Where The World Meets™
Copyright © 2005-2007 LALLOUZ INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or part without permission is prohibited. I Terms and Conditions
by Yuri Lantzman
DISCLAIMER
Lucky Dumb, A Carefree Tale About an Idiot, is a complete work of fiction of the author's imagination. The characters, events and occurrences in the locations in this story have been invented by the author, Yuri Lantzman. Any resemblance in the story to any actual person, living or dead, or event or occurrence, are purely coincidental. All individual names, titles and characters that appear in this story or in any synopsis, promotional material and the like, is fictional only. Any similarity to an individual's name or likeness is purely coincidental and should not be relied upon as fact nor perceived to be a true description or characterization. The author or Lallouz International Magazine assume no responsibility for such coincidences. The storyline concerning the ethics of any cities, departments of government or the morals of these cities’ inhabitants or their officials or any religion or religious leaders are strictly fictional. All characters within this story are Trademarks owned by the author and are protected as an Intellectual Property worldwide which prohibits unfair competitive business practices or unauthorized use. No portion of this story may be reproduced, by any means, without the express permission of the author and Lallouz International Magazine.
WARNING: This story contains language, violence, sexual situations and derogatory connotations which may not be suitable for all readers. FOR ADULT READERS ONLY.
Fretfully, both Weatherton women and Lucky were led away from the waiting area and into the doctor’s office. As they were seated, the doctor wore a serious expression on her face. With hands folded in front, she spoke, “I’m afraid that Mr. Weatherton has suffered a very serious stroke.”
The room was silent. Deanna, Lana and Lucky remained still for several moments until Deanna cleared her throat and with great difficulty stammered, “does this mean... will my husband be alright, will he recover?”
Just at that moment, Lucky noticed the doctor’s name tag. “Scrotum?” Lucky blurted out, bubbles exploding from his nose. “You got a lot of balls!”
Lucky twitched. It was all coming back to him -- the horror! He would never forget when the lights came on... camp Director Rabbi Morgenstern, head counsellor Yossi Birnbaum... they weren’t too pleased to find the little ‘gentile boy’ with his pants down and ‘micro pecker’ exposed looking like a ‘Dum’ putz. Nobody said anything, but they all thought the same; what if the kid had been Jewish? There was nothing extra to cut away. Lucky needed every bit of what he had down below!
He remembered it like yesterday -- all the kids laughing their heads off. The Rabbi wasn’t too pleased. And to add salt on the wound, Betty nicknamed him ‘micro-dick’. Soon enough, the entire camp was calling him ‘MD’. A doctor, he was not!
Word has it that Rabbi Morgenstern called Zero the following day to have the boy removed. But word also has it that Zero made a sizeable donation to a local Yeshiva, which explains why Lucky stayed on for the summer.
Lucky continued to remain in his delusional state. Dr. Scrotum scrunched her eyebrows together, not quite knowing what to make of Lucky. Perhaps she thought he had Tourette’s syndrome. She focused on the ladies and replied cooly, “I’m afraid the stroke has caused Aphasia.”
“What is that, exactly?” Lana asked with a tiny sniffle, extremely upset with the day’s events.
Dr. Scrotum sighed heavily, “Aphasia is one of the many causes that can result from a stroke. It can occur when sufficient levels of oxygen have problems reaching the blood flow to the brain. When Aphasia occurs in patients, it normally affects all forms of communication -- whether it’s writing, reading... even speaking.”
“He can’t speak, like... ‘never’ again?” Lucky exploded from his seat. Things just kept getting better and better. The old man was practically a vegetable at this point.
Dr. Scrotum peered at Lucky, trying to determine if he was indeed insane. But once again she ignored him and continued, “there’s a small percentage that he might be able to speak again... however, if he doesn’t improve over the next few weeks, I’m afraid that any other means of recovery is unlikely.”
“Can we see him?” Lana asked, her hand protectively resting on her stomach.
“That’s not possible at the moment. We’re still running a battery of tests. Your father is heavily sedated, and we’ll be watching him closely over the next 48 hours to determine the extent of the stroke,” Dr. Scrotum rambled.
“When do you think he’ll be fit to return home?” Deanna asked.
“I’m not sure, but hopefully we’ll know soon enough.” Her pager went off. “If you’ll excuse me.”
As they exited the office, both mother and daughter hugged, tears cascading down their faces. There was a puddle forming at their feet. From Lucky’s perspective, it felt as though they were celebrating the old geezer’s funeral.
“Now Lana, I’m concerned about this pregnancy. There’s always the chance that it’s a false alarm... like a nasty stomach bug.”
“Mother...” Lana said somewhat exasperated, “I am sure. But if it’ll put your mind at ease, I’ll double check by taking a test in the hospital.”
