Jul 07

Titanium Hip Concerto in C Major

Late Christmas Eve. A warped Mozart album warbles on the record player as the party guests begin to leave. I notice grandpa slumped under the mistletoe, shitfaced and disheveled, eyeing everyone with cynical amusement. He knocks back another shot of vodka and eggnog, calmly shucks off his sweat wilted t-shirt, then snatches grandma by the hair.

“Hey everybody, listen to this,” he says, pounding his knuckles into grandma’s newly constructed titanium hip, “my Brenda sounds like a kettle drum!”

Someone bumps the record player and Mozart screeches to a halt.

An eerie stillness fills the room.

All eyes are fixed on Grandpa.

He continues pummeling grandma’s artificial hip; the voracity of his punches intensifies with every blow.

The guests begin nudging each other and whispering. One of them says, “Sounds more like a hollow cantaloupe than a kettle drum.”

“I disagree,” someone else says, “I think she sounds like a soggy head of cabbage.”

A thin sheen of sweat glistens on grandpa’s chest, shoulders, and arms as he thumps at an ever-maddening pace.

Everyone continues to watch and listen.

A steady anticipation seems to build in the air.

“I think I can name that tune in five bruises or less,” Mrs. Weaver shouts from the back of the room. And there is a gentle round of applause as grandma slowly slumps to the floor.

–Brian W. Fugett


  1. Carl Miller Daniels

    This is wonderfully sick and delicious, or at least munchy.
    Best wishes from booze time,

  2. Brian Fugett

    Believe me, Carl, it took Mrs. Weaver at least 13 bruises before she gave up and the neighborhood hairstylist, Bernice, finally NAMED the tune after 23 bruises. And then the Mozart record was re-started.

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