Sunday, June 13

The electronic broadcasting/recording mechanicals are trained upon my beaming vissage. Upon arrival to the television studio we had encountered problems of various sorts about entering during another programs shooting schedule. But my message can flame like the fires of Heaven in my meager body no longer.

"I will pull your tracheas from your vile throats if you don't shut yourselves up right this second!" I scream at the audience, the daytime talk show hosts, the stage manager with the headphones, and even Mr. Happy Puppet Head who's doubts about my actions are all to vocal. "You will listen with all attentive ears to my preachings, and your souls will become purged of all non-purity and you will fall to your knees thanking the God you have yet to even know about that I came to threaten your lives and ruin your daily talk show rubbish."

The room is hushed. Balloon of Destiny is in my left hand, my right arm wrapped tight around the neck of the old man, the one who hosts the talk show. He squirms and I tighten my grip.

"The world is not how your percieve it!" I point at their stupid faces. "Your eyes give you images of happiness and sadness, good and bad, rain and no rain, puppies and kittens, carpet and pudding wrestling, but they are all false idols. Cast your idiot eyes towards this floating jem of beautifying castillion! This marvel of the Universe, our savior of all saviors!" The Balloon bobs happily back and forth above my head.

And the people, this audience, they look at me, confusion casting a palor over their pupils, their jaws hanging agape. Mr. Happy Puppet Head looks embarassed. I can't hear what he's saying to the attractive co-host, but I assume it's mutinous.

"Do you mean that balloon?" calls out a fat woman in a floral print tunic. "Is that what you're talking about? The Marvel of the Universe is that stupid balloon?"

"Nay! Hold your toungue! To mock the Balloon of Destiny is a grave offense that will only cause your sould the painest of pains! What I hold in my hands is the answer to ALL!"

"Why?" another fat woman asks. "What does it do?"

And I look up at the Balloon. This Balloon of Destiny. My heart fills with pure love and happiness. My eyes full of tears I turn them to these fat women of floral and I speak, "There is nothing, my dear fat woman of floral, that this Balloon can't do. Nothing in this entire world worth asking can this Balloon of Destiny not do. Nothing. Nada. Zilch-a-mundo."

And that's when the sniper hiding in the rafters pulls his foul trigger, and pops the Balloon of Destiny.

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