By David Colton
WILMETTE, IL — Sharon Honks didn’t think she’d have to ask her son more than three times to clean his room.
Herb the cleaning man only comes twice a week, and today was one of those fateful days.
Yet, when Sharon Honks ventured upstairs to check the progress on little Keith’s room-cleaning venture, she was disappointed to find that he had not, in fact, begun the process at all.
“Keith! I told you to put your clothes away last night, you little shit,” said Sharon Honks, who works 60 hours per week while her husband freelance paints. “Herb will be here at 7:30, but you know he likes to get here by 6:45.”
Upon being jolted awake by his mother’s booming voice, Keith scrambled out of bed and over to his dresser, but not before absolutely smoking his pinky toe on the sharp corner of his bed frame.
Keith let out a loud expletive, and his mother a vocal refrain telling him to watch his fucking mouth.
By the time Herb arrived at 6:45, Keith had effectively swept all of the items on top of his incredibly cluttered dresser into the top drawer.