Little Pluggers

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"Goddamn little perverts!" Jeannie cried, hurling her tin of clothespins at the fleeing boys. It bounced off the leg of the youngest, who was trailing the pack, but the effort garnered nothing but a brief "ow!" for her troubles. Little bugger didn't even stumble, and all four children easily made their giggling escape. The fluttering bit of blue cloth in the grasp of the eldest was all too recognizable.

Jeannie sighed loudly, casting a jaundiced eye in the direction of the Martin house next door. All four of their boys were utter hellspawn, pure and simple. This was the second time this month that one of her bras had gone missing from her backyard clothesline, and even though she hadn't caught them at it till just now, she'd still known well enough who the little culprits were. Filthy monsters. Didn't they have an older sister to spy on?

Grumbling, Jeannie bent to pick up the basket of fresh laundry she'd dropped when she saw the boys at her clothesline, grateful at least that none of it had tumbled out to the ground. Then she remembered that the clothespins were still over by the hedge where she'd managed to peg one of the Martin spawn.

"And I'll do worse than that if I catch him again," she muttered as she began gathering up scattered clothespins. "Nothing like a good old-fashioned thirty-fifth-trimester abortion to brighten up the day."


I figure since I already did this from the one angle, I'd go ahead and try it from the other.

Damned little perverted children. Brookins and/or Fulcher, you are a filthy, filthy man and/or men.

Peek

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Sheriff Louie paused in the act of riding an imaginary horse across the backyard. "Now I gotcha!" he yelled, and plugged the grim outlaw Bad Bart with a few imaginary bullets.

The grim outlaw, for his part, seemed to be paying no notice to the little drama in which he was involved. He was kneeling in a manner wholly unbecoming to a corpse, hands pressed up against the wooden fence that separated their yard from the one next door, one eye glued to a knothole. The sheriff tried shooting him a few more times, then gave up in disgust.

"Hey, Bart, what are you -- "

The older boy whipped his head around and fixed Louie with a glare. "Shh!" he hissed, turning back to the fence.

Louie joined his brother at the fence, sitting down cross-legged beside him. "What are you doing?" he repeated in a loud whisper.

"'M watching Missus Lee be naked," Bart replied in the tone of voice often used to describe religious experiences.

Louie, for his part, merely sat there for a few moments, digesting this. Then he cocked his head. "Yeah?"

Bart nodded. "She's sittin' in a chair by her pool an' I think she's sleepin', and she's naked. All she's wearin' is just a little thing of underwear." He gave his little brother a meaningful look. "And not nothing on top."

"If she's got underwear on, she's not naked," Louie argued. Bart shrugged, his attention turned to the knothole again. After a second Louie raised up onto his knees. "Come on, Bart, I'm bored. Let's play some more."

"You can play stupid little kid games if you want," Bart replied, not looking at him. "But I don't wanna."

Stung, Louie stood up and backed away a few steps. "Fine," he replied; then, pitching his voice to a shout, "If you wanna look at Missus Lee be naked, go ahead!" He turned and pelted back to the house as from the other side of the fence came the sound of another set of footsteps, hurrying away across poolside concrete.