Thursday, July 17, 2008
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Being the Paparazzo is hard...
I was at home innocently playing Grand Theft Auto IV, and by that, I mean, I was driving down Wilshire when I ran over a Russian Prostitute, though it could have been Helen Mirren [she is so versatile!], I’m not entirely sure. Anyway, I shouldn’t be expected to remember the little details when I am in such a rush.
You see, earlier that day, I was talking with my friend, Miss Cleo, and she had predicted that Jamie Lynn would be giving an extremely exploitive photo shoot that afternoon, you know, selling the pictures of her new baby. So I wanted to be first in line, as I could easily sell those bad boys off to that coke head on The Insider [definitely not TMZ… fascists…].
I had been casually making my way there, obeying all traffic laws, like a good citizen, when I spotted the photographer from OK! Magazine. I recognized her, as she was supposed to do a spread on my gracious home for a September issue, but the spread was bumped by yet another expose on Amy Winehouse’s room at the rehab clinic. Anywho, I had to put the petal to the metal, My Ford Festiva rocked to a speedy 45 MPH, and I sideswiped the photographer’s car, forcing her into a Del Taco drive through. I was almost tempted to turn back and get some fries, Del Taco fries are the best you know, but then thought to keep the lead. I approached the hospital at top speed, careening the Festiva through the doors of the emergency room at 46 miles per hour. The car stalled out in front of the doors, which was fine, it would block the way from the hungry lenses of the paparazzi, those photos were going to be mine exclusively!
“Where is she!?!” I demanded from the nurse at the front counter. She stammered, while staring passed the Festiva at Helen Mirren, who was pounding on the roof of the car trying to get into the ER. “Go around!” I shouted at her, waving her away, then to the nurse, “What room is she in!”
“Room 242,” she finally answered.
I grabbed my Hello Kitty point and shoot camera from the glove box of the Festiva and bolted up the stairs. As I reached the room, I threw the door open and started clicking away. After I snapped a few pictures, I lowered my camera.
“What is this shit?” I asked rhetorically.
“I’m being creative,” answered Madonna from the hospital bed. The limp bodies of William Orbit, Bjork, and Timbaland hanging from the ceiling, their blood being drained through plastic tubing that lead to the back of the evil succubus’ neck.
“It was a rhetorical question, after all, I do have eyes.”
“help me,” cried a weak voice from the corner. I turned to see Justin Timberlake lying on the ground, feebly reaching up for me.
“Oh whatever ‘Michael,’” I said with a sneer, and walked out.
You see, earlier that day, I was talking with my friend, Miss Cleo, and she had predicted that Jamie Lynn would be giving an extremely exploitive photo shoot that afternoon, you know, selling the pictures of her new baby. So I wanted to be first in line, as I could easily sell those bad boys off to that coke head on The Insider [definitely not TMZ… fascists…].
I had been casually making my way there, obeying all traffic laws, like a good citizen, when I spotted the photographer from OK! Magazine. I recognized her, as she was supposed to do a spread on my gracious home for a September issue, but the spread was bumped by yet another expose on Amy Winehouse’s room at the rehab clinic. Anywho, I had to put the petal to the metal, My Ford Festiva rocked to a speedy 45 MPH, and I sideswiped the photographer’s car, forcing her into a Del Taco drive through. I was almost tempted to turn back and get some fries, Del Taco fries are the best you know, but then thought to keep the lead. I approached the hospital at top speed, careening the Festiva through the doors of the emergency room at 46 miles per hour. The car stalled out in front of the doors, which was fine, it would block the way from the hungry lenses of the paparazzi, those photos were going to be mine exclusively!
“Where is she!?!” I demanded from the nurse at the front counter. She stammered, while staring passed the Festiva at Helen Mirren, who was pounding on the roof of the car trying to get into the ER. “Go around!” I shouted at her, waving her away, then to the nurse, “What room is she in!”
“Room 242,” she finally answered.
I grabbed my Hello Kitty point and shoot camera from the glove box of the Festiva and bolted up the stairs. As I reached the room, I threw the door open and started clicking away. After I snapped a few pictures, I lowered my camera.
“What is this shit?” I asked rhetorically.
