The Hot Rod Iron Lung

[this is satire]

“Do you remember Billy Joe and Bobbie Sue?” I asked J. as we sipped our espressos in my basement bachelor pad.

“The two young lovers with nothing better to do?” he replied.

“Yeah, those two. As you recall, they headed down south with the booty from their heist. But then guess where they ended up!” I chuckled.

“Where?” J. inquired.

“In Prague, in the early 1990s! With all those American expatriates! I think they bought a castle or something. And they had a baby named Vladimir!”

“Wow!” J. exclaimed.

“Yeah,” I continued, “but then Billy Joe was struck down by some mysterious illness and now he has to live in an iron lung.”

“No kidding?” J. asked.

“No kidding!” I replied. “That iron lung’s cool, though. It has flames and ‘Fast + Furious’ painted on the sides, and custom wheels too!”

“Really!” J. cried.

“Yeah,” I said. “They’re back here in town, you know. They live in a double in the ramshackle Petersonville neighborhood. The other day I saw Bobbie Sue on the porch screaming at the kid. ‘Volodya, git yer ass in the house or I’ll bust yer haid!” is what she yelled."

"Wow, that's too weird," J. said thoughtfully.

"Yes, sometimes the truth is, in fact, stranger than fiction," I agreed.


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