Friday, December 31
"What's so dangerous about Time Traveling?" asks Mr. Happy Puppet Head. "I do it all the time." Our new sound effects girl Julie adds a really funny fart sound when he finishes his sentence. All the kids laugh.
"Time Traveling can be perfectly fun and safe, as long as you are fun and safe about it." I explain. Julie makes a funny honking sound. All the kids laugh. "The main thing to remember is that you can do lots and lots of things in the past that make you instantaneously not exhist anymore."
"Wait," Mr. Happy Puppet Head says. "Like my parents, they had two kids before me, but they were both accidents and they never really wanted to get married but had to. But then one day they were at the fair and drank some love potion as a joke, but then they actually did fall in love with each other for the first time." Julie adds some drum rolls. No one laughs, even though it is a good sound effect.
"So was the potion real, or was the power of suggestion strong enough to bring out their latent love for each other that had built up over the years of child-rearing?" I ask.
"I don't know," he answers. "All anyone knows is that they fell in love and later that night they had lots of 'baby-making fun', and so I was born." Another fart sound. This one gets some solid laughs.
"So, if they hadn't seen the sign for the love potion, real or not, they wouldn't have fallen in love for the first time and had you." I think for a moment while Julie puts in yet another fart sound. The kids love it every time. "So if you traveled back in time, got in the way of their seeing this sign, you wouldn't have been born. And unlike in those fake Time Traveling movies, you would disappear instantly. No time to fix the wrongs you've done. The only way to be saved is if someone else goes back and makes them fall in love. But I wouldn't know to go back because you'd never exhisted and we'd never been friends." Fart fart fart. Kids laugh.
"And that's why," I point my fingers dramatically, "That none of us have ever met a time traveler, becuase they eventually make a mistake and cause their own non-exhistance." Fart fart fart.
"Oh," Mr. Happy Puppet Head nods along with the now steady stream of fart sounds. He has to kind of shout to be heard over it. "I think I get it."
Fart fart fart fart fart fart fart. The kids are laughing so hard some of them are choking and having trouble breathing. Most of them are rolling around, falling out of their chairs.
"So be carefull, kids," I shout at them, but they aren't paying any attention anymore. "Kids! Don't time travel, okay? You'll stop exhisting!"
I turn to Mr. Happy Puppet Head. "That was pretty good, right?"
"Yeah, kind of like a subliminal thing. They heard us, but they weren't paying attention. And they were laughing, so they'll just connect not Time Traveling to funny fart sounds." He takes a swig from his hip flask.
"Oh, okay. That works."
But that holiday is over. Now it's time to Dance With Celebrations for a New Year.
For us, a good bit of 2004 went into making The Midnight Mailman Show. It means a lot to us that you watch it, and that you seem to enjoy it so much.
We have Big Plans for 2005. We'll have:
--lots and lots more videos and cartoons (we know you're sick of the two that've been there for so long)
--Midnight Mailman toys and clothings to buy for your friends and loved ones
--more games with prizes
--more stories. Maybe we'll kill off some characters, maybe invent some new ones, or maybe other things we haven't thought of yet. You never know. It's all very exciting.
So keep coming back. We'll try to keep it funny. And keep leaving me notes. It's how I know you care.
Saturday, December 25
Me and Mr. Happy Puppet Head are having a great time today. We left out the cigars and pornographic magazines for the Great Jiggler, and he filled our clown shoes with tons of chewed gum and cabbage. What a great guy that Jigglin' Clown.
And now we're going to drink a lot of beer, eat Frito's brand corn chips, and watch more TV than we feel like watching, becasue that's what the Jigglin' Clown would want if he were here, instead of in his island cave drinking beer, eating Frito's, and watching TV.
I hope everyone has a great holiday. It'll be days before we're done. We've bought enough beer and Frito's to not have to get off the couch (except to lean over and do our business in the big business bucket next to the couch) for a long time. Maybe until Wednesday or Thursday.
So we'll see you kids later. Have fun.
You can hear all the people say,
'When is that Jigglin' Day,
When we can be so happy and bright?'
That Clown, what a hoot, can't wait for the loot
That he'll leave in our hung clown shoes.
So on December twenty-five,
the Clown will arrive,
And go through his clownin' routine.
He jimmies the door,
And raids the fridge,
And scares the Hell
Out of all the kids.
From the poem "Le Jiggler," by Andre Paraguassu
Wednesday, December 22
So in commemoration, we're going to give out the best gift in the world to one lucky person. Mr. Happy Puppet Head, hand me that old-fashioned top hat with all the slips of paper in it. Each slip of paper has a name on it from someone in our stuido audience, and we're going to pick one at random. That person gets the free gift.
Here we go... Henrietta Fitzburger! Come on down and get your prize!
Open it up, Henrietta. Don't be scared to tear the wrapping.
Look at that! Isn't it great? You know what it is? It's a cloning machine! All you have to do is push this button and it instantly makes an exact duplicate of you. You can make as many as you want. We even supplied you with extra clone juice in case you run out.
Now go make fifty of yourself and have a party. And Happy Birthday The Midnight Mailman Show!
Tuesday, December 21
Potato and Loraine are playing in the backyard with their secret friend Roboctopus.
"I'm cold," says Loraine. "Let's go inside."
"Mom and Dad locked the back door again," says Potato.
"Everything's going to be all right," says Roboctopus. "Everything's going to be all right."
"I wish they'd let me get my jacket," says Loraine. "Maybe if I knock on the door they'll let me come inside to get my jacket."
"Okay," says Potato. "But let's hide Roboctopus in the treehouse so Mom and Dad don't see him when they come to let you insdie. You know if they see him they'll just sell him to some scientists or something."
"Yeah," sighs Loraine. "Grownups never understand anything."
"Everything's going to be all right," says Roboctopus. "I love you so much, Mrs. Dickenson."
They hide their Roboctopus secret friend and Loraine goes to get herself a jacket. When she gets back, Roboctopus has stabbed Potato several times.
Loraine has to drag her brother all the way accross town to their doctor, Dr. Swanson, who long ago promised to mend their wounds and keep Roboctopus a secret. All they had to do was promise Loraine's hand in marriage once she reaches the legal age of consent. But he's a nice doctor, and that's almost ten years away, so that isn't really a problem.
"There you go," says Dr. Swanson. "All sewn up and ready to go."
"Thanks Dr. S!" Potato hops off the operating table, good as new.
"I love you so much, Mrs. Dickenson," says Roboctopus. Everyone laughs.
"Now you kids scamper off and play," says Dr. Swanson. "And don't forget you still have to marry me, Loraine."
"I didn't forget," says Loraine.
"Kids..." sighs Dr. Swanson as he cleans up his operating tools.
Sunday, December 19
Me and Mr. Happy Puppet Head have been concerned for some time with the behavior of children on elevators. These mechanical megaliths aren't just for fooling around on, they're important life tools for business people to get to and from their hectic jobs, sordid love affairs, drug deals, and trading posts for exotic skins and furs. And even though you should be taking the stairs, because elevators are for suckers, you should know how to ride them properly and safely.
So here we are on an elevator with little Amanda. Together we're all going to learn some proper etiquite for elevator usage. Go ahead, Amanda. Push the button for which floor we want to go to. Sure, let's go all the way up. Floor twenty.
First lesson is that we don't run around in circles and scream inside the elevator. This causes anxiety to fellow elevator travelers. Second Lesson is that we don't push all the buttons on the elevator at once, even if we want to. That's how old people die.
Hm. I don't know why the elevator stopped at floor nine. We didn't push the button and no one's here to get on. Push the elevator close button. That closes the elevator.
No, I don't know why the elevator won't close. An important part of elevator riding is patience.
Try pushing that big red button, the emergency call button. No, it usually doesn't whisper our most disquieting moments from our past. I don't know why it's doing that. And the doors are supposed to close eventually.
The only explanation is that elevators are for suckers and we need to find the stairwell.
We walk down the long, dim hallway, opening doors that look like they might be the stairs, but none of them are marked and all of them are locked. There aren't many doors, and we've soon tried them all. I try to hide my growing sense of panic.
No, Amanda, you don't want to drink from Mr. Happy Puppet Head's flask. That's for grown ups. And yes, we'll find a way out.
I turn around and there's a small boy where there wasn't one before.
"Hello," he says. "I know exactly who you are and everything because I'm psychic." To prove it he makes a vase of flowers appear, makes it shatter against the wall next to him, then all the little pieces disappear as it falls to the floor.
I ask him where the stairwell is. Mr. Happy Puppet Head asks him to do the flower trick again, only with a computer or something real expensive.
"I'm here for Amanda," says the boy. "She's psychic, too, only doesn't know it yet. There's a magic land for psychic children where they aren't condemened by the non-psychics. The nons are always trying to bring us down."
Amanda nods her head knowingly. The boy stretches out his hand to her and she begins walking towards him. I ask her if she knows what she's doing. She says "Sure. I'm psychic."
As their hands touch, they blink out of existance. I assume they've re-appeared in magic psychic land.