“I’m being creative,” answered Madonna from the hospital bed. The limp bodies of William Orbit, Bjork, and Timbaland hanging from the ceiling, their blood being drained through plastic tubing that lead to the back of the evil succubus’ neck.“It was a rhetorical question, after all, I do have eyes.”
“help me,” cried a weak voice from the corner. I turned to see Justin Timberlake lying on the ground, feebly reaching up for me.
“Oh whatever ‘Michael,’” I said with a sneer, and walked out.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
The Newest Scoop
I had just started my cushy new job as a reporter, well I use the term “reporter” very loosely as the I was reporting for TMZ. They pulled me in as a guest reporter when the sex video of me and Reece Witherspoon started to circulate. I didn’t have the heart to correct them [as I would never have slept with a closet Bush supporter], and besides, I had already cashed the check they sent me [I was in desperate need to get my nails did].
Anywho, I was leisurely sitting at my desk rolling bits of Play-Doh into small little balls when some PA comes over to me and asks me what I was doing.
“Look, scrub, first of all, you do not look me in the face, you can address the cubical wall, but not personally, as if I were the wall, rather you will talk to the wall as if it were a medium.” I chastised him. You really have to put these PAs in place from the get-go, otherwise they’ll sell your story to some trashy tabloid show.
“A medium?” He asked the wall.
“Yeah, you know, like Tangina.” I answered, not looking up from my task. “So what do you want?”
“Harvey wants to know what you are doing.”
“Harvey? Is that like your imaginary rabbit?” I asked, then addressed the empty space next to him. “Oh, hi Harvey, how are you?” I said with some sarcasm, I know, it’s really hard for me to be sarcastic. “Well, Harvey, I think it’s obvious what I’m doing. I’m making Dippin’ Dots, I would make some spaghetti, but my press is broken.” I said, indicating to the broken Play-Doh factory on my desk. Needless to say, those things work for shit on walnuts. “Do you want some Dippin’ Dots, Harvey?” I asked, offering the empty space my Doh Dippin’ Dots. Then I realized that everyone was standing around and the room was filled with cameras. “What’s the deal, is this like Big Brother or something?”
“No, we’re doing a show, live,” some Jew-ey lookin’ dude tersely answered, “and all eyes are on you.”
“Well then obviously you heard me before, you do not look me in the face, you can address the cubical wall—"
“You’re fired.” He interrupted.
“Wait, what?”
“You heard me.”
“You can’t fire me! I was in that tape, you know, the one,” I said, winking to the camera, “the one with Reece.”
“No, you weren’t. Our sources discovered that it was Denise Richards, not you.”
“Scissor-me-timbers!”
“Yeah, and we’ll be wanting that check back.”
“Uhm, yeah… about that… can I pay you back in Marlboro Miles?”
Well, long story short, I was able to sell my story to Extra, you know a credible news source, and then pay this Harvey Levin guy back, well, he did take half of the payment in Marlboro Miles, I swear, sometimes it seems like I’ll never get that jacket…
Anywho, I was leisurely sitting at my desk rolling bits of Play-Doh into small little balls when some PA comes over to me and asks me what I was doing.
“Look, scrub, first of all, you do not look me in the face, you can address the cubical wall, but not personally, as if I were the wall, rather you will talk to the wall as if it were a medium.” I chastised him. You really have to put these PAs in place from the get-go, otherwise they’ll sell your story to some trashy tabloid show.
“A medium?” He asked the wall.
“Yeah, you know, like Tangina.” I answered, not looking up from my task. “So what do you want?”
“Harvey wants to know what you are doing.”
“Harvey? Is that like your imaginary rabbit?” I asked, then addressed the empty space next to him. “Oh, hi Harvey, how are you?” I said with some sarcasm, I know, it’s really hard for me to be sarcastic. “Well, Harvey, I think it’s obvious what I’m doing. I’m making Dippin’ Dots, I would make some spaghetti, but my press is broken.” I said, indicating to the broken Play-Doh factory on my desk. Needless to say, those things work for shit on walnuts. “Do you want some Dippin’ Dots, Harvey?” I asked, offering the empty space my Doh Dippin’ Dots. Then I realized that everyone was standing around and the room was filled with cameras. “What’s the deal, is this like Big Brother or something?”
