“Excuse me guys, but ya’ll need to beat it,” I said.
“We were just watching ‘This is It.’ This is the best part,” Michael Jackson’s Ghost said, adding an “Eee-hee” while grabbing his crotch.
“Myra, can you move, you’re blocking the TV and I don’t want to miss it,” Gore Vidal said, shooing me away with his hand.
“Right, well, you are going to have to finish watching this later, I need to watch Lost. And besides, what are you still doing in my house, Michael?”
“Oh Frau, yer such a card! You know we’re roomies now,” he answered.
“Roommates?” I scoffed. “How ‘bout paying a little rent then!?”
“Myra, if you are going to just stand there, be a doll and top me off,” Gore said, waving an empty glass in my direction. I glared back with silent sass, the deadliest of all sass, but he just feigned being parched by making a dry noise with his mouth. Damn, this queen was good.
“Whatever,” I continued, “you guys are just going to have to wait.” I turned and stopped the DVD, then pushed play on the VCR. I was gripped by a silent Pavlovian rage as a familiar theme song filled the air.
“She’s fantastic! Made of Plastic! Microchips here and there!” the television sang.
“What. The. Hell?” I said as I turned back toward the sofa. There may have been fire in my eyes, I’m not sure.
“Oh yeah, there was a ‘Small Wonder’ marathon on channel five, so I taped it! I just love that little V.I.C.I.,” The Ghost of Michael Jackson said, adding, “jammon!”
“Voice Input Child Identicant,” George Takei chirped in with a smile.
“I hope you don’t mind, I used that blank tape you had in there,” Michael said. I would have been seething with animosity if I hadn’t been paralyzed by anger. It took me a few seconds to regain my motor functions.
“Do you not realize how awesome that episode was supposed to be? Jin and Sun both died in the helicopter crash!” Oh sorry, spoiler alert if anyone hasn’t watched it yet.
“Myra, since your show isn’t on, can you put our DVD back on?” Gore Vidal said, breaking the proverbial camel's back.
“STOP CALLING ME MYRA!” I screamed. “I am a one hundred percent natural woman! SEE!” I added as I impulsively flashed him my koochie.
“Oh my!” George Takei exclaimed.
My rage quickly turned to red hot embarrassment, as I realized that I still had my winter coat and hadn’t shaved or tapered the growler in months. I sobbed and ran upstairs like a teenage girl. I ended up spending the rest of the evening scouring the web for a bit torrent of the Lost finale. Turns out the whole thing was just a dream that Bob Newhart was having, what a disappointment. Well, at least Kate didn’t turn out to be Mitochondrial Eve.
