IDK A DOZEN – By @Deeliopunk
The five men get up from the ground and brush off the cotton candy magma from their sleeves. Each of them feeling lost, lost in a world void of the number twelve.
“Wer shuld gert serm ferd.”
“Sounds like a good plan, El Ooopoeoe. Where is a good place to eat around here?”
“Man, this man be thinking about food at a time like this? My head be banging’.”
“I know a good place!” shouts the paperboy.
“There’s a bakery down on Tenth Street.”
“Let’s check it out.”
“But I warn you. It’s incredibly hard to order there.”
They all walk down the street as El Ooopoeoe tries to lick everyone’s sleeves.
“Man, get off me. Lick your own sleeves.”
“Er erdy derd thert. Nerd mer befer wi gert ther.”
“Well find someone else, man. I can’t be having you cramp my style.”
“Er rite…. er steryl.”
They arrive at the bakery at 11:59am.
“How long were we passed out after that explosion?”
“Werl weh dernt gurt ep fer ahile der two sumern nert serting ther alerm.”
“I thought you were supposed to set the alarm, El Ooopoeoe?”
“Her Meh? Ert wers ur jerb.”
“Well whoever’s job it was, it’s too late to argue now. Let’s go inside and enjoy some baked goods.”
The five men walk inside the bakery and walk up to the counter. Glenn, the man behind the counter wearing the chef’s hat like the guy from the ravioli cans looks up at them and smiles.
“How can I help you fellas today?”
“Wer er yeh cerling a ferla?”
“What’d he say?” asks Glenn.
“Asked who you’re calling fellas.”
“The five of you…?”
“Oh, okay. We’d like to order now.”
“What would you like?”
“Two donuts each please. And two for you for being so nice.”
“Okay, so that’s a dozen donuts.”
“I don’t…I don’t know what that means.”
“It means twelve donuts. You know twelve right?”
All of the men turned to look at one another. El Ooopoeoe turned to the paperboy, the paperboy to the shoeless men, and the shoeless men over at Elevusne – who is staring at the baker with wide eyes and curled lips.
“Do any of you guys know what i’m talking about?”
“Der er erben kner wut er terking erbut?”
“I can’t understand this guy. Do you guys understand him? What is this anyway? You some kind of gang of goofs or something? I’m trying to run a business here. So if you don’t want a dozen I’ll just throw in an extra and make it a baker’s dozen.”
“Ahhh, a baker’s dozen. We’ll take that,” replies Elevusne.
“Wait…so you’re telling me…that you know a baker’s dozen, but not a regular dozen?”
“Yup. A baker’s dozen is thirteen.”
“And how much in a regular dozen?”
“It’s twelve. There are twelve in a dozen.”
“Man, what this dude be saying about this made up number? What’s twelve?” asks one of the shoeless men.
“Seriously? Here, i’ll show you.”
Glenn turns around and opens the door to the big oven behind him. He puts on an oven mitt and pulls out a large tray covered in fresh glazed donuts. The smell lofts through the air and El Ooopoeoe actually lifts off the ground a bit as he smells the vast aroma.
“I’ll count these out and by the time i’m done counting you’ll all know twelve.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Just watch and listen. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11…”
Before he can count out the final number El Ooopoeoe flings himself over the counter in his quest to devour the tray of fresh donuts. His right foot hits the hot pan and sends it flying into the face of Glenn. The baker screams and trips backward into the stove, the force causing the stove door to shatter into a hundred hot pieces of glass.
“This place is going to explode!” shouts the paperboy.
“What? Why?” cries out the baker.
“Because El Ooopoeoe is lighting the walls on fire!”
“What? Why is he doing that?”
“Fer dermertic eferct.”
“What is he saying!?”
“He said it’s for dramatic…”
“Just get out of my bakery! Leave!”
“Wait, which one do we do first?”
They all leave the bakery, hungry, starving even, and no closer to learning twelve.
Do you know twelve?
Read the first two stories and try to figure it out yourself!
I Don’t Know Twelve – Story #1
I Don’t Know Twelfth Street – Story #2