We figure now that the boy got his psychic friend that we can leave, but the elevator still won't close and all the doors are still locked. We call for him, but he doesn't respond.
It isn't until a really long time later that he remembers us. Me and Mr. Happy Puppet Head are curled up asleep in the corner of the hallway. He appologizes heartily. I accept, but Mr. Happy Puppet Head demands that the boy make a big chandelier appear, set it on fire, then smash it real good, which he does before making us disappear and reappear in our house.
It's nice to be back home, but whenever we magically reappear in our house like that, I always wonder if its our real home, or some replica in an identical universe. Because you never do know.
Saturday, December 18
"Everything's going to be all right," says Roboctopus in his friendly robot voice. "Everything's going to be all right."
Under one tentacle is a small bird wiggling desperately to get free. In another tentacle he holds a matchbook.
"Mom and Dad'll be home soon," says Potato.
"We won't have time to clean up any mess," says Loraine. "Please don't..."
"Everything's going to be all right. I love you so much, Mrs. Dickenson." Roboctopus strikes a match and holds it to one of the flapping, oily wings. He has to hold the wing still with another tentacle in order to set fire to it properly.
The bird screams and runs in horrified circles as its feathers quickly burn to nothing and its flesh bubbles and boils.
Potato starts crying softly. Loraine takes his hand and holds it in her own. They look away from the tiny pile of charred flesh in the middle of their backyard.
"I love you so much, Mrs. Dickenson." Roboctopus looks up at the tree and follows with his shining robot eyes another little bird. "Everything's going to be all right."
Thursday, December 16
"Are you going to eat me?' asks Howie.
"Nope," replies the Giant Robot as it chomps its teeth viciously.
They stare at each other for another long time. Howie wonders what other horrible things this Giant Robot could do other than eat her.
"Are you maybe going to just chomp me a little and then spit me back out?" aks Howie. "And I'll be all chomped and dead when you spit me out?"
"Nope," replies the Giant Robot as it's maliciously red glowing eyes stare down at her. "I am a Nice Robot and won't do anything to hurt you."
"Well," replies Howie. "That's good." She looks around the cave and sees how dark and lonely it must be for a friendly robot like this one. "You must be lonely."
"Nope," replies the Giant Robot. "I'm actually quite busy and have no time or energy to be lonely."
And all of a sudden the giant claws come down and snatch up the little girl and carry her away.
She finds herself in the mayor's office, a large square room with a big window and a big desk and behind the big desk, but in front of the window, is a large leather chair turned away from her. On the big desk is the package containing her best friend in the whole world, her pet old man head.
She runs to grab the package, but the chair swings around and Bermuda and Steve are sitting in the chair and they put one of their big blue hands on the box so she can't take it.
"Leave it alone!," shouts Steve. "The plan's not done yet."
Howie is confused. So let's just end this quick now.
Bermuda and Steve were elected mayor this past year, all as a part of their dismantling the government plan. So they stole Howie's pet old man head and sent it to themselves to give them a reason to step down from office and free the people of the town from unjust rule, which they believe is any sort of rule. It all makes so much sense! But Howie doesn't like her best friend to be used for political means, so she snatches the head off the desk and makes a run for it. Big exciting chase scene where everyone learns how to be friends in the end.
You are satisfied with this ending, and the storyline as a whole.
Wednesday, December 15
"It's almost too bad I love my friend so much," says Howie. Her arms are burning with the effort, but she keeps climbing down.
She stops for a moment to catch her breath. Just as she does, a large orange envelope lands on her face. She grabs for it quickly, loses her grip, and with a small shriek falls flailing backwards into the darkness.
It isn't long before she lands comfortably on the enormous pile of letters collected at the bottom.
She sits up and notices that it isn't completely dark at the bottom of the pit, but that she can see basically where she is due to two little red lights against a wall not far away.
"Head?" she calls out for her best friend. "Where are you Head?" But she gets no answer.
Howie climbs down from the pile of envelopes and walks towards the little red lights. It's brighter under the lights and has a better chance of finding her pet old man head if he's nearby. "Head?" She digs through another pile of mail.
On a smaller pile of mail only a short distance away she sees the cardboard box containing her best friend. She stands up and begins to run to it when the little red lights suddenly move towards her.
Howie freezes in her tracks. She realizes that the little red lights are the eyes of an enormous chomping robot, which is now standing inbetween her and her best friend in the whole world.
No sooner does Howie recognize that this is a rather big problem needing a solution than a large mechanical claw drops from the cieling, grabs the package with the severed head, and zips up into the darkness above.
Now the only problem is that there is an enormous red-eyed chomping monster staring at her in an underground cave that she has no idea how to escape from.
Friday, December 10
Bermuda and Steve have kidnapped Howie the little girl's pet old man head so that they can give it to the Mayor in order to scare him into dismantling the city government and stepping down from office.
Howie the little girl follows Bermuda and Steve, the naked two-headed monster to City Hall. She cries quietly to herself. She watches as they slide the box containing her best friend ever into the big Mail slot at the front door.
Bermuda and Steve clap their hands together. "A job well done," says Steve. "Hooray!" says Bermuda.
Howie gives them the meanest look she can possibly give. Bermuda looks down at his feet ashamedly, but Steve points to the sky and yells "For freedom!" With that, they shuffle away.
City Hall is a modestly sized brick building with a small concrete parking lot to one side and a tiny dogwood tree in front. Howie pulls open one of the big double doors and enters.
"What do you want?" asks a large woman standing in the middle of the vestibule.
Howie thinks for what feels like a long time, wondering what the best thing to say would be.
While she thinks, the woman chomps her jaws several times in the little girl's direction.
"There is a box that was brought here," Howie says.
"You'll have to speak up," says the woman.
"There is a box that was brought here, to the Mayor" Howie says louder. "By accident and I need it back."
"Was it dropped in the Mail Slot or delievered by professionals?"
"Um... Mail Slot."
"Well," clucks the woman. "That'll be out back. That's where we put all Mail Slot recievals to be processed and checked.
Howie nods and turns to go.
There is a deep pit in the back where a small man in overalls is throwing envelopes. She watches as he picks up the box with her pet old man head in it, shakes it roughly, then tosses it into the pit. It falls for a very long time, until she can't see it anymore. Howie listens for the sound of it hitting the bottom, but there is no sound. "Maybe there is no bottom?" asks Howie.
The little man in overalls laughs a big cackly laugh and says "Oh, there's a bottom all right. But just barely!" And he laughs all cackly again and continues tossing letters and packages down into the darkness.
Howie scratches her chin. There's a rope that descends into the pit. Like most children, she's scared of seemingly bottomless pits, and even more scared of climbing a rope down into
one. But this is for her best friend ever, the one person who understands her, the one person who never judges her or makes fun of her or anything. And there are so many more adventures they need to go on. She won't sacrifice her friend for political ends.
Howie carefully bends down and grabs hold of the rope. Hand over hand, she descends into the darkness.
Thursday, December 9
They have a cardboard box and say that they are going to send Head to the Mayor because the Mayor is a cog in the system of injustice.
"See, if we send him this severed old man's head, he'll step down from office," Bermuda explains to Howie.
"But not before he dismantles the city governement. Don't forget that part," says Steve. "He needs to dismantle the city government and pronounce its citizens truly free."
"I didn't forget. He needs to dismantle... the injustice." Bermuda waves his hand in the air dramatically.
"You forgot to tell her that this will set an example for the world, and everyone'll be dismantling their governments."
Howie blinks up at the two-headed naked monster.
"See, little girl," says Steve as he chews on one of his fingernails. "We've been trying to get the mayor to step down for a long time now. We tried asking politely, we sent letters, had petitions signed, the works, you know? We even had a bake sale to pay the Mayor to leave."
"But he wouldn't take the money! Can you believe that?" Bermuda continues waving his hand around dramatically.
Howie looks at her best friend in the whole world sitting on the ground behind the naked monster. She wishes she could go pick him up, but Bermuda and Steve won't let her past them.
"So we used the money from the bake sale to hire a detective to follow him around, find his weaknesses." Steve spits out a small sliver of thumbnail. "Turns out he's scared of severed body parts. So..." He gestures behind him towards Head.
"We'd pay you for your contribution to Freedom! Really we would!" Bermuda wipes away some of the drool from the corner of his mouth. "But we spent all of it on that detective..."
"You understand, I'm sure." Steve stares hard at Howie. "You do want real freedom, don't you?"
Howie tries to sneak past them, but Steve grabs hold of her. "Put it in the box, Bermuda," he says. She strugles, but Steve is too strong. Bermuda carefully places Head in the box and seals it tight with packing tape.
"Let go!" yells Howie. Steve does what she asks, but then they turn and walk away.
"Man... freedom is going to be so great," says Bermuda.
"You said it, buddy," sighs Steve. "You said it."
Howie follows close behind. She doesn't want freedom without her best friend in the whole world. Head would nod emphatically if he hadn't been kidnapped.
(to be continued...)