“No, we’re doing a show, live,” some Jew-ey lookin’ dude tersely answered, “and all eyes are on you.”
“Well then obviously you heard me before, you do not look me in the face, you can address the cubical wall—"
“You’re fired.” He interrupted.
“Wait, what?”
“You heard me.”
“You can’t fire me! I was in that tape, you know, the one,” I said, winking to the camera, “the one with Reece.”
“No, you weren’t. Our sources discovered that it was Denise Richards, not you.”
“Scissor-me-timbers!”
“Yeah, and we’ll be wanting that check back.”
“Uhm, yeah… about that… can I pay you back in Marlboro Miles?”
Well, long story short, I was able to sell my story to Extra, you know a credible news source, and then pay this Harvey Levin guy back, well, he did take half of the payment in Marlboro Miles, I swear, sometimes it seems like I’ll never get that jacket…
Friday, February 29, 2008
You take the good, you take the bad...
Well hello my dear readers, sorry to have been on the downlow [and not in the Eddie Murphy way] but I was busy researching for a role I auditioned for. What with the writers strike and all, the networks were all desperate to get some new programming on the air that they green lit a "re-imagining" of "The Facts of Life." Its all the rage now, you know, taking shit we've already seen and "re-imagining" it, except this was going to be good, not like that crapfest Bionic Woman... lame... you CANT be bionic without that "da-da-da-da-da-da-da" slow-motion bionic sound effect. Anywho, NBC was going for like a grittier real life version of "The Facts of Life," and the first few scripts that were thrown together before the strike were fantastic! Like Tuttie was dealing ecstasy while earning money to attend the all white school by pole dancing at the local strip joint. And rather than being everyones friend, Natalie is ostracized for being fat and ugly, you know, totally real life situations!
I, of course, was trying out for the Blair role. The troubled girl who constantly has to deal with being perfect in a non-perfect world. I know, the role would totally be walk-through for me. Sure its hardly a stretch acting wise, kinda like Courtney Love playing a junkie, but this was going to be my big break out role, you know, get me in the public eye, after all Courtney was nominated for an Oscar, but then again so was Spielberg. Anywho, this was going to allow me to get funding for my independent film "Fraubarella." So after spending the better part of two months sequestered away in an all girls school in northern New York I was ready, a sure thing, this role was MINE!
I worked the hell out of that audition! And as I left, I walked passed a nervous Miley Ray Cyrus, who was sitting in a folding chair waiting for her turn to audition. She scowled at me from behind dog-eared script she was reading in a feeble last minute attempt to remember the lines.
"Good luck, bitch." I sneered, then spit in her eye and kept walking without as much as backwards glance. Yeah, I slipped a little on the wet floor that janitor was mopping and almost fell, but I don't think Miley saw, what with the spit in her eye. "Next time put a fucking sign down." I growled at the janitor.
"I'm sorry, please don't tell my boss." Lisa Whelchel pleaded. I raised my hand to backhand her, a quiet sob escaped her as she flinched.
"That's right, bitch, respect."
Anywho, it was last night that I finally got the call. I didn't get the part, but they did want to offer me the part of Jo, the bull dyke lesbian. "No thanks! These scissors don't cut that way!" I said angrily before hanging up the phone. "The nerve." I said, turning to Angelina Jolie. We were flipping through the United Colors of Benetton Kids catalogue, though I don't think she realized that is was a catalogue for clothing.
"Shhhh, don't speak." She said, holding her finger to my lips. Then we started making out. I mean, she is hot, that doesn't make me a lez or anything.
I, of course, was trying out for the Blair role. The troubled girl who constantly has to deal with being perfect in a non-perfect world. I know, the role would totally be walk-through for me. Sure its hardly a stretch acting wise, kinda like Courtney Love playing a junkie, but this was going to be my big break out role, you know, get me in the public eye, after all Courtney was nominated for an Oscar, but then again so was Spielberg. Anywho, this was going to allow me to get funding for my independent film "Fraubarella." So after spending the better part of two months sequestered away in an all girls school in northern New York I was ready, a sure thing, this role was MINE!
I worked the hell out of that audition! And as I left, I walked passed a nervous Miley Ray Cyrus, who was sitting in a folding chair waiting for her turn to audition. She scowled at me from behind dog-eared script she was reading in a feeble last minute attempt to remember the lines.
