Disclaimers: I don't own Gary Hobson or Chuck Fishman, or anybody else mentioned. They all belong to CBS and Sony TriStar.

Rating: G. Just humorous.

Summary: Just another short fic. It takes place in season 1, when Gary lived in the Blackstone and Chuck was still a  stockbroker. No spoilers, just a bit of ahem, humor. If you think it should be longer, blame my teacher. It was a creative writing story, and she  didn't want to read another 7 page essay. [That one was about Gary's night on the streets, between the two
"Fatal Edition's." So of course, it was strictly supposed to be 1 page. Anywho, here goes. Just a little wacky trip through the stockbroker formally known as Chuck Fishman, and the oddities that come along with being a stockbroker. I just had to take a
break from my angst story, I typed all of the 7th chapter, then my computer shut down, so now, I need some comediac relief. 7th chapter of that is on the way though. Read, and review.

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Coffee + Stockbroker = Insanity
by Mary Hoboson

Chuck landed with a soft thud on a marshmallow soft ground. He looked around wildly. Where the heck was he? There was a bright yellow glimmer, and a woman with wings, fluttered down beside him. She had a halo, of curly golden hair, like spun gold. What puzzled Chuck, was her dress. It was made of black and white newsprint. She held a thin, gold, star wand in her hand.

"Welcome to Newspaper Land. I am the Newspaper Fairy. I drop the newspapers on the doorsteps of all the people." Chuck's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Ever wonder why you never see the paper boy actually deliver the newspapers?" She asked, arms crossed. Chuck shook his head. He stood there, gaping at her, mouth wide open.

"Because of me and my apprentices." There was a loud giggling, and little munchkins appeared, binding, and bundling newspapers. Chuck rubbed his eyes.

"Newspaper Land!?" Chuck asked, eyebrows raised.

"I knew I should have switched to decaf," he muttered.

"Well, sir. Now I must ask you. Are you a good witch or a bad witch?"

"I'm not a witch at all! I'm Chuck Fishman, I'm from Chicago, I'm a stockbroker!" Chuck exclaimed, scratching his head in confusion. The fairy's eyes widened.

"A stockbroker? Why you're just evil then! I'd rather be in the presence of The Wicked Witch of the Northeast. My snotty cousin she is. A stockbroker." She smiled evilly, and clapped her hands twice.

"Come my flying monkeys, and attack the devil we know as," she spat with disgust.

"A stockbroker!"

Out of the sky came millions of monkeys, with jet packs on!

"I thought they had wings," said Chuck, confused.

The Newspaper Fairy yawned, and began to file her nails with her wand.

"Please. We have to keep up with this hi-tech world.  Besides," she sighed.

"Wings are so five minutes ago."

And the monkeys attacked. They swooped in low, aiming for his eyes.

"No, not the monkeys. Anything but the monkeys," Chuck screamed. It was too late. He was victim to another tragic case of a fly-by-monkeying.

Chuck sat up as straight as a board. He hit the 'snooze' button on his alarm clock, when the announcer made a side comment about "all stockbrokers being idiots," recalling his close encounter with the stockbroker kind.

Chuck reached for the phone to call his best friend, Gary Hobson.

"Hello," a groggy voice answered.

"Hey Hobbers," Chuck said, using a nickname he knew Gary hated.

"Chuck, do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Of course, six AM," Chuck replied passively. He proceeded to tell Gary about his dream. Gary chuckled.

"This is exactly why I quit Strauss. Sure, Pritchard was an ass, but then I realized, stockbrokers are insane."

"Ha, ha, and an added bonus, ha," Chuck said, dryly, and hung up on Hobbers.

He didn't have take that just because all he could do was work for a tyrant, while Gary was unemployed, and making his cash at the track. Geez, the guy could get any girl he wanted, he had proved that for all the time they knew each other. Chuck was the only one of the two who noticed the women drooling over him, with his leather jacket, and jeans.

"Boy Scouts make me sick," he muttered, but he had to admit. Gary, with his Southern accent, and "aw shucks" attitude, he was a lady magnet.

Of course, Gary's life wasn't so easy. With the paper and all. And the fact that he didn't open his eyes and see the women staring at his butt. Chuck sighed. At least Gary could give him a little peek at the financials.

Chuck went into his kitchen to make his morning cup of coffee. He reached for the mix, then stopped, and shook his head. He put it back, and grabbed the decaf instead.

<finis>

Email the author:  coventrys@yahoo.com
 
 

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