Tuesday, December 7
Where Babies Come From
We are here with one of the two main components in the creation of new life. A giant sperm.
With only one half of what is needed, this wiggly giant needs to find an egg to fertilize. But it isn't always easy, especially since he's never done this before and doesn't even know what an egg looks like. That's why me and Mr. Happy Puppet Head are here to help.
We start at the park. Little kids are playing in the background, the sun is shining. Giant Sperm is looking around for his egg, but there are so many things that could be it. Something catches his eye and he slithers over to it.
Sorry, Sperm. That's an ice cream truck. No organic fertilization can occur with man-made automobiles. But it is filled with deliciousness.
We leave the park. Clearly no eggs in the park.
Sorry, that's a building.
And That's a pair of pants. That's a grapefruit... and that's a ballerina.
Finally we end up in the parking lot in front of the drug store. And there, taking up two handicap spots, is an egg.
Giant sperm gets real excited and wiggles frantically. He slithers forwards. The egg is cooing softly and glows just a little bit. It is beautiful. Giant Sperm rears back, bears his teeth, and sinks his teeth into the egg.
The egg lets out a high-pitched scream that hurts our ears. Some car windows surrounding us shatter. It tries to roll away but now it's lopsided and can't get over the speedbump behind it. Giant Sperm takes a few more bites out of Egg's perfectly smooth exterior before burrowing into the ragged gash it has created. Egg's scream becomes so high-pitched that we can no longer hear it at all, yet it overwhelms all other sound. In the center of this utter silence, Giant Sperm makes his way inside of Egg, and an intense white light shoots in all directions from them. We are completely blinded and have to look away.
And then it's over. We blink and for a few minutes all we can see are large black spots.
When it goes away we see a perfect little baby child lying in the middle of one of the handicapped parking spots, kicking its feet in the air and murmering quietly to itself.
A happy young attractive white hetrosexual middle-class couple exits the drug store. They stop when they see the baby and turn to each other. Serious Discussion ensues for a brief moment before they both put down their plastic bags full of one-hour processed photography and modestly priced hygene products to pick up their new child.
The woman-turned-mother hugs the child to her ample chest and the man-turned-father gently brushes bits of asphalt from his child's forehead.
And that's where babies come from.
Thursday, December 2
"You've got something..."
"Something on your back there. You might want to check it out."
"Oh. Look at that. Hm."
"You know what that is?"
"Nope... can't say I do. You think it's dangerous?"
"Looks kind of mean. I'd brush it off or something. Just to be on the safe side."
"Yeah, you're probably right."
(the one brushes the little monster thing off its back and it proceeds to scream, run in circles, then steal both bird's wallets)
"Well what do you know."
"Crazy world, eh? Come on, I'll give you a back rub."
(back rub ensues)
So run away from home. Just go. Don't leave a note. Wear all of the clothes you have at one time (there's nothing warmer) and walk until it's night. Then find a public bathroom stall you can sleep in.
Next morning get yourself on one of those far-away going busses. If you don't have any money, do whatever you can to get on it. Cry if you have to.
Things will be better where you go, wherever it is. You can get a job at a cash register somewhere and not have to think anymore. You can be a total jerk in your new life and not have to worry about anything. Jerks don't worry.
Don't call home. If you have to, write a long letter to your parents, but you have to black out every other word with a marker so that it makes no sense at all. And in your new life you can only eat minestrone soup straight out of the can. And you will start to really care about professional tennis and the color of other people's cars, but make sure you don't actually take up any hobbies or activities other than pushing buttons on a cash register. Practice staring at things. Keep your jaw slack.
Your new life will be so great.
Wednesday, December 1
"Murder in the Flower Garden"
The stage looks like a flower garden. There are flowers. Amid the flowers is a child volunteer from the audience who is playing the corpse. The little girl holds her hands to her throat and is hanging her tougue out of her mouth as if she has strangled herself.
Me and Mr. Happy Puppet Head stand to one side and ponder the scene.
"What do you think it is about your flower garden that made her want to kill herself immediately?" I ask my floating red puppet friend.
"It couldn't have been the daffodils... nor the sunflowers," he muses. "Maybe it was the lack of tulips. There are no tulips in my garden."
"Yes, or maybe it had nothing to do with the garden..." I pretend to twirl my mustache. I pretend because it is just painted on with a marker. "Did you check her gums? She may not have been flossing."
"I did check her gums," he slowly begins spinning in circles. "I did check her gums and they looked fine. I did check her gums and they looked fine and I'm spinning in circles. I did check her gums and they looked fine and I'm spinning in circles and I wish I had a kitty named Chester. I did check her gums and they looked fine and I'm spinning in circles and I wish I had a kitty named Chester and I'm glad you're my friend."
He is by now spinning very quickly around and around. The lights begin to flash and some sad, low cello music fades in. Mr. Happy Puppet Head stops spinning and the lights fade down. A single spotlight on the girl is the only light left.
I kneel by the little dead girl. "I feel like we only met, little dead girl," I cup my hands to the top of my heads in a symbolic gesture of sadness. "But I know you mean more to me than anything ever has ever." I collapse onto my back, fake dead.
Mr. Happy Puppet Head slowly bobbles up and places my hands over my neck so it looks like I strangled myself.
"I'm hungry," he proclaims loudly. "I'm going to go fix myself some grilled chesse sandwich." And he bobbles off the stage.
The lights go black. There is a brief moment of silence before the audience erupts in applause and hysterical screaming. The little girl and I both stand to bow, but we are knocked back to the floor by a wave of confetti. We have to be escorted out by the janitor, Gene, who pushes aside our crazed fans like it's nothing.
Monday, November 29
"Yee haw!" yells Mr. Happy Puppet Head. I concentrate on holding on real tight. All the bouncing around is making me kind of sick.
"Yee haw!" he yells again. We are having a really good time.
Suddenly, a little cute runs out in front of Enormous Rabbit and she steps right on it. At the speed she's romping around at, there's no way to avoid it.
I poke at it with my boot. It doesn't move at all. "Is it dead?" asks Mr. Happy Puppet Head. I'm not sure yet, so I poke it again. And again.
Enormous Rabbit whimpers quietly behind me.
"We should have a funeral for it," I say. "Did you bring back my shovel?"
"No," Mr. Happy Puppet Head says. "I told you I broke it at the party last week."
"Oh. Did you buy me a new one?"
I locate a somewhat flat rock and start digging a hole with it next to the little cute corpse. It's slow going.
"How deep do you think we should bury it?" asks Mr. Happy Puppet Head.
"I don't know," I answer. But it doesn't look like this is going to work. I gently roll the cute into the shallow grave I've dug, but it isn't even deep enough to cover it.
We decide the best thing to do is to throw it over the fence into the neighbor's yard.
"It isn't your fault, Enormous Rabbit," I say. "Things happen, and you shouldn't let it interefere with your having fun."
"Hey," says Mr. Happy Puppet Head as he takes a swig from his hip flask. "Let's drink until we pass out."
We all agree that this is a fine idea, and end up all curled up crying in the corner of the yard. It begins to rain, but we are far too drunk to notice.
Life is about knowing when to drink far too much, and when not to. And knowing when to leave the corpse for someone more qualified to deal with.
Friday, November 26
After she recites her list of vows, and everyone looks at you to recite yours, instead of talking about all sorts of promises to stay with her forever, show them you mean it.
From your tux jacket pocket, pull out a needle and thread. Calmly sew your left thigh to her right.
The priest will have more to say, and you still have some French kissing in front of an audience to do, so don't just hobble away as soon as you're done.
Marriage is the most important thing that will ever happen in your life, so prepare for it. Start practicing your needlework, and try to build up your pain tolerance as high as you can. You don't want to look like you don't know what you're doing up there.
Thursday, November 25
Self-Defense is Good
Me and Mr. Happy Puppet Head are in the park. This is where most children need self-defense. They need to defend themselves from bullies, pedophiles, rabid dogs, and a variety of child-eating monsters. But what many don't know is that self-defense is more than important, it's really good, too.
So here's Jimmy. Hi Jimmy. We're going to be teaching you how to defend yourself today. Have you ever had to defend yourself before? No? well, you've been lucky.
First up we have Chad and Martha who are going to try to take your money. Yes, the money you had been saving for comic books. They also look like they'd really like to hurt you. Mabye break a few teeth. Notice how they are at least twice as old as you, and maybe three times as big. Completely capable of doing whatever they want to you. And don't think just because they're fat that they aren't much stronger than you.
So what you do first is locate some sort of weapon. Like a rock, or that big stick over there. Yes, it is heavy. So as they approach, try to hit one of them in the head. The best method is to look like you aren't going to do anything, then do something real quick. Now, go!
Oh, that's good. Look, Martha's bleeding. Right there on her neck. No, don't feel bad. Now they know you mean business, and they're going to have to get her stiched up before messing with you again.
But what about monsters? You might be surprised to learn this, but fake Karate is one of the most powerful forms of the martial arts. Especially against monsters. All you have to do is karate chop and karate kick like they do on TV. No problem.