"Good luck, bitch." I sneered, then spit in her eye and kept walking without as much as backwards glance. Yeah, I slipped a little on the wet floor that janitor was mopping and almost fell, but I don't think Miley saw, what with the spit in her eye. "Next time put a fucking sign down." I growled at the janitor.
"I'm sorry, please don't tell my boss." Lisa Whelchel pleaded. I raised my hand to backhand her, a quiet sob escaped her as she flinched.
"That's right, bitch, respect."
Anywho, it was last night that I finally got the call. I didn't get the part, but they did want to offer me the part of Jo, the bull dyke lesbian. "No thanks! These scissors don't cut that way!" I said angrily before hanging up the phone. "The nerve." I said, turning to Angelina Jolie. We were flipping through the United Colors of Benetton Kids catalogue, though I don't think she realized that is was a catalogue for clothing.
"Shhhh, don't speak." She said, holding her finger to my lips. Then we started making out. I mean, she is hot, that doesn't make me a lez or anything.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Come to my window...
So I was scouting out locations for Sue Grafton's new novel "U is for Utili-kilt," its a murder mystery, of course, that takes place in a queer bar. She hired me to find some bars with great local color that would be easy enough for her to hash out descriptions of with her Funk & Wagnall's Thesaurus. She pays me in Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf gift cards, so its all good.
I was checking out one called the Kitty Kat Klub, I had heard about it through the grapevine, but its kinda hard to find because they only have the initials on the door. Anywho, turns out is was lezzie night, I swear, you couldn't swing a cat without knocking off some chicks baseball hat. So I was scoping the place out when I spied a kiddy pool filled with whipped cream and the Bush Twins totally scamming on each other.
"Scissor Me Timbers!" I screamed.
"Oh stop, its no big deal," Jenna, or was it Barbara, said.
"Since when is incest no big deal?" I mused.
"We're just here to act as a distraction to the nation while Daddy starts war with Iran."
"What?!?!" I cried.
"Yeah, while the tabloids are all going on about how nasty we are, he'll be starting World War III," one of them said.
"So we're not really lezbos, we're just proud Americans doing what we need to do to protect this country from non-existent threats," the other added.
"The only way you'll protect this country is to get your Daddy out of office. Besides your plan will never work! Americans aren't that stupid, they'll never let that happen... again." I said just as Asimo the Robot walked in with a group of journalists in tow.
"Look at these girls, these dirty dirty girls." Asimo said with its cold robotic voice.
"Mom, you were supposed to let us know before you brought them in," said Jenna-Barbara.
"Yeah, so we could make sure we were really nasty, you know, like at the end of requiem for a Dream'," said Barbara-Jenna.
"Shut up you stu-pid whores and just make out, Dan Rather is growing impatiant," Asimo said.
"Dan, don't you see," I implored, "they're just trying to sucker you into some bogus story here!"
"Dan would rather look at the hot chicks making out," he said in the third person.
"But they're not even hot!" I cried and fell to my knees, then quitely repeated through the sobs "They're not even hot... "
So when I saw "Nasty Bush Twins Hot Make Out Session" on the headline of the New York Post, and the story about how Iran has not had an active nuclear program since 2003 relegated to "Page 6", I couldn't help but wonder how difficult is it to get Canadian citizenship, though they'd probably make me say my 'o's all fucked up, I just couldn't do that... damn Canucks.
I was checking out one called the Kitty Kat Klub, I had heard about it through the grapevine, but its kinda hard to find because they only have the initials on the door. Anywho, turns out is was lezzie night, I swear, you couldn't swing a cat without knocking off some chicks baseball hat. So I was scoping the place out when I spied a kiddy pool filled with whipped cream and the Bush Twins totally scamming on each other.
"Scissor Me Timbers!" I screamed.
"Oh stop, its no big deal," Jenna, or was it Barbara, said.
"Since when is incest no big deal?" I mused.
"We're just here to act as a distraction to the nation while Daddy starts war with Iran."
"What?!?!" I cried.
"Yeah, while the tabloids are all going on about how nasty we are, he'll be starting World War III," one of them said.
"So we're not really lezbos, we're just proud Americans doing what we need to do to protect this country from non-existent threats," the other added.
