New Performance Art
I stand among eleven body doubles of myself. they all look very similar to me, wearing thick layers of latex makeup. As well as the goggles and the black cape and large rubber boots. We all stare vacantly towards the ceiling.
Mr. Happy Puppet Head rolls out a giant cake. A green cake with lots of frosting and some loud booming orchestra music begins blasting from the wall of speakers behind us.
Me and the body doubles begin devouring the cake, punching and clawing at each other in an effort to get at the cake.
After only a moment, the cake is gone. Our identical faces covered in green frosting, we collapse on the floor, some unconsious, some simply no longer able to stand. We groan, and the orchestra booms on, getting louder and louder until the speakers begin cracking and smoking and breaking. They explode, pieces of amplifier shrapnel plunging into the soft flesh of the children in the audience. They cry. I and my duplicates begin vommiting violently, our bodies curled into painful fetal positions in a small pool of bile and large chunks of cake.
We cut to a educational documentary in which some teenagers have sex and instantaneously melt from the STDs incurred.