Okay, so you lost some fingers. But you're alive and the monster's running away. You'll probably live to lose a lot more fingers with badass moves like that. Good job.
So kids, politicians and teachers will tell you that violence is bad, but they're wrong. If Killer Whales didn't use violence to eat the cute Penguins, how would we have Killer Whales to entertain us at Aquatically-Themed Adventure Parks? If George Washington didn't use violence to slaughter all of the Indians, how would your favorite late-night Naked Movies exhist?
They wouldn't. So defend yourself, and defend what you love. Kick and punch blindly, and eventually you'll hit something worth hitting. We believe in you.
Monday, November 22
She fell in love with him instantly.
They met in an ice cream store. He was curled up in the corner because they were fully stocked in mint chocolate chip ice cream.
"What's wrong?' she asked.
"Mint chocolate chip ice cream..." he wispered, choking on his sobs, tears filling his gaping eye sockets.
"What's wrong with mint chocolate chip?" she asked. "You don't have to eat it if you don't want to." But he just cried harder, curled up tighter, and she just couldn't stand it.
"How much for all your mint chocolate chip ice cream?" she asked the teenage girl behind the cash register. She whipped out her credit card. The ice cream went into the sewer and their romance skyrocketted into oblivion. They held hands everywhere, and she destroyed indiscriminately everything that bothered her crazy blind boyfriend.
It was summer and he began screaming like he'd been bit. He pointed feverishly at the clicking of a passing bicycle. Without a second thought she located and threw a large rock at the bike, sending the elderly woman flying over the handlebars and headfirst into the trunk of a large tree.
Permanently crippling an elderly woman and smashing her antique bicycle into pieces is all sorts of a criminal offense.
"Here's a notebook and a pen," she said to him as they led her to her prison cell. "Write down everything that you need borken into pieces, and I will do it as soon as I get out of here."
The list was epic. He had to buy a new notebook every week. Then he had to move to a different apartment to store them all.
They were old by the time they were able to start checking items off the list. "Let's do this," she said, taking his wrinkled hand in hers. It took a frenzied nine years and three months to go through all the notebooks. They tore up newspapers and crushed mailboxes and set fire to swingsets. They chainsawed dumptrucks and melted linoleum and obliterated coat racks. They decimated villages and obliterated the middle class and slashed all the prices.
"I'm tired," he said when they were done.
"But it was worth it," she replied. He agreed, and they curled up together on the pile of broken pieces that was left of the world. It was a lot more comfortable than you would think.
Saturday, November 20
"When I look in your face, I see death," he tells you. "And when I hold you at night, I can't help but imagine holding a lifeless corpse."
"What?" you ask, even though you have heard this exact thing from every boyfriend you've ever had. "Are you breaking up with me?"
"No." But you both know it's over. They confess, then the passion is gone. He will imagine slipping his tongue between your decomposing lips, and you'll know. You'll see it in his eyes.
Quit crying. Break it off quickly and go out with Jake the Embalmer. He has a thing for you, and his hands are real soft.
Thursday, November 18
The meat was sad that the other meat had died. This dead was forever, not just the regular kind of dying that meats go through when the cow or pig it had been a part of was slaughtered for food. That kind of dying is what starts the life of a meat. No, this was the other type of dying that means you can't go to anymore meat parties or laze around looking at the clouds.
This was the meat that found its meat friend dead in the living room watching some coutroom drama on TV. It was green and moldy and lifeless. The meat had come over with a surprise, a new book of trivia. But the meat dropped the book when it found its friend dead, dropped it and never picked it up again.
In the graveyard the sad inevitablity of life hung overhead like a cloud, and all seemed dark and gloomy and sharp with razors. The meat cried a little.
But then some happy meat clowns and meat ballerinas came by and brightened everything!
But they eventually died from meat-rot, too.
But then more happy meat clowns and meat ballerinas were born from slaughter! Party!
But then they died...
But then there was a day they invented Anti-Death, and no meat ever died again! Biggest party ever!
But then the party got really boring and everyone went home and was bored,even with trivia and court TV...forever.
Tuesday, November 16
I walk outside, hugging myself against the cold, and see something strange.
The giant worm thing chases the three chicken birds in circles around the yard. The birds don't seem too worried about the worm, since it's so slow, but they make sure to keep their distance. The giant worm seems intent on eating the birds, and seems sure it'll be really great once it gets one in its mouth.
It's a cold fall night and the crickets are all gone, so the only sound is the ruffling of feathers and the small grunting of the worm.
I don't know how they got in since the gate is locked, but I go ahead and open it so they can get back out. I don't want any violence perpetrated in my backyard, even if it is part of the beauty of nature and giant worms.
They chase each other around in impotent circles, accomplishing nothing at all. I get bored watching them and go back to bed, hoping they'll be gone in the morning.
But they aren't. They don't even seem tired after chasing and being chased for so long. Mr. Happy Puppet Head and Enormous Bunny are watching through the windows. "You going to make some breakfast or what?" asks Mr. Happy Puppet Head. "I'm hungry."
I take out the eggs and begin the process of scrambling them. "Do you think it'll ever catch the birds?" I ask. Mr. Happy Puppet Head ignores the question. "Make sure to make the omlet dry," he says. "You never cook it enough."
So we eat our super dry omlet while watching the worm chase the birds around and around and around. I wonder how long they've been doing this. It seems like it could be one of those eternal, infinite things that's been going on forever and could go on forever after. You don't get to see those sorts of things often. Kind of magical. Inspiring.
One of the birds trips and falls. The worm slowly crawls on top of it and bites off it's head. The other two birds stop and watch from a safe distance as their compatriate is slowly torn to pieces.
I grab a broom and chase them out of the yard. The worm doesn't move an inch until he's eaten the last of the bird, completly ignoring me as I whack it in the face with said broom.
Maybe I should go check for giant worm traps as the hardware store. Sometimes it seems there's never an end to the problems that come up in day to day exhistance.
Monday, November 15
We're on set shooting one of the Fuzzy Cute Cartoons.
Everything is going fine. The story is that a bunch of furry cutes are having a picnic and having a wonderful time.
"I'd like to vote on something," says one cute.
"What would you like to vote on?" asks another.
"I don't know..." says the one. "Maybe on what kind of pie we should eat."
"But we only have apple," says another cute, one who had yet to speak up.
"That's great!" exclaims the first cute. "That's what I would have voted for."
These cartoons pretty much make themselves. We set up the camera, push record, and let the cutes just go. Then after a little while of super adorable dialogue, something happens. In this episode, a big funny boy comes over and eats a few of the cutes.
Mr. Happy Puppet Head is watching the action with a thoughtfull expression. "I'm thinking I'm just going to start wearing diapers," he says to me.
"I'm just saying," he takes a swig from his hip flask. "That I'm sick of getting up in the middle of the night to piss. It sucks."
"That's true," I say. The big funny boy, played by a guy named Hector, approaches and begins eating the cutes happily. They don't know what to do, so they sit around quietly as he eats all of them.
"Why doesn't everyone wear them?" he asks. "They aren't expensive or anything. And convinient. I love convinience."
"So you'll do it, too?" He looks at me now.
"I don't think so," I say. Hector is now lying on the checkered sheet, curling up to take a nap.
"Why not?" He's staring at me now.
"I don't know," I reply. "It just sounds gross. I'd rather just get up and use the toilet."
"Really?" He takes another swig. "That's weird."
"Cut!" I call out as I turn off the camera. All the little cutes crawl out of Hector's mouth and look to me for criticism. "That was really good," I tell them. "Really good. But let's do it again, just for safety."
Thursday, November 11
"Some people have large muscles," said the boy who had none as he talked to the other boy dressed like a sailor whose mother hadn't had anything to drink in three months because her husband said, "I can't take you being drunk all the time, so knock it off," and she did even though now she's really mean to her son and dresses him up in these costumes like sailors and midieval serfs and Navajo Indians so that all the other kids in the class make fun of him and she makes him relate all the mean things said and done to him and this is what she gets drunk on now. "Some people have large muscles," said the boy, "Let's go get some, too."
So they went to the workout place and worked out until they had really big muscles. Then they lifted heavy things and won the acclaim of everyone.
"Sometimes I just eat all the peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon," said the boy to the girl whose father had just been fired from his job for gross negligence in the face of adversity, which goes completely against the company motto, but the man hadn't ever learned to read because of his rather large mental disability rendering it impossible for him to think past his own immediate needs like food, water, sex, and violence, yet he always provided for his daughter. But he was fired. "Sometimes I just eat all the peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon," said the boy, "and by sometimes I mean always for every meal."
So they both gorged themselves on peanut butter until the nutty processed nutness oozed from every orifice and their tiny hearts--which had never learned to love completely--were filled solid with the stuff. Their martyrdom was quickly forgotten by the masses.
Wednesday, November 10
Today's Lesson: Get Famous
Here's the thing, kids. Famous people can do anything they want. If the star of your favorite soap opera or situational comedy walks into your house uninvited, you'd say "Hot damn! You're _________! I love you!" Then you'd try to touch them. Normal people can not get away with this. Famous people can.
