Cheeseburger Subversive Read Online Free

Billy and Bart; they have seen this sort of thing plenty of times.
    â€œGo on, boys,” yells Uncle Bob, with what sounds like malicious satisfaction, “kiss ‘n make up!”
    Faced with this gruesome prospect, Billy tugs off one of his sopping socks, and slaps Bart in the face with it, thus starting a violent chain reaction which sends both boys rolling across the snow-padded yard in a writhing, kicking, punching, swearing mass.
    Uncle Bob turns away from the door grinning.
    â€œHah! Glad I’m not raisin’ no sissies!” he barks, slapping my dad on the back a little more heartily than necessary and glancing over at me with an expression that suggests that my father is raising a sissy.
    â€œOur father only raised real men, eh, brother?” He pounds my father on the back again, and for just the briefest moment, Dad forgets to look holiday happy.
    â€œHe also managed to raise at least one asshole,” he mumbles to himself. Then, in the name of Christmas spirit, Dad manages to regain a false expression of cheer.
    â€œLet’s all go to the living room, okay?”
    This time it is more a demand than a request, and everybody follows. Mom, fearing that the boys might freeze solid before the fight is over, discreetly unlocks the back door as she leaves the kitchen.
    We all troop into the living room. Luckily, Mom has filled every available table and bench with trays of cookies, cakes, tarts, sausages and cheese, pickles, and her holiday specialty, chocolate crepes. The food distracts cousin Bruce long enough that he momentarily forgets about wrecking anything in the living room with his scrape-o-matic toy car.
    My aunt drops two bags of discount-brand potato chips onto one of the tables and announces that she has added her share to the pile of Christmas goodies. She says this just before Grandma enters the room — possibly so Grandma will think my aunt actually baked some of the goodies.
    Grandma nestles herself into the sofa and says, “What? Did you bring the chips?”
    I like my Grandma. She’s a smart cookie. In the confusion, I hadn’t even noticed her until now.
    â€œHow was your trip with The Cousins, Grandma?” I ask innocently, already knowing the true answer.
    â€œIt has made me glad that I never ran away to join the circus when I was a little girl. Circus life isn’t for Grandma.”
    Amelia and Adrienne each take a bite out of the two biggest chocolate crepes, holding them in such a way that most of the chocolate filling is destined to leak all over their clothing.
    â€œOhhh! Mama! I don’t like these! They’re yucky! They’re yucky! Ohhhhh!”
    â€œEwwww! I got it on me! Ewwww! Oh, yuck!”
    â€œWell, don’t eat ‘em, then. Put ‘em on the table!”
    The girls do as they are told and slap the crepes down onto the one spot on the table which is not protected by a tray or festive doily. Perhaps they have subconsciously decided that if Bruce is not going to do his job of wrecking valuables, then they will have to do it for him. Chocolate sauce leaks out all over the table and drips onto the carpet.
    My aunt has only been seated for a second or two when she springs up and loudly asks if she can make anyone a drink, which means that she is ready to start emptying that bottle of rum into herself. Since it isn’t even noon yet, Mom and Dad decline. My uncle agrees to a drink, as he usually does, and instructs his wife to search our cupboards for “the good stuff.” Dad usually hides “the good stuff” since it has a tendency to suddenly evaporate during this particular day each year.
    This year, though, Dad has hidden it in the garage, and my aunt is unable to sniff it out. Thus, my uncle is forced to settle for a specially purchased bottle of “the cheap stuff,” which is empty by the time they leave. A week later, though, we notice that somebody has broken the seal on the souvenir