Randy and I could not work up the energy to attend school that day. My cousin had lent me his DVD collection of "Yu Yu Hakusho", and we found the idea of an anime marathon to be more compelling than a day spent doing geometry and reciting Spanish verb tenses. Randy's parents would both be at work until after six, so we kicked back in his living room with the remote control and plenty of snacks.
Randy laughed right along with Yusuke, as we watched Koenma receive 100 bare butt spanks from his father, King Yama, the ruler of the spirit world.
"I'm glad that guy's not my dad," Randy stated sincerely.
A couple of sagas later, Kurama said something that struck me as deeply profound: "Logic is panic's first victim."
"Hey, I like that quote," I commented. "It's SO true."
"I don't get it," Randy said, through a mouth load of Doritos.
"Well, it means that --" I cut my explanation short when I heard a car pull up to the house. I craned my neck to peer out the window while remaining in a lounging position. "It looks like your dad is home, Rand."
"What?" Randy jumped to his feet. "We gotta get out of here. Quick, out the back door!"
I didn't bother to get up. "Don't you think that your dad will know we've been here?" I gestured toward the empty pop cans and half-melted containers of ice cream that were scattered about the living room.
"Not if we make it look like there's been a robbery," Randy shot back in desperation. He began opening drawers and hurling things to the floor.
"That'll have to do," Randy said, as he watched his father coming up the walk. "We can escape through the kitchen. Come on, Arlen!"
I heaved myself up from the couch and followed Randy, just as Mr. Everett's key turned in the lock. As we exited through the rear of the house, Randy used a flashlight to smash in one of the window panels on the back door.
"That's how the burglar got in," he reasoned.
We dashed across the lawn, and hid behind the garden shed. Moments later, Mr. Everett came storming out the back door, swearing is he trod over the broken glass.
"Randall! Where the hell are you?"
"How does he know that I'm even here?" Randy whispered.
"Maybe because he parked his car behind yours in the driveway," I suggested.
"Oh, _s_h_i_t_."
"Randall Joseph, if you're not standing in front of me in three seconds, I'm going to hunt you down and neuter you!" Mr. Everett bellowed.
"You'd better get out there in a hurry, Rand." I prodded my friend in the ribs to get him moving, then followed along behind to see the show.
"What in God's name were you doing back there, Randall?" Mr. Everett demanded.
"Um, me and Arlen were trying to catch the burglar," Randy stammered.
"Burglar? What burglar?"
"The guy who broke in through the back and tried to rob us, Dad!"
"I see," Mr. Everett said dubiously. "And you came home from school because you knew that this was happening?"
"Yeah, well, old Mr. Flaherty from next-door called my cell phone because he saw the guy bust our back window," Randy said quickly.
"No, he didn't."
"He didn't?" Randy ventured hesitantly.
"No, I rather doubt that he did," Mr. Everett said. "First off, why would Mr. Flaherty call you instead of me or the police? Also, that window was broken after I arrived home. I heard the glass shatter."
"Maybe what you heard was me cleaning up the mess?" Randy mentioned hopefully.
"Or maybe you've been lying to me," Mr. Everett suggested, with more conviction then his son. "Maybe you skipped school, and tried to cover it up by fabricating a story about a burglar who indulges in junk food and TV before bothering to take anything. Is that more accurate?"
Randy didn't answer the question. His attention was focused on his father's hands -- which were undoing the buckle of his broad, leather belt.
"I warned you only a few days ago that I wasn't going to put up with any more of your _s_h_i_t_, son," Mr. Everett said. "You promised that you'd straighten yourself out, but since you haven't, it's up to me to do the job. Now, go bend over one of those patio chairs," Mr. Everett ordered.
"Not now, Dad! Not here in front of Arlen!" Randy begged.
"Do as I said, Randall Joseph -- I don't care who is around to watch!"
Randy started toward the patio, then changed his mind and stopped. My friend turned around to face his father. "Please, Dad, I'm too old now," he entreated.
SNAP! The belt lashed out against the side of Randy's leg.
"Yeouchh!" Randy yelled, rubbing frantically at his stinging thigh.
SNAP! "Oww!"
"Move your ass, son, or I'll keep this up until you do."
Randy started to cry -- more out of embarrassment and frustration than anything, probably -- then hurried to the nearest of the plastic patio chairs. He draped his body over the back, clutching the seat, so that his butt stuck up into the air.
THWAP! THWAP! THAWP! Mr. Everett began wailing away at the seat of my friend's jeans with the doubled-over belt. Randy stood up and grabbed his butt after about six or seven good whacks.
"That's enough!" he wailed. "I'm sorry!"
"That was NOT enough," Mr. Everett said flatly. "Get back down and don't let go of that chair again."
Randy obeyed with a choking sob, and Mr. Everett resumed whipping his ass with the belt. The blows were so hard, that each one rocked the flimsy plastic chair Randy was clinging to. But my friend hung on dutifully.