The star of your favorite soap opera or situational comedy could walk into your house uninvited, rummage through the fridge, and hang out on your couch watching TV all day and you wouldn't even complain. You'd say, "Can I get you more ice cream? I can run to the store if there's a flavor you'd rather have than the ones I have. Do you want a foot rub?"
Imagine how great that would be. Even if you have to politely ask the celebrity to leave later in the day so your husband won't get jealous or violent, he'll just go on to the next house, or the next. Once you're famous, all you'll have to do is a toothpaste commercial every year to keep your face recognizable to the general public, then you can just barge into any household in the world and take whatever you want. What are they gonna do? Tell you not to? Yeah right.
The world needs celebrities. We owe it to them, for keeping our world a happier place. For giving us pleasant and attractive faces to base our standards of desirability on. For making us feel like we have a rich and powerful friend out there who probably drives several nice cars, and if we ever bumped into them on the streets would probably give us a ride or maybe some money to get some tacos.
For all the cynisism and derision focused on the famous people in this world, fame is still the best thing there is. So kids, get famous. You'll like it.
Tuesday, November 9
"We need to get rid of the mower!" I yell to Mr. Happy Puppet Head over the loud churn of the engine.
"What?" he yells back.
"We need to get rid of it. Maybe push it into the river."
"I'm not paying for a new one." He changes the channel to something with old women talking about their problems, but we can't hear their problems because the tv doesn't get loud enough.
"Fine," I yell. "But let's go push it into the river."
The immediate concern comes up that we have no idea if there actually is a river anywhere near where we live. But we push the mower down the street in the direction we feel it is most likely to find a large body of water. Enormous rabbit prances happily behind us.
I've been trying and trying to figure out what it means that the mower won't turn off and my world is filling with thick black smoke that makes living almost impossible. I have a hard time believing it's just one of those things that hapens. Maybe it's symbolic of my hardworking nature? My work ethic? My strength of character? That makes no sense.
After walking for a little while, I start to get lightheaded and dizzy from all the smoke and noise. We sit down on the sidewalk to take a rest. We soon realize that we are sitting next to a little girl. It's Howie the little girl and her pet old man head.
"Hi Howie, hi Head," I yell. "How are you two doing?"
"Mr. Happy Severed Head!" yells Mr. Happy Puppet Head. "What's up?"
Howie coughs a little cough and yells back, "Just playing."
"That's great," I yell. "Do you know where the river is? We're trying to find a place to put this lawnmower to stop all the smoke."
"I have a pool in my backyard!" she responds. That's close enough for us.
In Howie's backyard, we find a small plastic child's pool. It is filled with green water and thick with fall leaves. Perfect. Me and Mr. Hapy Puppet Head and enormous rabbit carefully hoist the mower up and drop it into the kiddie-pool. The air explodes with mucky water, covering all of us completely with drippy slime. The mower churns on, bubbling and frothing the water with a fury. It takes a long time for it to slow down, gasping for air, belching large puffs of smoke until finally succumbing to the sludge.
We thank Howie and her pet old man head, and tell her that the air should clear up and she'll be able to play without coughing and getting dizzy soon enough.
"I'll miss the smoke," she says. "And the loudness."
And I realize that I just drowned a little part of myself in that kiddie-pool, a part I'm not really understanding yet. Maybe it has something to do with my eating habits? Could eating too much starch cause a landscaping appliance to ignore the laws of physics? And does the fact that I unflinchingly slaughtered the symbol of my malnutrition say something about me? Was that bad luck?
On the way home, we get horribly lost. The smoke probably won't clear for a little while, maybe a few days, and in the meantime we can't see any of our regular landmarks. That night, we sleep in some bushes in someone's front yard. We find out in the morning that they are our bushes in our frontyard.
Monday, November 8
Arpit and Bloodbath the Unemployed Pirate Cartoon!
"Happy Birthday, Bloodbath!" yells Arpit. They are standing in front of their apartment complex. The sun in shining. The two best friends are hanging out being bored.
"Arg. 'Tis not me birthday today," says Bloodbath.
"Yeah, but's it's my birthday," says Arpit. He jumps up in the air and claps his hands. "That means we get to clap and yell and jump and sing. My dad says birthdays are the day everyone forgets why they hate us, just like we were dead when everyone cries because you were such a great friend even if on normal days when you are alive everyone doesn't like you so much and says you smell funny and push you down and put gross things on your face."
"Did yer grandmother have some sorta accident?" asks Bloodbath. "Or do ye think she was a straight up retard?"
"I think she drank bleach. That's what my dad says, my dad says Grandma drinks bleach and that's what makes her scream at me and lock me into dark places."
Bloodbath stares at the boy as he jumps up and down clapping his hands over his head.
"And one time, my dad says I shouldn't hate her because we can't hate handicapped people, like fat people in wheelchairs who can't say sentences and cry all the time. Like Grandma when she hits me with sticks." says Arpit.
"I don't like my Grandma," says Arpit.
They stand around looking idly at things that either pass by or stay where they are at all times. Like cars or rocks.
Thursday, November 4
"You going to mow the lawn today?" I ask Mr. Happy Puppet Head.
"Okay," he says. He's watching TV and not really paying attention to me.
"Now's a good time. It's not raining yet, and it might later." He doesn't respond. "And it's your turn." Seriously, it's been his turn to mow it for almost two months now, and it only needs it one more time before next summer. Just to clear up some of the leaves and make it look nice for the winter.
"Yeah, I know," he takes a swig from his hip flask. "I know I know I know. Shit..."
"I'm going to turn off the TV, Mr. Happy Puppet Head." I stand up. "That's the only way this is going to happen." I walk over and turn it off.
"Hey." he turns it back on with the remote. Enormous rabbit, who'd been sleeping in the corner, picks her head up and looks at the two of us.
I turn it back off and stand in the way of the screen. "Mr. Happy Puppet Head," I say. "Just mow the lawn. It's no big deal."
He turns it on with the remote, but I'm standing in the way so he can't see. "Fine," he mumbles as he drops the remote on the ground. "Asshole..."
He does a really bad job of mowing the lawn. Looking out my bedroom window, I see he missed several large patches and his rows are all crooked and wobbly. At least he did it.
I hear the TV turn on in the living room, but I also still hear the lawnmower in the backyard. I find Mr. Happy Puppet Head sitting on the couch staring at the TV. Enormous bunny is curled up next to him, far too big for our meager furnishing. "Who's mowing the lawn?" I ask him.
"Get off my back, dick. I just mowed it." He flips the channel to some loud cartoon with lots of explosions. I walk to the back window and look outside. The lawnmower is sitting the middle of the yard. A little bit of black smoke trickles from the engine as it roars, chugging away at nothing.
"Why didn't you turn it off?" I ask.
"It usually turns itself off. When you let go of the handle."
"But it's still on."
"So?" He changes the channel again, this time to a bowling tournament. "Go turn it off."
In the backyard I study the mower. The small combustion engine fills the air with its angry sound. I grab the safety handles and jiggle it, but nothing happens. I kick it. Nothing. I kick it again. I push the choke button a few times. I check the oil. Plenty of oil. I unscrew the sparkplug and nothing happens. I open the gas tank and there's no gas in there.
My first thought is that it's haunted, but we just had some of that this past week for Halloween. The mower not turning off must be symbolic of something. Magical Realism I think.
As I stand there thinking, more and more smoke pours out of the mower. The wind changes and blows the blackness into my face. I cough and retreat to the house.
I sit down at the kitchen table and try to write up a list of problems, metaphysical, psychological, sexual that I can think of in my life that this lawn mower may be representative of.
1) My roomate and bestfriend can be a lazy jerk
2) black smoke makes me cough and suffocate
3) I wish we had tortillas
4) I really have to take a piss
I guess I'll take a piss and go to the store for more tortillas. That'll solve at least two of the problems, if not more.
As I open the front door, a huge cloud of black smoke pours into the house. I cough and suffocate a little before I can close the door and it disappates a little. I look out the window and see the entire neighborhood suffused with thick black smoke. I can barely see the kids who live accross the street crying and hacking up wads of phlem in the front yard.
So I'm trapped in the house for the second time this week. Without tortillas. And I've got to figure out what in my life is making the lawnmower not turn off.
Wednesday, November 3
The two sniff each other, circling round and round as they burrow into the scent of the stranger.
When they are done sniffing, they sit down and stare off at the clouds together, new friends on a grassy hill.
One's name is Stephanie, the other is Razor Wire. They watch the sun set and soon it is dark.
Razor Wire says she is tired of how her life has been going and she's leaving.
"Where are you going?" asks Stephanie.
"Doesn't matter," she replies. "I'll just go."
"Wow," Stephanie looks up at the moon and thinks about that. "I wish I could do that, just go."
"You can. Nothing stopping you, really." They sit in silence for a long time.
