Mikey comes into the living room, sorting through a handful of letters.
"Mail call, peeps! A CD from America OffLine, first 5000 hours free, for a Ms. Donna Tello? Heh heh. Uhh, premium cable television bill for Ra P.Hael... a flyer for a local PC users group convention for a MISTER Don A. Tello, and... something from the US Census Bureau? Huh. Kewl!"
He tosses the other stuff down on the nearest flat surface and tears open
the official looking envelope.
"Got a pen?" He asks Raph, who is lounging in front of the TV set, one hand
resting in a can of cheese puffs, and the other cradling a Victoria
Bitter Ale.
"Do I LOOK like I have a pen?"
Mikey shrugs off his acid reply and wanders into the kitchen to rummage through one of the many cabinet drawers crammed with junk. He finds a pen. Making a judicial scribble on the envelope, he finds it doesn't work. He tosses it into the trash. He rummages some more. Another pen. That one has the ball point missing, oozing blobs of sticky blue ink. He tosses it, but not without it managing to leave a stain on his fingers.
"Ah, crumbs."
A pencil! But it needs sharpening. No sharpener.
"What's doing?" Don has appeared and is looking over Mike's shoulder.
"I was trying to fill out this form, but it looks like all I'm doing is cleaning out these fapischte drawers."
"Oh? You need a pen or a pencil?"
"You got a pen? I'll be in your debt-"
"Black, blue or red ink?"
"Uh... black, I guess. It's one of those government things, I think they like black ink the best, don't they?" Mike smirks.
Don carefully extracts the pen from one of the many pockets on his utility belt. "What are you filling out, anyway?"
"It's that census thing, you know? Like what the paper said. And if we don't fill it out, THEY will come LOOKING for us."
"Good idea. Hey, give that pen back when you're finished, will you? I don't want it to end up in one of those drawers." Don makes a mild face at the open drawer.
"No problema." Mike straddles a chair and carefully fills out the form.
"Oh-kay. Question one. Number of people living in household. That would be four. But I guess with Raph, that would be four and a half?"
"I heard that, " Raph says from the living room.
Mike snickers. "Question two. House, apartment, or mobile... I'd say
house. This IS a house, right? Never saw any wheels on it anywhere."
Don pauses as he pours himself coffee. "Very GOOD, Mike."
"Hehe. House is bought. Paid in cash money, moolah, cabbage, green frog skins.Gotcha." Mike checks off the boxes. "Person number one. That's me! How'd they know that? Name? Michael J. Angelo..."
"Where'd you get the J. from?" Don peers at him from over his cup, at the other end of the kitchen table.
"Dunno, it sounded good."
"Hmm."
"Sex..." Mike looks down for a moment. "Male. Definitely male."
Don nearly chokes on his coffee.
"What? I want to be accurate," Mike says, straight faced as he stares at the form. "Uh, I'm not Spanish, Mexican-American or Latino, am I?"
Don sighs and rolls his eyes.
"Okay, okay. I'm not Latino... uh... what's this, 'some other race'?" He picks up the paper and studies it. "Well shoot. What do I put here?" He looks beseechingly at Don, who doesn't offer any support. "Aah, come on! You said to tell the truth here. What do I put down? Mutant or Circus Freak or Quasi-Reptilian Humanoid or what?"
"What is everyone yelling about," Leo asks as he comes into the kitchen.
"Mike. Census form. Together." Don says.
"Ah." Leo nods in understanding.
Mike sits back in the chair. "Yeah, I'm doing all of the work, and nobody wants to help me out here."
"What do you need help with?"
"What do I put down for race?"
"What choices are there? Use one of those," Leo said, pointing to the place on the form.
"But-"
"Put down Asian. That would be the closest."
Mike gives Leo a long look. "Yeah, you look REAL Asian, Leo. Dream on."
"Okay, fine. Put down mutant, and see what happens. They'll throw it out and then send someone down here. Is that what you want? I read the newspaper article."
