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The Fabulous Tale of Matza: He Can Only Say ‘You Cunt’

Matza tried unsuccessfully to bend his right index finger. “You Cunt,” he said to the useless, swollen lump of a knuckle. He looked at Birdy, his cat, licked his chops like a hungry animal and jumped from his fourth floor window. He fell like a rock and landed gently on all fours as a skateboarding youth rode by. “You Cunt!” he shouted at the youngster with little effect. Matza took 3 swift strides and backhanded him off his board. He gave him a quick power-kick to the gullet and trotted to the tobacconist on the corner. “You Cunt!” he yelled at the clerk, when what he really wanted to say was, ‘I’ll take a Kodiak, I need to pinch that Grizzly.’ “Get the fuck outta here,” yelled back the Bangali, scared and insecure so far from home. “You Cunt,” said Matza triumphantly and walked out, elbows bent, chest thrust forward, chin held high. He went home to celebrate with a 1994 Rioja Gran Reserva. “You Cunt,” he said to the bottle as he uncorked it and poured himself a taste to make sure it was sound.