"But..." Stephanie thinks about all the things stopping her--her family, her friends, her easy supply of food and recreational drugs. Would she be able to find all of these things somewhere else? And she would miss the rolling green hills that she has grown up in. Could she live without them?
After a little while longer of sitting and talking about this and that, they part ways.
Walking home in the dark, Stephanie is stopped by Roderick, a boy she knows from playing in the big green feild. He is a large worm thing that moves so slowly he can only catch the stupidest of birds to eat, and his teeth are so large he can barely open his mouth to chew what does happen to make its way in. He is crying.
"What's wrong, Roderick?" Stephanie asks. Roderick doesn't answer, instead he snaps at her and almost gets one of her legs. "Hey!" She hops out of biting range. "What're you doing?"
He sobs and wails loudly, but doesn't answer her questions. He wiggles slowly towards her, still trying to snap her up with his enormous teeth. She easily hops out of his reach, but he keeps trying.
Roderick follows Stephanie for a long time, accross the dark hills, under the bright fall stars, wailing and sobbing. He is completely unresponsive to her questioning.
They arrive in front of her small house. Stephanie's mother unlocks the door and lets her inside. Roderick doesn't leave once the door is locked. "What's that boy doing?" she asks, but Stephanie has no answer other than "He's trying to eat me."
"But that's Martha's boy," her mother peers out the window at the fat worm child crying in her front yard. "He gone crazy?"
He attacks their mailbox. It doesn't run away. He has trouble, but manages to get most of it down his throat.
"Sometimes people go crazy sometimes," Stephanie's mother says. "You just don't know."
Stephanie nods her head. She goes up to her room upstairs and takes her suitcase out of her closet and puts it on her bed. She stares at it for a long time before she puts it back and goes downstairs for dinner.
Tuesday, November 2
So since before Halloween we've been stuck in our house with no windows or doors and our friend the enormous bunny rabbit continously foaming at the mouth and repeating "i'm a ghost and i'm haunting you." It's gotten really, really, really old. Not even a little scary anymore. Just boring and annoying.
"i'm a ghost and i'm haunting you," enormous rabbit says in her strange, ephemeral voice. Like she's talking from down a long metal pipe.
I still have my shovel. Maybe I can tunnel through the carpet to freedom.
"Hey, Midnight." Mr. Happy Puppet Head whispers to me.
"What's up?" I answer.
"i'm a ghost and i'm haunting you," says enormous bunny.
"Kill the enormous bunny with your shovel." He says. "Hit it over the head with your shovel and kill it."
"Um..." I think about it. "No, I don't think it's her fault. I think she's posessed."
"So what. Kill her. Or I'll do it, whatever. Then we can eat her, too. I think we're all out of granola bars and beer."
"No, she's our best friend and we need to figure out how to make her not possessed anymore." I hold my shovel tight. "We owe her that. How do you make a pet not possessed anymore?"
"We could give her a bath."
So we drag her by her big enormous rabbit ears and manage to get her frothing chanting, moaning body into the tub. We turn on the faucet and out comes the hot water, but instead of hot water it's boiling blood. It'll have to do.
I pour the shampoo over her fur, but it's been turned into puss. This whole haunting/possession thing is getting way out of hand. Let me tell you.
Mr. Happy Puppet Head and I both take up wash cloths, but they've been turned into pieces of human flesh, screaming and crying in agony. We scrub that chanting enormous bunny with the blood and the puss and the flesh, we scrub and scrub. "i'm a ghost and i'm haunting you," she says. "i'm a ghost and i'm haunting you." I take one of our extra pieces of screaming flesh and stuff it in her mouth for a gag. That helps.
So after about a half-an-hour of scrubbing and scrubbing, her eyes kind of get more normal, her frothing subsides, and she stops chanting so frequently.
"Now all she needs is fresh air, the ghost is almost gone." I say. I don't know what I'm talking about at all.
Some of the windows have come back, but only halfway. We have to drag the bunny out of one of the half-windows. It's harder than you would think. To drag an enormous catatonic possess bunny out of a window only halfway reappeared. Damn.
Out in the backyard the air is crisp and wonderfully fall. I was sure getting depressed sitting in our blood soaked house with no windows. It's mid-afternoon. One of my favorite times of the day. Plenty of time to do all the things that need doing. Yes. Like exorcisms.
"What now?" asks Mr. Happy Puppet Head. "Jumping jacks?" The pile of animal parts is rotting on the other side of the yard. Flies buzz around.
"Maybe. Sure." So we do jumping jacks, or rather I do jumping jacks, Mr. Happy Puppet Head bobbles up and down, and enormous rabbit stares at us, just a glint of unholy evil in it's eye. And slowly that glint fades away, and finally is gone.
Enormous bunny, tired from all that possession, rolls over and curls up to sleep.
"Hey, let's go get some tacos or something," says Mr. Happy Puppet Head.
I nod my head. Tacos or something would hit the spot perfectly.
Thursday, October 28
Today has been the day for finding severed animal parts all over the place, and sometimes creepy messages painted in animal blood on the walls. In my bathroom, there was the severed tail of some furry animal, and in blood on the tile was written "i'm a ghost and i'm haunting you." I can't go in that bathroom anymore. I don't know if I'll ever be able to again. Mr. Happy Puppet Head laughed at me, but I can tell he's scared, too. We thought about calling the police, especially after finding the top half of a cute little bird on the couch, but we're pretty sure it's a ghost, and the police aren't good with ghosts.
I'm in the backyard now. We put all the parts in a pile in the backyard, and it's starting to get pretty big. I don't know what to do with it. Burry it?
Mr. Happy Puppet Head is inside watching tv with enormous rabbit. I go to get my shovel from under the house to start digging a mass grave-hole when I hear Mr. Happy Puppet Head start yelling inside. "Midnight!" he yells. "Get the fuck in here! Midnight!" I run inside brandishing my shovel in case I need to save my friend from something scary.
In the living room Mr. Happy Puppet Head and enormous rabbit are staring at the TV. Our show is on, but it's no show we've ever made. At least not yet.
On the screen are me and Mr. Happy Puppet Head being torn to bloody pieces by some sort of invisible ghost. Our television-selves scream and cry as our organs go everywhere, blood collecting in pools with bits of gore and slices of bone. My cape flutters to the ground and Mr. Happy Puppet Head's dismembered mustache is hurled accross the stage by this unseen antagonist. I think I'm going to throw up.
I turn around, it feels like someone is watching me watch myself be killed on tv. No one is behind me.
Except my house is different now. There aren't any windows and all the furniture is on fire.
"What's going on Mr. Happy Puppet Head?" I ask.
"I don't know..." he says, eyes locked on the continued mutilation of our already unrecognizable corpses on the screen.
"The windows are gone."
"What?" he looks around, noticing the lack of windows and the blazing fire for the first time. "What? Ah shitty!"
Then our enormous rabbit friend, that had up until this point been huddled trembling up next to me as close as she could, now stands on her back legs and speaks in a growly voice "i am a ghost and i am haunting you!" and her eyes get all red and glowing and she starts foaming at the mouth all possessed style.
Wednesday, October 27
So we're thinking of naming her several things. Here's a list:
We are not good at naming pets.
But whoever she will be named as, she's fitting in pretty well. Her and Mr. Happy Puppet Head watch soap operas all afternoon and this morning I caught them both curled up in the corner all snuggled up sleeping. It was the most heartwarmingest thing ever.
Tuesday, October 26
Ted and Lucinda are standing in the graveyard at night. Lucinda has just come back from the Spooky Parade where all the dead people and ghosts and murderers and monsters go have a parade down the main street. It was lots of fun and she got a balloon.
"I got to kill some happy family and feast on their innards," says Lucinda. "And everyone was singing this one song about drilling holes in skulls. It was so much fun."
"I wish I could have gone," says Ted. "But I had to work all night and my work never ends."
"What do you do again? I forget."
"I make sure all the dead people in this graveyard stay in the ground when it's not time for a parade... oh shit!" Ted slaps his forhead with a tentacle. "I just remembered that I got the night off for the parade. Boy I feel dumb."
A dead person sticks his or her decomposing skull out of the ground nearby and croaks, "See? I told you we could come out of the ground tonight! Didn't I tell ya? Huh?"
"I'm sorry," says Ted. "But now you'll have to wait until next year's parade."
Another dead person sticks their head out nearby and yells, "What about Halloween? Since we missed the big parade, can we come out for Halloween?" A chorus of dead moans and croaks bellows their aggreement.
"I don't know..." Ted scratches one tentacle with another. He looks at Lucinda for help.
"They did miss the big parade..." she says. "It was really great, too. They had this one magician who could turn the remains of a devoured happy family into vampire bats. He was so awesome."
"Mm..." Ted thinks. "Okay, you guys can come out and play this Halloween, but just this one time. Don't expect it next year."
"Yay!" all the dead in the graveyard exclaim. "Yay for Ted!"
Ted shrugs his shoulders. "What are you doing for Halloween? I guess I get the day off."
"Oh, sorry," says Lucinda. "I have plans already."
