"Dear diary, having wandered in the dread woods of Deerfield for several hours, never once encountering any roaming hired help, I found my way to civilization. But it was already greatly changed from my memory!
The first person I encountered upon emerging from the wilderness was a leotard-clad nobleman by the name of Ragnor, although he insisted upon the less formal "Chuck." Ragnor's attire was trimmed in fur. I harkened back to the last time I had purchased a fur coat at Macy's, when it oddly rained animal blood on me as I left the store. I was glad that no similar bizarre atmospheric quirk had impeded Ragnor's purchase.
As I looked around and saw women in pointy hats, men in capes, and copious amounts of mead and witchcraft accessories for sale in nearby tents, I drew the one possible conclusion. I had traveled into the future! It was a world where everything could be settled with plastic dice and cardboard swords! Ragnor denied it and inquired where I lived, as if he could simply drive me back to my old life. What a land of enchantment! Where time travel is as easy as calling Driver and insisting he squish some homeless folk on the way.
It had been almost a day since my last sexual encounter. I casually suggested to Ragnor that he should educate me in how lovemaking had changed in the centuries I must have wandered in the forest. He mumbled something about the plague and kept insisting that I visit a medic. But his gamey breath and unkempt hair set a fire in my groinal area that I had not experienced since my initial bout with herpes. I lept upon Ragnor and began probing his mouth with my tongue. 'Yes! Yes!' I cried, expressing my approval for the process in general. Ragnor finally relented, turning off his cell phone and then stripping- peeling away an undershirt that read, 'Slayers Do It With Big Swords.' 'Oh, Ragnor,' I yelled, 'cast your Magic Missile on me!'"
Meanwhile, Eleni, spurned by Manos, had turned to Evil. She applied by mail order for her Evil membership card, which she then signed with a ball-point pen as black as the depths of her soul, and slipped into her wallet. She affixed the free bumper sticker to her carriage. Membership has its privileges, and she settled down that night to browse the Evil Quarterly magazine for ideas on Revenge and Betrayal.
Eleni hadn't expected her Evil membership packet to come with such an exciting array of kitchen implements, depilatory cremes, diagrams and sweet kosher gherkins. The boots alone had taken her a full 71.5 hours to lace before she'd thought to blow her new midget-whistle and bid the dwarves who scampered hither to assist. Evil, it occurred to Eleni, was going to rock.
"Oh Manos," she murmured in her sibilant Sifnosian syntax, "these boots are kind of uncomfortable. But they're worthwhile if you look upon them and know they are constricting as the passion I feel for you, as elevating as our love could be, as stinky as the poonani on that tubby skank ho you be hittin'... she ain't all that!"
Across the sea, oblivious to Eleni's ebonic emasculations, Manos stared idly at the wee hourglass that rotated mockingly over a slowly appearing nipple. His Amiga was acting asstarded tonight. "Jungle Pixies" would take another 20 minutes to download and meanwhile, he thought he could probably pour some waffles from the pre-mixed batter he kept in the fridge, adjacent to the Astroglide and wedged beneath his first edition Lestat blow-up doll with multiple glory holes, self-inflating fangs and twee lacy ascot. The really important thing was to thoroughly emulsify the batter so it wouldn't form lumps while it rested.
"Agitate the squirrels," Eleni lisped, as she lit the seventh dwarf on fire. Her plus-five Thrusting Penetrator had given her sight beyond sight. "Karatina," she continued, spearing a wiener for roasting, "You fool. You've stumbled upon Deerfield's Olde Science Fictione Faire. Positronic brains, electric sheep, benevolent alien overlords... and your imminent exile from Sifnos! AH-hahahahahaha."
Yes. Evil rocked.
No comments:
Post a Comment