"The only way you'll protect this country is to get your Daddy out of office. Besides your plan will never work! Americans aren't that stupid, they'll never let that happen... again." I said just as Asimo the Robot walked in with a group of journalists in tow.
"Look at these girls, these dirty dirty girls." Asimo said with its cold robotic voice.
"Mom, you were supposed to let us know before you brought them in," said Jenna-Barbara.
"Yeah, so we could make sure we were really nasty, you know, like at the end of requiem for a Dream'," said Barbara-Jenna.
"Shut up you stu-pid whores and just make out, Dan Rather is growing impatiant," Asimo said.
"Dan, don't you see," I implored, "they're just trying to sucker you into some bogus story here!"
"Dan would rather look at the hot chicks making out," he said in the third person.
"But they're not even hot!" I cried and fell to my knees, then quitely repeated through the sobs "They're not even hot... "
So when I saw "Nasty Bush Twins Hot Make Out Session" on the headline of the New York Post, and the story about how Iran has not had an active nuclear program since 2003 relegated to "Page 6", I couldn't help but wonder how difficult is it to get Canadian citizenship, though they'd probably make me say my 'o's all fucked up, I just couldn't do that... damn Canucks.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
A Tale of Terror. Part IV: A New Beginning Nightmare of Blood
[Back to Part 3-D: The Final Chapter]
As the Zuni doll flew towards me, all slow motion Matrix style, I turned and leapt out of the way, all Bionic Woman style, complete with that O.G. "da-nah-nah-nah-nah" sound effect, well in my head at least. The doll landed face first in the mud, but quickly regained its composure and started running towards me. I threw my prescription sunglass at its head. It didn't much care for that. Then I ran like a little bitch.
It was a spry little thing, and was able to keep a good pace. I tried to ditch it by running into a creepy cemetery. As I ran past the headstone for Britney Speers' Career, I tripped and fell, breaking the heel of my Jimmy Choo knock offs. I tried to crawl away, but froze when I saw a zombie lumbering towards me.
"It's coming to get you Frau Bella," taunted a drunken Kiefer Sutherland as he pointed at the Zuni Doll coming around the corner.
"Thanks captain obvious." I said, getting to my feet. He took another swig from the bottle he was carrying but tipped back a little too far and fell over, knocking his head on Britney's headstone. I kicked my shoes off, and started running just as the Zuni doll stopped next to Kiefer's lifeless body and stabbed it right in the eye, twenty four times, for good measure.
I ran out the other side of the cemetery up a silent hill and into new housing development. It was near dark, and a fog started to roll in, so I hid behind the last house on the left, hoping to ditch the Zuni doll. When I peered around the corner, I saw a figure moving through the fog. As it got closer I could make out a pirate hat and sword.
"Oh Johnny, you've come to rescue me! I knew you would!" I squealed, running out from my hiding place. "You didn't bring that kooze Vanessa with you, did you?" As I ran closer, I could see that it wasn't Johnny after all. In fact it was some half decayed zombie pirate leper. He pointed at my gold bracelet, as if to indicate that my returning it to him would lift some ancient curse placed upon me when my ancestors caused his ship to crash into the rocks so that they could steal his gold, or at least that is what I thought he was saying, it was hard to tell, he didn't have a tongue.
"Fine, here," I said, tossing the bracelet over to him. Just as he caught it, the Zuni doll emerged from the fog and lunged for his face, stabbing him right in the eye, er, rather, empty eye socket. This pissed off the zombie pirate leper, and then they started to fight. I didn't stick around to see what happened.
Twenty eight days later, I sued the crap out of Oprah's estate, after all it was very traumatic, and I won everything. I was relaxing, rolling around in my vault of money, when my agent called. Jane Fonda had in turn sued me, claiming that the independent feature film I produced was a rip off. The courts ruled in her favor and she was going to donate all of my money to charity.
I screamed and bolted awake, it had all just been a bad dream on Maple Street. Just then, Oprah rang me, and offered me fifty million dollars to drive her across country. Sure fifty million bucks could get my independent film, "Fraubarella," into production, but I couldn't help but wonder if my horrible dream was some sort of omen or prophecy or something.
Nah, couldn't be…
Happy Halloween!
