Blast From The Past [FICTOID]

The late night DJ dropped another platter on the turntable (oh, who am I trying to kid?  The mp3 was edited into the playlist he uploaded on his podcast at 9:38am) then treated himself to another round of scones and biscuits from the pewter dish on the kitchen table.

His happy-go-lucky mood was shredded an instant later when his shrew of a sister said, “Are you going to look for a job today or what?”

“Jeeze, you sound just like mom,” the DJ said.

“And you sound like dad.  Now, are you going to get a job?”

“I have a job -- “

“Podcasting is a damn hobby!”

“I’m building up an audience!”

“You’re burying your audience!  They’re all old fart boomers with one foot in the grave and the other still in junior high.”

“They’re my fans.”

“They’re losers -- just like you!  And stop stuffing your esophagus with my pastries!  I paid for them -- you didn’t.”

“I do my fair share around here.”

“Only if you count folding handkerchiefs as your fair share -- which I don’t!”

The DJ stood up.  “I don’t have to take this abuse.  There’s a clause in mom’s will that says you have to give me a room and feed me until I can find a place of my own.”

“When?!?!?  Mom died 35 years ago!”

“These things take time,” said the DJ.  “A clam can’t make a pearl necklace overnight.”

“Oyster, you idiot,” growled his sister.

© Buzz Dixon