WHACK! "I'm punishing you because you didn't go to school today," Mr. Everett lectured. WHACK! "And because you trashed the house -- partially on purpose!" WHACK! "And because you broke our door -- which will be paying for out of your allowance." WHACK! WHACK! "But I'm especially pissed because you tried to lie to me!" WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
"Ow, Dad! Stop!" Still grasping the wobbly patio chair with his right hand, Randy threw his left arm behind him to protect his ass.
"Move your hand," Mr. Everett growled. When there was no response from Randy, his father took him by the shoulders and whirled him around.
"Fine," the irate father said. "If you can't take this like a man, then we will have to do it the 'little kid' way." With Randy bawling too hard to protest, Mr. Everett undid his son's pants and yanked them down, along with his underwear. I was treated to a full view of everything Randy had to offer his girlfriend, Amy. But I didn't get to look for long before Mr. Everett sat down and pulled Randy over his lap. He began spanking my friend's already belt-reddened butt furiously with his bare hand. Randy twisted and kicked, but couldn't break free of his father's death grip. While Randy howled and pleaded, I amused myself by counting the connections of palm to naked ass.
Mr. Everett was showing no sign of slowing down the paddling -- let alone stopping -- when suddenly he jumped up, sending Randy sprawling onto the ground.
"_d_a_m_n_ it!" the man exclaimed. "I forgot all about Mr. Flaherty."
Randy was on his knees now, frantically rubbing his backside and caring about nothing beyond the relief that his beet red ass was no longer being pounded, so I was forced to ask Mr. Everett the obvious question:
"Mr. Flaherty? What about him?"
"Arlen." Mr. Everett said my name as if truly noticing my presence for the first time. "Oh, I came home from work because Mr. Flaherty called me to complain that you boys were playing your cartoons so _d_a_m_n_ loud that it was disturbing his nap. And now I've gone and made more noise than the two of you ever could have on your own."
"Hey, Flaherty!" Mr. Everett yelled toward the house next door.
"Yes, Bob?" Mr. Flaherty's head poked out of his upstairs window so fast that it was almost as if he had been right there all along.
"I'm sorry about the racket," Mr. Everett apologized. "I forgot that you were trying to nap."
"No need to worry yourself about that," Mr. Flaherty waved a feeble hand. "You just go on doing whatever needs to be done. Don't mind me; I've got the rest of my retirement to take naps."
With a farewell salute to the neighbor man, Mr. Everett turned his attention back to his son. "Randall, you get your jeans up, get the house cleaned, then get your ass back to school," he directed. "As for you, Arlen, I'll be calling your father later tonight."
"Yeah, I figured as much."
"Unless you just want me to take care of this myself -- the same way that I dealt with Randy." Mr. Everett offered generously.
I didn't know if the man was serious or kidding, but I played it safe with the reply, "No, thank you, sir. I'd prefer to just be grounded."
Mr. Everett smiled slightly at me. "I don't blame you one bit, boy. Which is exactly why Randy isn't given that option."
I did most of the cleaning in the living room, since Randy wasn't moving too fast. Besides, my friend only had one hand to work with since the other one was glued to his sore ass. When everything was back in order, Mr. Everett made sure that we were in Randy's car and pointed in the direction of the high school before returning to work himself.
Sitting beside Randy in his restored Mustang was awkward, to say the least. My friend was still sniveling, and refused to meet my eye. He must have been embarrassed as all hell to have gotten spanked like a little boy with me watching. I didn't know if it would help any, but I attempted to lighten the mood with some causal conversation.
"You just illustrated Kurama's point about logic being the victim of panic," I observed out loud. Randy did not reply beyond an audible sniff, but I continued to speak amiably. "You got scared when your dad showed up suddenly, so you acted like an idiot and made things much worse for yourself."
"Yeah, I guess," Randy admitted.
Encouraged by my friend's willingness to join in the conversation, I grinned at him and asked, "Don't you wish that King Yama was your father after all?"
"Sure, I'd trade my dad for ANYONE, at this moment -- human or demon. But what do you mean?"
"Well, the king only gave Koenma 100 spanks on the show. Your dad gave YOU 113 whacks -- not including the belt, even."
"You were counting?"
I shrugged. "What else was I supposed to do?"
"Save my ass, maybe," Randy answered bitterly.
"And how was I gonna do that? Blast your dad with my laser vision?"
"Botan would have found a way to help Yusuke," Randy complained.
"This is real life, not an epic battle between good and evil," I said with a laugh. "Anyway, Botan is a super hot babe, so I bet she 'helps' Yusuke in ways that you wouldn't want me to attempt!"
"Fine, you're right. But how about this: tomorrow, when we finish watching the DVDs, let's do it at your house, instead of mine, K?"
The End
For more stories, please visit my website.