Bonus Number of Ten

Me and some of my friends did a writing exercise. We were all given the same rules. One: The promt was "With a bonus number of ten." Two: It had to be comical. Three: It had to be 500 words. 

"Bonus Number of Ten"

With the bonus number of ten dancing in his head Hamilton woke with a smile on his face. This was the day he’d been waiting for, for the past thirty-nine years. A few weeks ago Hamilton got a call saying that had been chosen to be a contestant on his favorite T.V. game show.
For as long as he could remember Hamilton spent Friday nights watching Bingo Bonus with his mother. Every week she would make them a bowl of popcorn and a pot of coffee then spit popcorn bits through the air as she screamed at the television for the entire length of the show. A few years ago Hamilton started sneaking whiskey into his coffee cup, making it much easier for him to tolerate his mothers disgusting popcorn shower as she shouted all the wrong answers at the contestants on T.V.
Hamilton got dressed in his leisure suit, which was a bit snug, gelled down his frizzy hair into a perfect left part and pumped some of his best Christmas cologne on his freckled neck. Satisfied with his appearance he headed up the stairs out of the basement and into the kitchen.

“Good morning.” His mother said without lifting her eyes from her copy of The Enquirer. “What’s that smell?”

“Good mor…”
“Christ almighty! Where the hell are you off to and did you use the whole bottle of that cheap crap? I think all my nose hairs are burned clean off!”
“No Mother, they’re all still there. I can see them sticking out a mile away. Did you feed the cats?”
“Yes I fed those whining bastards! Lucky I don’t shoot every one of um! Useless smelly animals. Now tell me what you‘re up to.”
“I have an engagement down town.”
“Oh, an engagement. Excuse me. He has an engagement” She said to one of the cats. “ What engagement do you have?”
“Just something I have to do”
“Well aren’t you a Mr. Fancy pants?”
Hamilton pet each of the cats as he walked past them toward the door and without another word he left.
In the bathroom of the train station Hamilton stripped off his baby blue suit and replaced it with a black AC-DC t-shirt and tight leather pants. He ran a comb through his hair making it ratted mess. He got the black eyeliner that he had stolen fair and square from his mother and in true Kiss fashion, he applied it to his eyes and lips.
It was well past midnight when Hamilton arrived home and his mother was in her recliner with a lit cigarette hanging from her mouth.
“It’s about time you show up! I thought you might be dead in a ditch somewhere!”
“Geez Mother”
Some freak of nature named Hamster won the ten thousand dollar grand prize on Bingo Bonus tonight. ”
“Oh really? Sorry I missed it. Goin to bed, good night.”
“Good night.”
And with a bonus number of ten dancing in his head Hamilton fell asleep with a smile on his face.


"Bonus Number of Ten" By Reno Romero

This is a true story.
Or maybe it’s not.

But what is true is that Gene loved his girlfriend Pammy. He loved her name.. Pammy. He loved her eyes, her hands. He loved the words she said. He loved how her left eye twitched when she was hungry.

“I love you, Pammy,” he said, on their first date. “I know this sounds weird. But my heart feels like it’s about to blow like a firecracker.”

Pammy didn’t know what to say. Two things were occupying her mind. One: men were always telling her that they loved her. And two: she was starving, her left eye rattling in seizure. The restaurant was new. The manager was a drunk. The cooks sucked.

Pammy wasn’t attracted to Gene’s looks. Wasn’t big on his bald head, his furry eyebrows, his large leafy ears. But he was a successful businessman, very arrogant, and made good money. She liked the money part. Gene’s only blemish—at least in his eyes—was his naïveté, not recognizing his now ex-wife was fucking not one but four different men while married to him. Pammy would hear this story like a broken record.

“She was sleeping with other men!” he once shouted. “She cheated on me! With Gene Weget of Weget’s Appliances!”
But Pammy was different than Lorraine. Wore dresses. Had painted nails. Didn’t snore like a bear or fart at the sight of anything that contained protein. Gene wanted to propose to her, but something told him to wait, to not rush things. But they weren’t getting any younger.

“Were both forty-one,” he told his brother, Darrell, a shoe salesman and championship duck caller. “I don’t want a girlfriend at this age.”

“Better a girlfriend then another mistake,” Darrell said.

Gene also told his brother that there were times he witnessed men staring strangely at Pammy. But Gene came to the conclusion that they were simply admiring her beauty. Even Gene’s pastor, a boyhood friend, seemed nervous when he was introduced to Pammy.

“Pastor John is probably not feeling well,” he told Pammy who seemed flustered herself.

“Men of God carry such a heavy load,” she said, looking away.
Despite that cautious voice telling Gene to hold off on the proposal he bought her a ring.

“I thought I’d never get rid of that bastard,” the saleswoman told her boss. “He was an asshole.”
Two nights before he was going to propose Pammy showed up at his house drunk. Gene hated alcohol. His mother was an alcoholic. His ex-wife was an alcoholic. He lost his temper. They yelled back and forth. They said ugly things.
“Yeah, you’re right, Gene, you bald big-eared idiot! I’m a drunk! Say what you want. Wanna know something else? I’ve been cheating on you!”
“What? I knew it! You Slut!”
“I was even cheated with your pastor! Which ain’t sayin’ much…”
“Get out!”
“You and ten others, Genie little Weinie,” she said staggering towards the door. “A bonus of ten.”