Chapter 7
| The Story | The Authors |
|---|---|
| "Now, for starters," intoned the Scottish mantra-man, "I'd like to state, for the record, that (a) not only Superman, but Batman as well, ain't got nothin' on me, and (b), I implore you, radiant creatures of God's kingdom, fellow passengers aboard Spaceship Earth, to desist, immediately, from your frenetic consumption of sweets! Your teeth are rotting, your bowels contain veritable traffic-jams of carcinogens, rancid undigested red meat and stalemated carbopolysaccharides, and, to quote a sweet old adage (tripping over the clubfeet of his own brogue, he somehow managed to pronounce it in the French manner), You Are What You Eat. And you people (save for yon fair-haired bonny nymphs upon the deck; 'Hi, lassies...!) seem not to have changed your diets in decades, for to a man ye resemble not sailors born and true, not the jolly jack tars I remember so well from me bairn-days along the wharves singing 'Haul an' the Bowline' and their sundry other filthy chanteys, but so much unhealthy snack treats have ye consumed, as to render ye in the form a' bon-bons, cookie-cakes, and sweetmeats! And where is the humanity in that, I beseach ye? Stand up, and show your mettle as men! Come forth, lads and (especially) lasses, and groove on my stash of organic figs, of wheat-free pastas, of fat-free seedcakes seasoned not with horrid refined sugar but with the sugar of Eden, the sugar o' the bees, the sweetener o' peace and light and love, virgin clover honey..." | |
|
It all sounded so enticing to the obsequious Mr. Tickles and he soon lost interest in the beautiful sirens before him. He dove off the deck of the Lollipop and began to swim towards the pyramid in the bubble, licking his lips for the fat-free seedcakes with virgin clover honey that was promised him. The Sirens, who were not used to loosing their dupes, broke out in song anew to lure the sycophant dwarf back into their clutches. I'm your only friend | |
|
And there, 'midst the roiling and lapping waves, the dwarf stopped. Treading water, he looked first at Donovan -- resplendant atop the Atlantean Eco-Bubble, verdant with ferns and vegetables fully certified by the Organic Framers of America, a pair of baby unicorns sleeping softly in his dashiki'd lap -- then back at Li'l Debbie -- a petulant tigress, hands on hips, lower lip thrust forward in a pout promissary of much danger, intrigue, and wild nights of hot jungle lovin', so reminiscent (he'd been trying to place it and now it suddenly poured over him like a shower of warm, clotted yogurt) of Olivia Newton-John's spike-heeled matamorphosis at the denouement of Grease -- First one, then the other. And then Mr. Tickles burst into tears. What would it be -- the organic, earth-friendly bonding of two muscular druids, straight out of Robert Bly with a pungent homoerotic twist, or would he find a mate in Li'l Debbie, badass queen of the sirens?
What is it -- with me? [he sang to Donovan]
Cows are singing -- oh so sweetly
[Now to Debbie] Never thought I'd worry I was gay [Before the Hibernian poof in the fishbowl had a chance to jump in, Debbie raised her voice and sang, in response, to the dwarf]: | |
|
Cliiiiimb eeevery mountaaain Foooord every streeeam Follow every rainbooooow Till You Find Your Dreeeeammmm! | |
| The thirty one piece orchestra in pit below the stage filled in behind Debbie with a cascade of strings and sparkling brass. She had already slipped into the wired harness and now steadied herself as she majestically marshaled her vocal ammunition towards the second chorus. The wires tensioned as the winches began to lift Debbie, in full voice, up and then out over the audience. She exulted in the experience every night and her voice filled the huge auditorium with emotion and love. Up, up, up she flew! |
6