"I don't know. I told Leonard I'd go out with him already."
"Oh, okay." Leonard sees a dead person crawling out of their grave. "Hey! Get back in there! Not until Sunday. Halloween isn't until Sunday." The rotted corpse mumbles something and retreats into its grave. "Maybe I'll just stay in," says Ted. "And give out poisoned candy to kids."
"That sounds great," says Lucinda. But she isn't listening. She's thinking about Leonard. And Ted dies a little inside for it.
Monday, October 25
As requested, we went looking for a pet, me and Mr. Happy Puppet Head. We feel like we need more responsibility, because responsiblity is a good thing.
And the idea of a giant bunny rabbit had come up as a possibility, so we went looking. Giant bunnies are a lot easier to find than one might think, but finding a giant bunny of quality is far more difficult. None of the ones in the pet stores had those sad eyes you can just fall in love with. Sad eyes are something one should always look for in a pet.
And then we found this one in a parking lot behind the pharmacy. There had been some sort of accident and the bunny was just standing there like it was about to melt from empathy.
So we hurried it home and away from the scene of whatever accident happened before the cops got there. We didn't want our new best friend to get mixed up in any legal mess.
And thus our new friend is fitting in just fine. We haven't named it yet, nor figured out whether it's a boy or a girl. Not wanting to make it feel uncomfortable, neither of us have checked. But a corner of the living room has been relegated as enormous bunny space, and we're feeding it all the quesadillas and salsa it wants (that's good bunny food).
So we'll see how this works out.
Tuesday, October 19
he asks "would you cut your arm of for me?
she replies, "what? do you need it?"
and he says "nah."
"then no," she says. "you're crazy.
"you're not going to cut it off for me?"
"why do you want it?"
he rolls his eyes, "i don't know. 'cause i said so."
"if you liked me then you wouldn't ask me to cut my arm off."
"okay, fine, i need it."
"for what?" she asks. "are you going to eat it?"
"yeah," he replies. "it's gonna taste good."
"well sure, then. i'll give it to you."
"really?" he asks. "what about your right arm?"
"i assumed that's what we were talking about."
"wow." he thinks for a moment. "yeah, i guess i'd give you my arm, too. if you needed it to live."
"yeah. living with one arm but having you around is way better than having both my arms and you dead."
"plus, it'd be more comfortable for snuggling up to you without that extra arm all the time in the way."
"wow," she says. "you're smart. we should just cut off our arms right now."
"hey," he asks. "was that just really romantic?"
"um, i'm a girl," she says.
"yeah, you're my girlfriend."
"no, we're just friends," she says. "i always thought you were a girl."
"no, i'm a boy... just friends, really?"
"yeah, but i thought you were a girl." she looks at him closely. "wow, i guess it's hard to tell with gerbils."
"i'm a hamster."
"oh, sorry." her green turtle-face blushes. "well i'm embarassed."
The studio is set up like a living room, nice and tidy, modestly decorated in blues and greys. As we fade in, the new theme song starts, which is a full orchestra making a lot of noise on their expensive stringed instruments. Mr. Happy Puppet Head is smashing the collectable plates arranged on the mantle when I walk in the door. I'm carrying my Midnight Mailbag and my flaming Sword of Justice.
While Mr. Happy Puppet Head knocks over the couch, I put out the flaming Sword of Justice in a bucket of justice water. I then change my fancy red and black cape to a fancy indoor plain black cape, and my fancy rubber boots to my indoor rubber boots.
Then me and Mr. Happy Puppet Head will stare directly into the camera and scream from our guts, a scream that has to do with all the pain and suffering in the world.
Cut to black, and begin the show.
Today's episode is all about cooking. Our first recipie is Peanut Butter Butter, which is basically a large stick of butter smeared with peanut butter.
Monday, October 18
"Wow," says Howie to her pet old man head, "I just want to sit down and relax but there's just so much to do."
She has to draw some pictures and take out the trash and clean the mold from behind Head's ears and avoid her older brother and eat all three meals and try to find the cookies inbetween and make her bed and jump on it as much as possible without her mom seeing her and sharpening that stick in the backyard against the concrete and chasing the roach out of her room and braiding and re-braiding her hair and taking a bath and doing her homework, not to mention going to school which sucks up most of every day.
"When I grow up," says Howie, "I'll live in a cave and kill anyone who tries to make me stop living there. I'll eat their insides for sustenance." Head nods his approval. "And we won't have to do anything we don't want to do," she adds.
The thought of a snuggly little cave in the montains with just her and Head and an assortment of skeletons makes her warm inside. She falls asleep under her bed, pretending they are caved already.
Friday, October 15
"I don't know..." says Mr. Happy Puppet Head as he takes a swig from his hip flask.
"What? What don't you like?"
"You know, it just sounds kind of cheesy and stupid."
"No," I say. "It'd be so beautiful and poetic. See at first the boy is all lonely and scared because he's on this island all by himself, but then the whale brings him some kelp to eat and that starts their friendship."
Mr. Happy Puppet Head nods, eyes squinted as he looks off into the distance.
"So then they start becoming really good friends and they swim around and I have this great idea for this shot where he's riding on the whale's back and he stands up just as the whale jumps into the air and he pumps his fists over his head like he's having a really great time."
"Maybe..." he says as he takes another swig. "How about one night, they're just hanging out in the ocean, sharing stories and the boy is all talking about how much he misses his mom and his friends and stuff, and one thing leads to another... they start fooling around... and the boy starts humping the whale."
"Wow, that's good. I like that." I take off my goggles and wipe off the fog that's collecting. "And then, what about just after that they find the boy and take him away back to civilization and his mom and everything? The final shot can be as he's taking off in the helicopter and he's crying and he presses his face against the window and waves and cries hysterically and the whale does all these jumps and spouts water out the blowhole and makes all those whale sounds."
"Okay," says Mr. Happy Puppet Head. "What about years later he comes back to find the whale and it's all beached on the sand and just about to die and he runs to the whale and hugs it. And as the whale is dying, he starts humping it again. Just for old time's sake?"
"That might be a little much."
"Yeah," he takes another contemplative swig. "But we should still do it anyways. The dead whale-humping."
"Maybe..." I say. "I really think we've got something here. I'm excited."
We'll win awards for this one I think.
Wednesday, October 13
Roboctopus and his friends Potato, Loraine, and Jimmy are in their secret clubhouse high in the oak tree in Potato's backyard.
"So what's the first order of business in today's Club Roboctopus Meeting?" asks Loraine.
"Oh," says Potato. "We were going to talk about a fundraiser, I think. Roboctopus, tell me what you think of this idea. T-shirts! With your picture on them."
"But," says Jimmy. "Isn't Roboctopus our secret? If anyone else found out about him, they'd probably want to capture him and put him in a zoo or on some dumb tv show and we wouldn't get to have fun with him anymore."
Roboctopus picks up a big kitchen knife from under the carpet and starts waving it around haphazardly.
"Jimmy's right," says Loraine. "Maybe we don't need T-shirts so bad."
"What about tatoos?" asks Potato.
"I think that's the same problem," Jimmy edges away from Roboctopus and the glinting kitchen knife. "Maybe we need to re-prioritize what this club is all about."
Roboctopus lunges at Jimmy and slashes his forhead with the knife. Jimmy screams and falls backwards, out of the clubhouse and tumbles to the ground below. Potato and Loraine lean over the edge and look down to see if their friend is all right.
"He's not moving..." says Potato.
"Oh God..." says Loraine. "We need to call an ambulance." Jimmy groans and rolls over, blood covering his face.
"Roboctopus!" the two un-broken children say in unison. The large half-robot, half-octopus shrugs his shoulder and re-hides the knife under the rug.
Tuesday, October 12
The cute rabbit says, "Maybe we should make a decision."
"No," says the gerbil cute. "I'm scared of decisions."
"Yes," all the other cutes agree. "No decisions. More pie and lemonade."
"All right," says the rabbit cute. "What about a game where we bite at each other's faces playfully, and everyone is a winner?"
They all cheer cheerfully for this idea, but still think they should have pie and lemonade first. Which they do.
But as soon as they are done with the lemonade and pie, big drunken Dinosaur Steve comes and kicks them all over the place.
His buddy Dinosaur Jim says, "Thanks, dude. Those things give me a headache."
Monday, October 11
So me and Handsome Actor made it to the party complex. We found the door wide open, and something we hadn't realized before, but now that awful jazz music had been turned off or broke or something. But it was silent. Completely.
Standing in the middle of the big center plaza, we see that most of all the alchohol in North America has been drunk, bottles of liqour and beer everywhere, and the big bonfire has long since burned out to nothing.
"Mr. Happy Puppet Head?" I call. No answer but my echo.
"Wait here," Handsome Actor tells me. "I'm going to run and see what's in that door over there." He opens it and it's a dark stairwell.
"Do you think it's a good idea to split up?" I ask. But he's already gone down the stairwell. I don't think it's a good idea to split up. That's what happens in horror movies, only the person being killed can usually run away and isn't all tied up like me. Hm.