As the Zuni doll flew towards me, all slow motion Matrix style, I turned and leapt out of the way, all Bionic Woman style, complete with that O.G. "da-nah-nah-nah-nah" sound effect, well in my head at least. The doll landed face first in the mud, but quickly regained its composure and started running towards me. I threw my prescription sunglass at its head. It didn't much care for that. Then I ran like a little bitch.
It was a spry little thing, and was able to keep a good pace. I tried to ditch it by running into a creepy cemetery. As I ran past the headstone for Britney Speers' Career, I tripped and fell, breaking the heel of my Jimmy Choo knock offs. I tried to crawl away, but froze when I saw a zombie lumbering towards me.
"It's coming to get you Frau Bella," taunted a drunken Kiefer Sutherland as he pointed at the Zuni Doll coming around the corner.
"Thanks captain obvious." I said, getting to my feet. He took another swig from the bottle he was carrying but tipped back a little too far and fell over, knocking his head on Britney's headstone. I kicked my shoes off, and started running just as the Zuni doll stopped next to Kiefer's lifeless body and stabbed it right in the eye, twenty four times, for good measure.
I ran out the other side of the cemetery up a silent hill and into new housing development. It was near dark, and a fog started to roll in, so I hid behind the last house on the left, hoping to ditch the Zuni doll. When I peered around the corner, I saw a figure moving through the fog. As it got closer I could make out a pirate hat and sword.
"Oh Johnny, you've come to rescue me! I knew you would!" I squealed, running out from my hiding place. "You didn't bring that kooze Vanessa with you, did you?" As I ran closer, I could see that it wasn't Johnny after all. In fact it was some half decayed zombie pirate leper. He pointed at my gold bracelet, as if to indicate that my returning it to him would lift some ancient curse placed upon me when my ancestors caused his ship to crash into the rocks so that they could steal his gold, or at least that is what I thought he was saying, it was hard to tell, he didn't have a tongue.
"Fine, here," I said, tossing the bracelet over to him. Just as he caught it, the Zuni doll emerged from the fog and lunged for his face, stabbing him right in the eye, er, rather, empty eye socket. This pissed off the zombie pirate leper, and then they started to fight. I didn't stick around to see what happened.
Twenty eight days later, I sued the crap out of Oprah's estate, after all it was very traumatic, and I won everything. I was relaxing, rolling around in my vault of money, when my agent called. Jane Fonda had in turn sued me, claiming that the independent feature film I produced was a rip off. The courts ruled in her favor and she was going to donate all of my money to charity.
I screamed and bolted awake, it had all just been a bad dream on Maple Street. Just then, Oprah rang me, and offered me fifty million dollars to drive her across country. Sure fifty million bucks could get my independent film, "Fraubarella," into production, but I couldn't help but wonder if my horrible dream was some sort of omen or prophecy or something.
Nah, couldn't be…
Happy Halloween!
Friday, October 19, 2007
A Tale of Terror. Part 3-D: The Final Chapter
[Back to Part 2: Electric Boogaloo]
"OUTLANDER!" He screamed again. I tried to block him out by sticking corn husks in my ears, but that didn't seem to work.
"Malachi, will you get in here and help me with the dishes!" another voice chastised.
"Coming, Isaac!" Malachi answered. I had a strange sense of déjà vu, but shook it off, after all, your girl was stuck in the middle of nowhere without a ride, and no Xzbit to be seen. So I put on my prescription sunglasses [Dr. Lawrence Jacoby is the best optometrist ever!] and went off to investigate, following the voices through the rows of the corn fields. I finally came upon a Penguins Frozen Yogurt. I went in, but nobody was at the front counter, so I rang the little service bell next to the register.
"Malachi, will you get that?" I could hear Isaac in the backroom say, more politely telling rather than asking.
"Yes dear!" Malachi answered, "damn nag have to do everything never does anything," I could hear him grumble as he walked out from the store room. Then, putting on a smile, "Good morning love, what can I get you?"
"Well I know its kind of strange, but can I wash up in your bathroom? I've been sleeping in a field."
"Restroom is for paying customers!" Isaac called from the store room.
