Page 3
Miles Sphinctersnap
and the Applesauce Fart
By: G Wayne
Copyright © 9/7/11
After tucking Sequet in the back of a rundown cab, I handed the driver a double sawbuck and he hustled Harvey to the hospital.

Back in the office, Goldie had already checked out the name and come up with two possibles: One was a restaurant owner and mortician, and the other was a real-estate agent conman turned fundamentalist profit. She handed me the phone number for the former, and I called it.

"Hello, Fluff Bistro. This is Boswell Fluff speaking."

"Ah, hello, Mr. Fluff, my name is Sphinctersnap. I'm, ah, calling in reference to a . . . Mr. Banker."
"Mr. Banker is associated with Fluff Mortuary, not Fluff Bistro."

"Well, ah, now, Mr. Fluff-may I call you Boswell?"


"Mr. Fluff, aren't you the owner of both the bistro and the mortuary?"

"Well, yes, but I am now tending to bistro business. Would you like to order a sandwich?"

I looked at the receiver, wishing I could jam his fist through the mouthpiece and connect with Fluff's face. "When do you, ah, do mortuary business?"

Boswell took a deep breath, "Very well, just give me a second." He started to mumble a chant that sounded like, "Food for the living, peace for the dead."

"Hello, Mr. Fluff . . . are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm alright. It is not easy to change in mid-stream. I need time to adjust."

"Well, ah . . . are you adjusted now?"

"Yes I am, thank you. Mr. Sphinctersnap . . . have you thought of how you want to enter the hereafter, and whom you can trust to provide a comforting experience throughout eternity? No matter what your income, I can . . . "

"Ah, Mr. Fluff, could we confine our palaver to the matter of, ah, Mr. Banker?"

"Oh yes, I can see his smiling face, beaming kindness and friendship to everyone he meets. Greatness is a virtue that we all covet, but is it more important than being a good person like Yahweh Banker? I think not! This, and his outstanding achievements will, in the vast future, keep his memory alive.

"Mr. Fluff, are you say'n that Mr. Banker is sort of ah . . . sleep'n in soil?"

"For a long time, Mr. Sphinctersnap, for a long time, he gently left our world over one year ago," Fluff said so reverently.

"Yahweh Banker is dead?"

"Yes, Mr. Sphinctersnap, he is in all ways: undeniably, and reliably dead!"

"Thank you, Mr. Fluff, for this information. Maybe I will take you up on one a them sandwiches you were talkin' about sometime."

"Why yes, Mr. Sphinctersnap, you sound like a very fine young man, but remember youth holds no dominion over life's departure, and we are now holding great savings on discontinued caskets and apple pies. Conceder our slogan, 'We are there for you: from womb to tomb, from erection-to resurrection.'"

I said, "Ah, thank you, Mr. Fluff, I'll get back to you soon," and slammed down the phone. The guy was give'n me the willies, and couldn't dump him fast enough. Good thing he wasn't wise to what I wanted. Why I would a . . .

"Stop playing grab-ass and talk to this guy," said Goldie. She had the religious wack-job on the other phone before I was done with Fluff. She started to dangle the phone in front of my face and pulling it out of my reach before I could grab it. She was generally succeeding at pissing me off.

"How would you get along without me?" She was smiling, and I could almost see a feather stuck ta da side of her lip.

"I always try and take good care of you, don't I, sugar-tits."

She hit me in the face with the phone. It lifted me out of my chair and slapped me back against the wall. She hit me so hard I saw lollypops, and I think I pooped a little. My readin' glasses jumped off my face and arched through the air, takin' a nosedive between Goldie's big pumpkins.

When she reached to get 'em, one of her knockers popped out. While I was watching that, she whipped my glasses at my noggin.

"Look, you ruined my glasses," I said while collapsing to the floor with a lens stuck in my forehead.

She pulled out the lens and handed it to me. "It isn't ruined; just rinse it off," she said while tucking herself back in.

"It's my face that got cut up, Hot Stuff."

"There's no ruining a face like yours, Sphinctersnap."

"You were turning me on for a second there, sweet buns."

"I know, but you still aren't getting any." She sat on my lap while dabbing alcohol in the gash in my forehead. I screamed, and she finished the job while holding me in a headlock.

I held a rag to my head and grabbed the receiver and sad, "Is this Yahweh Banker?"

"Hello, hello, this is Banker. What is going on over there? It sounded like a brick hit a side of beef followed by screeching cats."

"Ah, that was nothin', Yahweh, I just dropped a lamp on my, ah, cat."

"Oh, saints abound , I hope that the animal wasn't harmed."

"The cat's fine; don't worry about a thing. Did my receptionist tell you why I'm calling?"
Goldie flipped me off.

"No, she just said to stay on the line, if I know what's good for me."

"Ya, I must apologize for her moldy demeanor. She's got what they call ah, limp nodes."

"You mean lymph nodes?
"Sure, if that's how you see's it. They just sort of flap around under her chin. Mr. Banker, my name's Sphinctersnap, Miles Sphinctersnap, I a gumshoe doing, ah, some work for a guy named Sequet. Have you ever heard that name before?"

"Well, I do not know if you won't tell me."


"You need to tell me the man's name."

"The man's name is Sequet."

"It's okay, I can keep a secret."

"Ah, that's the man's name, Harvey Sequet."

"Oh, Him . . . I don't know anybody by that name."

"Are you sure?"

"As god as my realtor, I don't think that I have heard that name."

"They say you were trying to buy some land from him."

"Who would that be?"

"The people that bought the land."

"Are they now living there?"

Goldie passed me a note and I read it out loud, ""Ask him if he likes guys-whoa! Mr. Banker, it's difficult to conversize over the phone. Could I possibly meet you somewhere?"

"I don't know-I'll be home tending the flock today. You are welcome to stop by and possibly see the light."

"Well, I won't stay that long, so I hope to only see sunlight."

"Please stay for our land development vespers."

"I'd like to do that, yes I would, but I have to cart my secretary to get her upper lip exfoliated. She's startin' to look like she could sing barbershop."

"That's so sad. I see that-how should I say-shortcoming, in many of my flock"

Goldie grabbed the phone, "Listen here, you sanctimonious fuck. I'll nail your balls to the ceiling and spin you like a fan. And the same goes for Sphinctersnap."

"I will pray for you, dear child," Banker blessed.

"The only thing that you'll be praying for is a stick up your ass for support," Goldie said humbly.

I pried the phone from her fingers. "Mr. Banker, I'll be there at two. Ah, please ignore my assistant, she has brain damage," I said, than hung up.