For the Twenty Fifth Time

That very same night, a couple of yards from the news van a young manicured metrosexual male cried out to a girl sporting a handlebar mustache, "What sense would anything make if we were not together!?". The girl had no response. She also had no expression on her face. This was strange and equally as rude as the two were no less than an inch from each others face. As the boy yelled obscenities in a made up language he inadvertently spat out a hunk of meat from his mouth into the girls teeth. She just sucked her teeth and swallowed, then walked away.

She knew no one would miss her, or the meat for that matter, so she walked until she fell asleep standing up.

The following morning the sound of a old beat-up pick-up-truck beeping the horn awoke her. She was already standing and the instincts of a drifter kicked in. With no hesitation, she flung her thumb into the wind to hail the truck, but the truck was already stopped and parked right next to her. The driver was a man named Ted.

Ted seemed drunk, he was missing all his teeth and he had a snot bubble in his left nostril that kept inflating and deflating as he spoke. What the hell are you doing way the hell out here in nowhere land little lady? Looks like the desert took a toll on you. Are you ok? I'm just fine sir, she replied, and the name is Elma by the way. She wasn't quite sure if this man genuinely wanted to help her or if he wanted something ells. The meat perhaps. Elma was so afraid she farted, then thought to herself "don't get in the fucking truck Elma" she then crossed her fingers, jumped right in and locked the door anyway. She also thought it was necessary to burp out the word howdy once in the truck. This confused Ted as he never said "get in". She then proceeded to drink from a bottle labeled "Ted's Piss" and asked if he had any mustache glue. He said "no", but she didn't believe a word of it and kindly asked him to stop the truck. Ted replied "I haven't even moved an inch since you got in". Elma smiled and concurred. She then regurgitated the meat and placed it on Ted's shoulder as if to say "good luck" then jumped out and yelled "thanks for last night!" then did the moon-walk back towards town. As Ted sped off he yelled "you drank my piss!". Elma stopped and pointed to the sky for an uncomfortable 12 seconds, then puked. This sent a chills down Gayden Backwash's spine. Elma pointed directly at his eye-ball. Gayden was watching Elma from a powerful super telescope that he invented in his basement billions of galaxies away on a planet called Sucktron. He pulled away from the telescope and slapped it.

Gayden was a great thinker, a deep man if you will. He was well on his way to proving that one day man would no longer have to use his legs in a potato sack race. He also had a dream to connect our worlds threw "Virtual Tunnels". A virtual tunnel was a machine that would allow everyone to travel to distant planets without leaving the safety of their own homes. On Earth we call this "the Internet". Gayden's dream came to a sudden end after reveling his plans to the public in a live speech. He went on to speak about new innovative inventions that would contribute to the exploration of space and the discovery of other life forms. He was arrested for soliciting. Apparently even if you've booked an arena to speak in and everyone knows what the topic is, it could sometimes be considered soliciting on Gayden's planet, as (in this case)it was an attempt to sell an idea. Soliciting was punished by immediate execution. Gayden was arrested and executed within the hour. What ells would you expect from a planet called Sucktron?

I pondered the relevance of it all for about fourteen seconds then lost my train of thought when seven men wearing leather jackets walked down the hallway of my apartment building all nodding their heads in sequence. At first I thought they were a group of pigeons but quickly dismissed that notion. Why would pigeons be in a hallway, and why would they be wearing leather? Another thing that struck me as odd is that I don't live in an apartment building. This was the kind of thing me and my doctor were trying to get to the bottom of. I left his office about an hour ago. He suggested that maybe a gastroenterologist was not the right kind of doctor to talk to. I thought he was just being modest so I asked him to indulge me for a moment. I then asked him what the hell "indulge" meant. As questions poured out of my mouth like vomit, I couldn't help but feel like I was in a Morees Catour play. "Indulge me for a moment, Claire", "What in the hell does indulge mean, Bob?"

So went the opening lines of Morees Catour's play, "Satisfiction". The play was about a man who lives in an imaginary world, knows it, and is satisfied. The last few lines of the play go on to say that he found pleasure even in his day dreams and lived a full and happy life. I would much rather it ended with "He was found hunched over a bowl of soup with two bullets in the back of his head and another fourteen in his back", but that is why Morees Catour is the happy mans playwright and I am not. Every story I tell tend to end tragically. Tragically and somewhat puzzling like "The Case of the Found Misplaced Item".

Pixie Coffey was his name and finding lost items was his game. At least that was his catch fraise. Pixie Coffey was a self proclaimed cut and paste specialist and an avid lost and found generalist. He spent most of his days preparing for the annual Easter egg hunt and on his off time he wrote short stories while simultaneously teaching his African Grey to read them out loud in an Irish accent. One day out of the clear blue Pixie died of a sudden aneurism. Seventeen days later his African Grey starved to death. By this time Easter had come and gone and the towns people were at a loss as to what to do about the smell of rotten eggs. Pixie was missed but it never dawned on anyone to look for him. Then End.

Again, this is why I am not the happy man's playwright.