ukulele stu

by Benjamin Drevlow

Every morning I mount my throne in the handicapped stall of the rec fields pavilion men’s room bare-assed with my sweatpants between my knees trying to do my business with 3 trash dogs trapped in the stall with me, whining and staring up at me as I stare eye-to-eye with the one-eyed-monocled Minion named Stu.

Stu playing a ukulele and wearing a pink lei asking me and my trash dogs if we want to join the growing uke community across campus.

Stu taped to the back of the stall door, saying in words he could not say in the real world of Minions: Let your C, F,  A, and G chords be heard!

For ANYone and EVERYone. Plus a winky emoticon that always confuses me and confuses me more in this context.

There’s the leaking cock and balls someone’s drawn between Stu’s legs, the porn-stache someone’s drawn on Stu’s lip.

Somebody’s sketched sacrilegious FUCK MINIONS in jagged Nazi-esque script across the top of Stu’s big yellow summer squash head.

Of course, there’s the F, A, and G that’s been etched in Stu’s forehead, then crossed out and scribbled over nearly indecipherable, the battle for Stu’s sexual preferences.

At the bottom, under the email link for the uke group, someone with the most perfect cursive writing has penned the following:

i wish for the swift grip of death to swoon the fragile cockles of my broken heart.

Which has become my morning mantra, Stu and I’s and the trash dogs’ morning mantra.

I wish for the swift grip of death… as I poop, as I pee, as I adjust my underpants so as not to chafe.

I wish for the swift grip of death… as I watch the dogs poop and pee and sniff each other’s poop and pee.

A year ago a heartless bastard threw Ukulele Stu in the trash and so I searched the rec field’s gazebo’s men’s room trash til I rescued him, uncrumpled him, and returned him to his rightful throne.

6 months ago some other heartless bastard or maybe the same one ripped Ukulele Stu in half and tossed him to the trash, and so I searched the rec field’s gazebo’s men’s room trash til I found him, rescued him, brought him home, uncrumpled him, taped him back together, and returned him to his rightful throne.

Ukulele Stu has stood beaten but not broken for 6 months now.

I know not if anyone has reached out to join Stu in playing his uke and dancing his lei.

I know only that I wish against that wish of Stu, against finding that swift grip of death. Though I do not wish more suffering, I wish only for Stu to know the trash light he has brought into all our meager trash lives.

Even those as desperate and meager as me and my trash dogs out on our morning constitutional.

Photo of Benjamin Drevlow

BIO: drevlow is the eic of all things BULL and writes prose and poetry about mostly the same bull stuff from his trash-covered office in Statesboro, GA where his not-dead wife and three trash dogs continue to tolerate him and all his online ramblings at thedrevlow-olsonshow.com or on twitter, insta, face, bsky, & threads @thedrevlow.