Sleepy
time… time to nod off… the moon like a perfect, glowing snowball in the sky –
the kind of snowball you see in cartoons, but have never seen in real life.
I was in the mall, on the second
tier, in front of a Suncoast Video. I was painting a portrait of a pop music
icon – I won’t mention her name – dressed like a Valkyrie. She posed in front
of me with a glowing smile on her face as she blew bubbles. All my equipment
was in perfect order. My brushes stayed clean, my thinner clear, and my paint
wet.
On the audio system played The
Andrew Sisters in a loop, again and again… and again.
Down on the level below, between a
Disney Store, an H&M, and a Sunglass Hut, Waffen SS troopers ate Panera
Bread and tested their machine guns on men with Watermelons for heads. Their
Commandant would then use the slaughtered watermelons to make daiquiris.
Every few minutes, the TATATATATBROO
of their Sturmgewehrs would ring-out followed by the grinding chainsaw buzz of
a Magic Bullet blender. I could look and see the spatter of melon and seeds on
a wall.
“How ees zeh Masterpiece coming too,
now?” asked the Commandant.
“Good. We’re getting there,” I
answered.
“Have unt daiquiri?”
“No thanks… I think I’ll pass.”
A hot air balloon passed over us
all. In it was a Southern Belle dressed like Glinda the Good Witch. She waved
at us like a beauty queen. The SS men below waved back and blew her kisses. She
farted, and her gas came-out in an immiserating rancid smelling cloud of
rainbows and sparkles. My model blew some more bubbles, then reached-out so
that a Bald Eagle could land on her arm. Herr Commandant sang along to “Johnny
Fedora and Alice Blue Bonnet”.
Soon, Herr Commandant spoke-out with
fear and fury, “Ve have run aut of zeh melons!”
The SS troopers took aim at Beauty
the Queen in her smelly, smelly balloon and began to fire. TATATATATATATATATBROO
shook the air. My model stayed still and smiled. The balloon exploded into fire
and black smoke and a rain of peanut M&M’s. To this, Herr Commandant had
one lament.
“NEIN! Zeese ist no good! Ve are
allergic to nuts!”
My model finally spoke is a soft,
gentle voice, “Lucky them, they get to be the face of evil, they’ll never need
to top themselves. Let then try being famous, I have to top myself every time.”
In the Men’s Department at JC
Penney’s, Ron Howard edited a movie version of what had just happened in Dress
Shirts while Tom Hanks recorded the narration near the Levi’s.
In the Women’s Section, Dr. Phil
taped a show with Adolf Hitler. The Fuhrer was in tears.
“Now Adolf, I don’t ask WHY you do
what you do. I ask why wouldn’t you. Now, I’m gonna put some verbs in my
sentences…” said Dr. Phil. An audience of women slowly nodded.
In shoes, Barack Obama, Bernie
Sanders, and Alex Jones played Pokemon Go.
An Islamic radical perused in
fragrances while licking one of those giant lollipops… you know the kind. A
salesgirl sprayed him in the face with a Calvin Klein fragrance. A drone with
Hillary Clinton’s face slowly floated through the doors. It hovered for a bit,
then squealed loud beeps before lowering a minigun that thunderously fired with
such ferocity that it shredded not only him, but the poor salesgirl into a fine
mush.
Hillary and Bill walked in and
smeared the mush on dry bread with capers. As they indulged, a rabble followed
them in. They were, of course, PETA people.
“MEAT IS MURDER, MAN!” they shouted.
“Hey… you have to enjoy the fruits
of victory,” argued Bill Clinton.
“DAMMIT!” griped Hillary as she used
a remote control to aim the drone at them.
Another squeal of beeps, another
thunderous clatter of fifty caliber shots and PETA was a pile of lettuce and
organic dressing on the floor.
“Bill, you need to eat some salad,”
harped Hillary.
“Aw, come on, baby.”
Hillary just pointed, and Bill did
as he was told.
“SEE, I told you that they were
cannibals!” bellowed Donald Trump in Juniors as he pelted a puppy dog with
small rocks.
In the parking lot, a mob of rainbow
haired Social Justice Warrior gathered with signs and mega phones to watch a
zeppelin burst into flame and crash to the earth in a hellish storm of
immolation and screaming.
“DEATH TO MICROAGRESSIONS!” they
shouted. “WE ARE THE OPRRESSED! WE ARE THE OPPRESSED!” they went-on as
Stormtroopers from Star Wars hacked into their smartphones and read their
playlists.
“Corporations are evil! DOWN WITH
MONSANTO! DOWN WITH CORPORATE AMERICA!” tweeted Bernie Sanders on an iPhone of
all things.
A beautiful lady I know emerged from
the darkness. It was the greatest feeling of relief I can remember ever
feeling.
“Some crowd,” she sighed.
“Yeah… really.”
“Why do they hate that zeppelin so
much?” she asked.
Only one answer popped into my mind.
The first time that ever happened. “Because they knew that it would carry them
away from this shit.”
“Ohhh… I’m going to have smoke.”
“You know what… me too.”
We lit our cigarettes with the
flames from the disintegrating blimp. An obese mall cop rode-up on his Segway.
The light on the flames reflected on his bicycle helmet.
“You can’t smoke on mall property,”
he scolded as he scribbled in a pad, “Dirty lungs, don’t you know those thing
can kill,” he went on as he handed us a fine covered in donut jelly.
I tossed the fine into the fire and
we walked-off into the night.
Up above hung the moon like a
perfect, glowing snowball in the sky – the kind of snowball you see in
cartoons, but have never seen in real
life.
