Just me, Nacho, and Burke at the hideout today. Bump is away on vacation with his family. But his calling cards were all around us—black clumps of chewed-up licorice. He doesn’t eat his licorice all the way anymore. He folds a couple sticks in his cheek and chews and sucks and then spits out the wad. I think he thinks he’s chewing tobacco.
So we didn’t ride over to Soop’s. It’s not the same without Bump. He always does most of the talking. But there was still plenty to hee-haw about—for the first time we weren’t just laughing about Soop. We were laughing about Bump too. About how he was getting madder and madder each day.
“Did you see him the other day? Did he blast outta there or what?” said Burke.
“I saw snots shooting out his ears!” said Nacho.
That’s how it went. Hey, we understood. Nothing is more maddening than a goober who won’t get mad. It’s like they cheat you out of your fun. It’s like you throw a dart at a goober and all he does is say, “That tickles,” and throws it back at you, feather first. If you can’t have fun with a goober, what’s the point? So yeah, we saw Bump’s problem. We sympathized with him. But that didn’t make it any less funny.
Before we left the hideout, Nacho got a stick and scratched in the dirt:
SUPERGOOBER 10
BUMP 0
And we laughed harder than ever.