M*A*S*H*

By Benjamin K. Drevlow

Tonight I’m six years old again and watching M*A*S*H on the little black-and-white TV across the bedroom I share with my older brother who has headgear from sucking his thumb too long and sleeps with his mouth open, drooling, with his head over the side of the bed his hair hanging straight down like he's been electrocuted meanwhile Hawkeye and Trapper John are gaslighting Frank Burns and sexually harassing Major Hot Lips Houlihan in a way that’s supposed to be funny but goes over my head but I keep watching anyway because there's nothing but fishing and white fuzz on the other three channels channel and because every time I get up to click the TV off, my brother starts moan-talking in his sleep again and I’m afraid he really is turning into a zombie—a big brother zombie who will tie me to my bed and rip my nuts off and eat them whole if I wake him up again while watching boringass M*A*S*H or because I’ve wet the bed again, and as my brother says, the stench of piss is strong enough to wake the dead.

Benjamin K. 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 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.

Photo by Ricardo Lima.