Deanna continued, “having a baby is a big step, especially when it’s with someone like...”
“Like whom?” Lana blurted.
“Now listen, there’s no reason to get upset. I just meant...”
“I know exactly what you meant, Mother!” Lana turned and walked toward Lucky. “Here, Lucky” she called as though calling a dog. “Let’s go find an obstetrician and take another pregnancy test to prove to my mother that she ‘is’ going to be a grandmother... like it or not!”
Lana asked for directions from a passing nurse, and took it upon herself to lead the way. Once they arrived at the Obstetrics Unit, Lana approached the desk where a nurse was on duty holding a clipboard.
The nurse asked cheerfully, “name?”
“Weatherton,” Lana said with utmost dignity, as she held her head up high. Deanna watched her daughter in amazement. Lucky on the other hand, was ogling the young blond nurse, who appeared to be in her early twenties.
The nurse smiled brightly at Lana. “Of course! We just received your test results today, actually!” She shuffled through some folders and pulled out a manila file and opened it.
“What do you mean? I haven’t even taken...” Lana began all confused, but the nurse wasn’t listening. She was reading the contents of the folder.
“Definitely pregnant. I’m sure your fiancé will be very excited! He sure seemed to be on cloud nine when the two of you were in last week!”
“What?” Lana asked completely bewildered. She had only taken a home pregnancy test bought at the pharmacy.
“What!” Lucky shouted stupidly.
“Lana dear, did you already take a test here?” Deanna asked with her eyebrows perched.
“No,” Lana replied agitated. “I never came here last week!”
“Of course you did, silly!” The pretty nurse laughed, “I remember your name, ‘Weatherton’. Well, actually your fiancé’s name... Bill Weatherton. You never gave us you surname -- just ‘Lois’. But, that will all change once the two of you are married!”
Lana, Lucky and Deanna glared at the nurse in disbelief. A deadly silence overtook the room. Lana managed to whisper, “Bill Weatherton?”
Nurse Ally nodded, always smiling. “Sure was!”
Deanna mumbled to herself, “Mother warned me not to marry him. She always said that he’d run off with a younger woman someday... but not if he’s dead!”
Everyone looked at him repugnantly. Lucky’s face flushed with embarrassment, like the time he went to an orthodox Jewish camp in the Catskill mountains for six weeks when he was fourteen years old. His father managed to ‘fenagle’ the kid in, hoping that some the Jewish smarts would rub off. Maybe Zero thought that his kid would learn the secrets of how to make ‘matzo balls’... the old man just loved those kosher dumplings!
One night, some of the kids were in a huddle. Lucky thought it was a prayer thing, where the ‘Yids’ would ‘daven’ rock back and forth in a wild chant while wrapped in fancy oversized scarves... but soon found out that some girls from a neighbouring ‘shikseh’ camp had snuck into their camp. Dumino was a scrawny pimple faced kid. Chances of him getting laid before the age of thirty were slim. But then along came Betty... yeah, ‘Blow Job Betty’. That’s what they called her... all ten of ‘em!
Lucky’s world was getting better by the minute. Old man Weatherton was screwed, one way or another! Suddenly, he recognized a familiar whistle in the hallway. As he poked his head out, he could see his father headed to the STD Clinic. Lucky followed. What could Zero possibly be doing headed that way?
“Dad?”
“Hey, Lucky! Think I caught something fishin’, if you know what I mean!”
“How, who?” Lucky asked embarrassed.
“You remember ‘Blow Job Betty’, don’t you, boy? She’s the skank who almost got your ass thrown out of ‘Jew Camp’. The bitch gave me these damned blisters all over my ‘man-loin’! He started to unzip his pants to show Lucky, but a nurse intervened. There was sigh of relief from everyone in the clinic.
“Please, sir... that won’t be necessary. The doctor will see you in just a few minutes. Have a seat.”
What was his father doing with the girl who nearly ruined his life when he was fourteen? The nurse called out, “Mr. Dumino, Dr. Scrotum will see you now.”
Lucky felt weak with embarrassment. The doctor he had so cruelly mocked earlier was about to discover the secret to his insanity... his old man. Perhaps she would better understand his bizarre condition as ‘Dum-ino-itis’.
As Lucky turned to walk away, someone called out, “Sir... will you need an ointment as well for your genitals? Shall we take a wee-peek?”
“Touché, Dr. Scrotum”, Lucky muttered. He turned red as a beet. She had his number alright, and was ready to play. But he couldn’t stay -- he realized that he’d just walked away from Lana. He needed to get back... back to the ‘golden cow’ whose ‘Daddy’ was an invalid... a very rich vegetable! Oh, how Lucky suddenly loved salad and the colour ‘green’!