"Don SAID to be accurate," Mike protests.
"Yi..." Don rests his face in his hands.
"Okay. So. What kind of Asian do we want to be," Mike mutters.
"Why not Japanese?"
Mike straightens and gives Leo a mock salute. "Yes SIR, Leo-san sir."
Then he goes back to marking off the form. "Does anyone else want to be Japanese? And howabout maybe be a girl, too? Let me know when I go to fill out your name and stuff."
Leo grins and leans against the nearest counter.
"Hey, RAPH," Mike calls out behind him. "You wanna be a GIRL?"
"Shaddap," Raph says back.
"Hey, Don, since you've been so nice to me, you can be Person Number Two," Mike says brightly.
"Why thank you, Mike, I am deeply touched."
"Of course you are. Okay. Name?"
When Don didn't reply right away, Mike made a pretense at writing.
"Donald... Alvin... Tello..."
"Hey!"
"Oh, all right. Don Tello and all that. Gotcha."
Don closes his eyes.
"You want to be a boy and Japanese?"
"Whatever..."
Mike writes, and then thoughtfully taps the pen against his teeth. "You know, it's gonna look kinda funny. A bunch of single, 30-something Japanese guys living together... with all different Italian sounding names..."
"You have a point, there," Leo says.
"Maybe we should just say we are white, so they don't get confused.'
"I doubt it, there's plenty of cultural oddities out there. Don't worry about it, " Don says.
"Well okay, Kemosabe. Then it's the Household of the Four Fools."
"Speak for yourself," Don and Leo say in unison.
Mike continues to write.
At length, he says, "Oh, Mr. Nardo, is it Leo or Leon?"
"Leo. And you knew that, Mr. Michael J. Wiseass."
"Heh, I like that one even better! Yo, RAPH!"
"NOW WHAT?" Raph yells from the TV set.
Mike sniggers. "Man, he's really sharp today. For someone who is acting totally uninterested in this process, he sure is paying attention, huh?"
"Doesn't miss a thing, unless he wants to," Leo mutters.
"I HEARD that."
"Good hearing, too," Don adds.
"Rapherundi! How you want me to fill out this form on you?" Mike looks up at Raph who is squinting at the paper on the table.
Raph makes a noise of disgust.
"What's the matter, you got gas pains again?" Mikey looks sympathetic.
"No, just got YOU." Raph snatches up the papers. "Stupid pencil necks! What's next, they gonna brand numbers on my arse? Gimme that pen."
"Hey, that's MY pen," Don protests.
"No. I'M filling this out." Mikey holds the pen away from Raph's reach. "I'm the Number One Person. YOU sit down and tell me what you Want your surname to be."
Raph mutters something as he turns away so that Mike's eyes and grin grow wide. "Wooh," he says cheerfully. "How did you want to spell that? Fakku? Fickyu?"
"Aw, don't do that, Mike," Leo groans. "Come on, Raph! Let's just get this done and over with? Please?"
Raph shrugs. "Put whatever you WANT! I don't care." He gets another ale out of the fridge and then goes back to his nest in front of the TV.
"Raphael... Raph... Ael... Rap Hayell, dang, your name just doesn't break up well, does it?" Mike calls after him. When there is no reply, he looks very thoughtful. "Hm... Needs some pizzazz. More... Macho," he says at length, making a dramatic Italian gesture. " Ah! I got it! How about Ryan, or Randall? No wait! Russell. Russ Ayell. Hey, that works! Not bad, uh?"
Somebody snorts from the living room.
"Not much of Raph in there, is it," Don says.
"Close enough." Mike writes in the rest of the form with a smile. "DONE!
I think this calls for a celebration. How about a lasagna?"
"Now THAT'LL work," Don says, brightening.
"Good thing they didn't ask for social security numbers. Maybe we should sign up for those, so we can be totally legal. Huh? What d'yall think?" Mike ducks a bombardment of dishtowels, wadded envelopes and cheese puffs aimed at him.