Little Curtis, Part 1

The genesis of Little Curtis. Department of Social Services, please ignore the comment that my friend makes, that suggests she will marinate her baby in whiskey.

This was a snarky comment I wrote on a social network in response to my friend Jessie. It turned into a favorite serial of mine.

“Momma! Momma!”
“What is it, hon?”
“Come quick, momma! Somethin’ on the Facebooks!”
She entered the room, wiping her hard hands on her threadbare apron, weary and bedraggled. What was Curtis up to now, when he should be shucking corn for supper. She looked around. He was nowhere near his shucking tub, instead, she found him in front of the computer, staring gape-mouthed at the thing. Continue reading Little Curtis, Part 1

This ends badly.