"This is ass," said Bismuth Sub-salicylate again.
"What was that you said?" asked Bob Pringle. "Did you just call me an ass? Because if you did, Bis, then I'm going to have to kick your ass."
"I didn't say that you're an ass, I said that this is ass, Bob. You heard me say it: 'This is ass.' I said it twice. But you know what, Bob? You are an ass, while we're on the subject. You are an ass."
"What did you say?" Bob growled.
"I said that you're an ass, Bob! You heard me say it! Now what are you going to do about it, hmm? Why don't you just down here and throw bologna sandwiches at me, huh? Or are you not bad-ass enough? Are you just a smart-ass ass-wipe, BOB? Yeah, you ARE!" Bismuth was standing now, his eyes furious, shouting at Bob, who was growing more and more angry-looking, while Ann-Marie Roche-Moutonnee simply stared at the two testosterone-infused males in their contest of dominance in stunned speechlessness. "It's your fault that Leelee left me, you asshole! She loved me, and you made her leave! Why, I ought to kick your dumbass ass to Nearest Seaprot! How could you do that to me? I thought that we were buddies! And then you had to go and screw everything up! I could have been something, and then you - you - ARGH! OO! You just make me so mad!"
Bob Pringle leaned towards Bismuth, his eyes narrowed in evidence of his fury, and said in a snarly, cautioning tone, "Oh yeah? Well, let me tell you something - Leelee Bingoslick was about the stupidest person that I have ever met, so you ought to thank me for telling her that you were a spy for the government who was going to turn her into a pumpkin at some point! She believed me, you dumbass! And it's not my fault that that piece of ass just happened to choose you instead of me - and you know what? It's just as well, because all I wanted was to get some ass, and let me tell you, BISMUTH, her ass was a FINE ass, and it was MINE ass, not yours! So you can just forget about her having loved you or whatever the hell it is that you've got the crazy-ass idea of what she thought of you. Her ass should have been mine, and I wasn't going to let a jackass like you have her in place of me, no way! Even if we were supposed to be buddies! And do you know what else? Your artistic flower arrangements were UGLY! And I hate you! Gah! I'm going to ride over and tell the royal authorities right now that you killed the royal pet turkey Snookums on your bicycle, and then you'll be beheaded, and then we'll see who owns your ass, won't we? Won't we, BIS?!" And on that note Bob Pringle ran to his blue bicycle and jumped on to it and rode off at his top speed, and Bismuth ran after him shouting, "No! No, you can't! You asshole! No! Get back here! NO!" Then he fell over with his hands on his knees, panting and breathing hard while Bob Pringle rode off into the distance shouting back rude obscenties and cackling cruel laughter. Ann-Marie walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Well, Bis, that's too bad. I'm sorry that you're going to die. It was nice to know you," she said.
"Yeah, thanks," Bis replied, glaring over his shoulder at her and speaking in a tone that told exactly how much he really appreciated her remark. "That's such a comfort, oh yeah. You're such a great friend, Ann-Marie. I'm so glad that you were able to help me out in these troubled times. Get your hand off me," he snapped, shrugging her hand off of his shoulder. Then he got onto his bike and rode home, and Ann-Marie dumped the last of the sandwiches on the dead turkey and tossed the bags away and rode off towards her home. The plastic caught a warm, favorable breeze and rose into the air, higher and higher, like the soul of a dandelion in a drifting golden sunset, and eventually joined the heavens like a child's birthday wish, carried on the smoke of dreams. It smelled like Muscovite incense.