Rottmnt Mikey Novels & Stories

I could resemble a lobster. Dammit, Mikey.

Emory Mikey is always hungry. His stomach is a bottomless pit that never seems to be full, no matter how much he eats. Whatever food is within his vicinity, he runs toward it with relentless determination, and when he’s not allowed to eat when he’s hungry, he erupts into loud tantrums that don’t stop until he finally gets his way..

They melt in your mouth. Hank was pushing the things around his plate, without ever taking a bite. "Do they serve hamburgers here?" "Baby, try just this small piece. There are other things than meat, you know?" Michelle offered. "Yeah, but they are not that good." Mike Trivino, one of Matt's teammates, high-fived Hank. Mike is a tall fun guy with a weird mustache. He let it grow after watching Top Gun, in an attempt to make him look sexier. Well, it didn't work. Now he looked like somebody you don't want your kids to play with.

The fragile peace they’d been living in for the past week and a half felt like thin ice—beautiful on the surface, but ready to crack with one wrong step. “Yo, boss lady,” Mikey called from across the bay, his voice cracking with that awkward teenage enthusiasm. The nineteen-year-old prospect was sprawled dramatically across a workbench, pretending to fan himself with an oily rag. “If you keep making these bikes sound like angry demons, I’m gonna start thinking you sold your soul to the devil. Or worse—Reaper’s dick.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I know. Or I’ll be punished.” “Exactly.” He pulled away, giving me a heated onceover. When he walked out, it took a few seconds before I shifted my attention back to the computer. I typed in the name of the Russian mafia organization, finding more articles than I had on the Voltairs. After reading a few articles it had become apparent that they had no issue ruffling feathers, acting as if they owned the world. I started writing down a few notes, startled when I heard a man clearing his throat. I placed my hand over my heart as I peered at Mikey. “I didn’t see you standing there.” He has something in his hand. It looked like a hard drive. “What do you have there?”

Mike grinned рrоduсіng a decorated сhосоlаtе еgg frоm Chоссуwоссуdооdаh wіth twеntу-оnе ріреd on thе frоnt. It wаѕ аlmоѕt a ѕhаmе tо еаt іt, but I wаѕ certain I would dеmоlіѕh іt thе moment I gоt home. Mіkе wіnkеd knоwіnglу. He knеw hе’d done wеll.

“Sorry, Mom. I slipped.” Amelia knelt down, inspecting his knee before giving him a light scolding. “You shouldn’t run off like that.” She stood and turned to Ryan. “Thank you for helping him.” “No problem,” Ryan said, smiling. “Is this your son?” “Yes,” Amelia said, her voice softening. “This is Mikey.” Ryan nodded and extended a hand to Mikey. “Nice to meet you, Mikey. I’m Ryan.” Mikey hesitated but eventually shook his hand.

"Seriously? Didn't think about that. Sorry. It's all good. We're done." Big Mike slipped the tile back in place and got off the ladder. He nodded grimly at me as if we were co-conspirators taking down Nixon. Jerking a thumb towards the ceiling, he continued. "Cameras. Right at the fridge. This shit ain't gonna stand." "I'm gonna need a little more than that. What are you talking about?" "Some son of a bitch stole my Thin Mints from the freezer. I was saving them. My last box. They're gonna try to play me like that? Gimme a hand."

She probably did get lonely sometimes. "Hey Scotty, have you been practicing?" His sister poked him in the arm. "I'm totally going to win today." "Not a chance! Name your game," Scott replied with a smirk. "Mario Cart. Best three out of five." "You're on!" -------------------- "Rayan, you're alive!" Rayan's postal company coworker Michael, 'Mick' for short, tackled him as soon as he entered the locker room. This month, his hair was bleached strawberry blonde with a faded green streak through the bangs. His roots showed his natural copper red hair. "You flaked out on me man, you were supposed to help me pick my new color last week!"