but I decided to deliberately misrepresent the
assorted snorts and spits coming from the vicinity of the knees.  Sam was
sensitive to her feelings.  I thought this would bug him as nothing else
might.

Deb:  I think you hurt her feelings.

Beth started to lose it because of my last line.

Deb:  She's crying, Sam.  Now you've done it.

Sam set his end of the fridge down and leaped across the yard.  He bent over Beth's trembling, jerking, snorting figure.

Sam:  Hon...?

Bill was trying to deal with more of the weight of the fridge than he
had planned.

Billy:  Son of a bitch!!

Beth was trying not to look at Sam, but he was pulling at her head,
lifting her chin with the palm of his hand.  He could see she was laughing
now, apparently not really breathing.   She couldn't manage a single word.

Sam:  Beth?...Hon?...

Deb:  You screwed 'er up good.

Beth remained a quivering little ball.  Out of frustration, Sam picked
her up and dropped her back on the couch, then stalked away, fists
tightening and loosening at his sides.

Sam:  I...we...you...damn...

Billy:  Will you for Christs's sake get the hell back here, Dawg?

Sam:  What'n hell does it look like I'm doin', you horse's ass??

Beth's laughter had finally begun to subside, leaving her gasping
helplessly for air like a beached fish.

Beth:  Oh, God...I think I herniated myself.

Deb:  First one to the kitchen with a fridge gets a beer!  If there's any
left!  Beth, you need another one?

Beth:  Oh, yeah!  Thanks!

I had developed a fixation on the beer.  Something in me wanted to get 
Billy whipped up.  It was at this point that I noticed we were dangerously
low on Heinies.

Deb:  Say, Billy...maybe you oughta go get more beer...we're down to a 
couple of bottles.  Hard work, moving.  Ain't it, Beth?

Billy:  WHAT???

Deb:  More beer!  Beth an' I ain't in no shape to drive...

Billy:  You ain't gonna be in no shape to sit, you don't shut the hell up!

Beth:  SAAAAAMM!!

Sam:  I know, Bill's threatening you.  Strannix, please!

Beth was...overcome by the sight of Sam straining the refrigerator up
over the last step.  She rose, took a minute to steady herself, then tacked
across the yard to him.  I got up and started twirling in place like a
drunken dervish.  I had some weird idea about finding beer somewhere,
possibly by acting as a human drill bit.  I had no clue.  I didn't stop my
ridiculous twirling until Billy caught me up in his arms and flung me over 
his shoulder.

Billy:  You got your cuffs, Dawg?  I say we chain 'em to the bedpost.

Deb:  I say we chain YOU to the bedpost, then I can...

Beth was patting Sam down thoroughly.

Sam:  Beth...what...

Deb:  Damn...the boy's back is all sweated up...

Beth:  Lookin' for cuffs.  Those cuffs in your pocket or are you happy to
see me?

Deb:   He's blushing, Beth!!!  You made old Iron Pants Gerard blush!!  Or
is it Stone Pants?

Beth reached around to Sam's backside.  He jumped, then scooped her up
in his arms and stalked inside.  I was doing my best to push my hands down
Billy's waistband. I still liked the idea of the handcuffs.

Billy:  Woman, what the hell you doin'?

Deb:  Tryin t'get at something...God...

Billy hauled off and smacked me across the butt so hard it made me
straighten up in his arms.  Then he marched into the house, following Sam.
I was dumped beside Beth on the king-size bed and instructed to stay put.
Beth was already asleep.  What happened after that I have no idea.

TO BE CONTINUED...Where's Captain Call's line...