So I wait and wait for a long time. I try sitting down, but I fall and get another mouthfull of dirt. I'm kind of getting used to that by now.
It seems like hours that I'm lying there on the ground. Finally I hear something. Laughing. Approaching me from another door on the other side of the plaza. Suddenly the three monsters burst out of the door with Mr. Happy Puppet Head following behind. He stares at the floor as they laugh and yell about something I don't understand.
"Mr. Happy Puppet Head!" I yell. "Mr. Happy Puppet Head, hey! Over here!" He looks up and kind of smiles. His eyes are all bloodshot and his fur is all matted and gross.
"Uh oh," says Marty the monster with the tentacles. "Look what we got here. Stupid cape guy. You look really good with dirt on your face and tied up, huh guys?" The other two monsters agreee.
(in case you forgot what the monsters look like)
All of a sudden there's lots of yelling and feet running towards us. The door where Handsome Actor went down flies open and all the celebrities who had been trapped in the basement come running out, brandishing big sticks and broken bottles. They all yell out terrifying war whoops and look really mad. They run straight for the three monsters and begin a big battle. The celbrities are fighting for their lives and freedom, so they're a force to be reckoned with, but the monsters are magic violin monsters and they flip around and beat up celebrities like nothing.
And in the middle of all the fighting and yelling I lie in the dirt and can't even stand up. Mr. Happy Puppet Head seems to be in a daze and hasn 't seemed to notice the battle.
"Hey Midnight." says Mr. Happy Puppet Head. "What's up?"
"You know... stuff." A child-actor lands on my leg, but it doesn't hurt since he's so small. He picks up a jagged piece of wood and runs off.
"Oh. That's good."
"Hey Mr. Happy Puppet Head?" I ask.
"Do you want to go back home with me and work on our tv show some more? I've got some ideas for new Educati-FUN videos. And other cartoons."
"I don't know..." he turns back to stare at the ground. "We're kind of in the middle of this party." The battle is definitely going in favor of the monsters. The celbrities have all either been badly wounded, tied up, or torn to little famous pieces by those horrible magic party monsters. The only reason they haven't given up yet is because Handsome Actor keeps rallying them, seemingly never running out of energy or ways to escape their deadly attacks.
"Come on," I say. "This party's done. What do you say? I'll pay for bus fare."
"I got a helicopter now."
"Oh. We can tkae that then if you want. I've never been in a helicopter."
"You guys can't leave now," says Marty with the tentacles. "Yeah," says the one with the claw face. "We still have more booze." All the celebrities have been vanquished. Even Handsome is tied up in the corner. It looks like he's crying silently, his tears collecting in a beautiful puddle in the dirt.
"They're right." Says Mr. Happy Puppet Head. "And drugs. We said we weren't gonna stop partying until all the booze and drugs in North America had been consumed by us. Sorry."
"Hey Mr. Happy Puppet Head," a though crosses my mind. "Do you still have that magic violin?"
"Yeah, how'd you know about that?" he takes it out from one of his secret puppet head pockets and waves it around a little.
"You know," I say. "I've been researching it for years now. I think i'm going to write a book about it or something."
"Oh. I didn't know that was this magic violin. That's pretty cool."
"Yeah. Can I see it?"
"Sure." He lays it down on my chest.
"Um," says Marty.
I roll over and the violin falls onto the dirt. I then smash it with the back of my head. I have to do it several times before it feels really smashed good. I turn over to examine it, and see that it now has a big Midnight Mailman head-sized hole in the center of it.
And my ropes fall off and I can move. It feels great. Oh boy. I stand up and flex my arms. I see many of the celebrities stand up, too.
"God dammit!" mutters Marty. "Shit..." says the four legged bird monster. "Well, I guess that's it." says Marty. "Party's over. Good job, dude. Later Puppet Head." And they walk away.
And the party is over. The party complex disappears with a nice shimmery visual effect, and all that's left is me, Mr. Happy Puppet Head, and a lot of bleeding celebrities in the middle of the desert.
Everything's going to be all right.
Saturday, October 9
"Hey," says Handsome Actor. "I found a cactus." We look over and he's got one of those round cacti.
"So what?" asks Non-Handsome Actor, "What can a thorny plant like that do for any of us except prick us? I don't want any, thanks."
"Hold on," I say. "I think Handsome is on to something."
Handsome Actor nods and slices off the top of the cactus with a machete he finds on the ground next to it. Inside is water. The delicious drinking kind of water. We all take turns, Handsome going last.
We all sit and bask in our newly quenched thirst. The sun beats down, but now we're all full of water and can't possibly spontaneously combust. No way. I'll just go ahead and check that off the list of things to be scared of for a little while.
So we resume walking. Or shuffling/hopping in my case. I miss the use of my limbs as independent from each other. Knees and hips, too. I never really appreciated them before now.
Non-Handsome actor begins telling us one of his stories about how he had sex with lots of pretty actresses. He goes on and on, his story machine well oiled from the refreshing water. It isn't an interesting story, really. And he goes into too much detail about how big the various girl's breasts are and what kinds of things he said to get them into bed. We listen politely and nod our heads and say "really?" at the appropriate times.
And then he falls into a pit. One of those hidden kinds that looks like the ground until you step on it and fall into it. And with spikes on the bottom. He lands on the spikes with his chest and stomach, but doesn't die right away. He screams a lot, and we look around for a way to pull him out and save him, but all we have is the rope tied around me and we can't untie it or we would have by now. So we stand there uncomfortably as he screams and screams.
Eventually he stops screaming and dies. Me and Handsome Actor stand there for a while waiting to make sure he is dead. Then Handsome says, "He... was pretty good in that one movie. Where he played the coke addict who was shot in the end. I think he won some award, or maybe he was just nominated. In any case, I'm glad I knew him."
"Amen," I say.
Now I have to add "falling into a hidden pit of spikes" on my list of things to be scared of. Shitty.
Thursday, October 7
We can hear the party jazz music from the distance. I can feel it vibrating the dirt under my feet.
"I'm thirsty..." says the pop singer. "We're all thirsty," says the actor guy. I wish I knew their names, but they're famous and I'm embarassed to ask since I feel like I should know. But the other actor, not the handsome one with the blue eyes.
And that's when the woman catches fire.
It takes her a while to notice that she's on fire. It's just so hot out here it's hard to tell sometimes when one's own flesh is actually on fire or just badly sunburnt. We don't even notice until all of her bautiful hair is burned completely off. The other actor guys says "Hey, I guess you're on fire. Huh." The poor singer girl, with all of her famous singing voice, starts screaming and screaming. She says "I'm on fire! Ow! Ow! Ow!"
The handsome blue-eyed actor rips off his tight muscle shirt and tries to bat the flames out with it. I fall over and wiggle around on the ground desperately.
Much sooner than I would have expected, the woman is burned into nothing, just a pile of dirt on the bigger pile of dirt that is the desert. The handsome actor helps me back to my feet, tears in his eyes.
"Wow." I say.
"Yeah, that's crazy," says the other actor. "I hope I don't catch fire and burn into a pile of dirt like that. Shit."
The handsome blue-eyed actor is too choked up to say anything. He just stands over the ashes and lets his eyes overflow with the pain. I'd pat him on the shoulder, but my arms are all tied up. "She was a great singer." I say. "And a good friend." He nods.
After another few minutes standing over her remains, we turn and somberly continue our journey.
Wednesday, October 6
Thursday, September 30
My best friend in the whole world Mr. Happy Puppet Head found a magic violin that summons magic monster party genies. They do whatever he wants, and so they went on a cross-country road trip of mayhem and destruction. I've tracked them down to a giant cement complex in the middle of the Mojave desert where they have imprisoned all of North America's major celebrities, and are hoarding all the alchohol and recreational drugs. In trying to rescue him, I was tied with some magic monster rope. Three celebrities managed to escape with me and we are now sitting outside of the complex thinking of what to do now.
It's morning in the desert.
"So..." I say to the one really handsome celebrity. "I really liked you in that one movie. The cop one with the ambiguous ending."
"Yeah?" he asks. "Thanks."
"Yeah. You're real good." I look at the other two. "I mean, you're real good, too." I tell the other guy, and even though I do recognize him, I don't think I've ever actually seen his work. "And you, too," I tell the pop singer. "I mean, I don't have any of your albums, but I think I've heard your songs on the radio. Or in restaurants or bathrooms or something."
They all nod politely. The singer girl is crushing some sort of root they found for food. We all eat some and it's awful.
We wait until night, spending the day in awkward conversation and munching on that root. I try to ask them what we should probably be doing, or if they have a plan, but nobody does. I don't know if I'll ever get free of this rope binding. And saving the day seems doubtful.
What I need to do is figure out all of our strengths and use them in the most clever way possible. The singer can sing so loud... handsome actor has those piercing blue eyes and suave way of talking to women... and the other guy... i bet he could... we'll figure him out later.
And I'm tied up and half-deaf from jazz. Okay. We can do this.