Malachi rolled his eyes and whispered, "Its okay, its not like we're busy or anything, not since Louis Gossett Jr. opened up his store across the way." I turned and realized that I totally didn't even notice the Pinkberry across the way.
"Don't worry sweetie, Penguins is way better than Pinkberry. You know I hear they put cocaine in their yogurt, just so people get addicted," I offered. Malachi seemed to lighten up and pointed me toward the bathroom. After I had washed up, I went out to find Malachi standing on one of the tables playing with a yo-yo. He was doing all of these fancy tricks and it looked like the yo-yo was coming straight at me. I explained my situation to him, and he recommended that I call a locksmith. So I called "He who Tows behind the Rows," who was also a locksmith, to get the van door open for me.
When the Locksmith and I got to the van, he went to work straight away, while I went to perch myself sexily on the side of the van, after all, I didn't have any money, what with Oprah being sucked into the vortex and all. I knew I should have had her pay me half up front. As I propped myself, I scattered a group of flies that had been congregating on the smears of Courtney Love's blood. One of them flew up to my face, and it looked like the fly was coming straight at me.
I had struck the perfect seductive pose, just as the Locksmith got the door open. "Check out that shag carpeting in the back, its real comfy," I had started to say, just as the Locksmith broke the necklace off of the Zuni Hunting Fetish Doll. The Zuni leapt to life, and stabbed the Locksmith right in the eye. I suppose it looked like the knife was coming straight at him, and then it did, right in the eye. The Zuni pulled the knife out and then leapt. It looked like it was coming straight at me...
[Next: Part IV: A New Beginning Nightmare of Blood]
"OUTLANDER!" He screamed again. I tried to block him out by sticking corn husks in my ears, but that didn't seem to work.
"Malachi, will you get in here and help me with the dishes!" another voice chastised.
"Coming, Isaac!" Malachi answered. I had a strange sense of déjà vu, but shook it off, after all, your girl was stuck in the middle of nowhere without a ride, and no Xzbit to be seen. So I put on my prescription sunglasses [Dr. Lawrence Jacoby is the best optometrist ever!] and went off to investigate, following the voices through the rows of the corn fields. I finally came upon a Penguins Frozen Yogurt. I went in, but nobody was at the front counter, so I rang the little service bell next to the register.
"Malachi, will you get that?" I could hear Isaac in the backroom say, more politely telling rather than asking.
"Yes dear!" Malachi answered, "damn nag have to do everything never does anything," I could hear him grumble as he walked out from the store room. Then, putting on a smile, "Good morning love, what can I get you?"
"Well I know its kind of strange, but can I wash up in your bathroom? I've been sleeping in a field."
"Restroom is for paying customers!" Isaac called from the store room.
Malachi rolled his eyes and whispered, "Its okay, its not like we're busy or anything, not since Louis Gossett Jr. opened up his store across the way." I turned and realized that I totally didn't even notice the Pinkberry across the way.
"Don't worry sweetie, Penguins is way better than Pinkberry. You know I hear they put cocaine in their yogurt, just so people get addicted," I offered. Malachi seemed to lighten up and pointed me toward the bathroom. After I had washed up, I went out to find Malachi standing on one of the tables playing with a yo-yo. He was doing all of these fancy tricks and it looked like the yo-yo was coming straight at me. I explained my situation to him, and he recommended that I call a locksmith. So I called "He who Tows behind the Rows," who was also a locksmith, to get the van door open for me.
When the Locksmith and I got to the van, he went to work straight away, while I went to perch myself sexily on the side of the van, after all, I didn't have any money, what with Oprah being sucked into the vortex and all. I knew I should have had her pay me half up front. As I propped myself, I scattered a group of flies that had been congregating on the smears of Courtney Love's blood. One of them flew up to my face, and it looked like the fly was coming straight at me.
I had struck the perfect seductive pose, just as the Locksmith got the door open. "Check out that shag carpeting in the back, its real comfy," I had started to say, just as the Locksmith broke the necklace off of the Zuni Hunting Fetish Doll. The Zuni leapt to life, and stabbed the Locksmith right in the eye. I suppose it looked like the knife was coming straight at him, and then it did, right in the eye. The Zuni pulled the knife out and then leapt. It looked like it was coming straight at me...
[Next: Part IV: A New Beginning Nightmare of Blood]
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