|The Story||The Authors|
Bob Barker suddenly fainted! Myrtle gasped.
"I was going to get fifty thounsand million dollars!" Myrtle gasped again. Three people in the audiance stood up.
"What the hell are you doing? Sit down!" The usher yelled. The oldest girl turned around.
"Shut up!" The girl was in her thirties or fourties. She had brown hair pulled tightly into a bun, and she was wearing a pink t-shirt and jeans. A younger boy and girl was with her. The girl was about sixteen or seventeen. She had reddish-brown hair pulled into a high ponytail. She had these bright green eyes and she was wearing a blue t-shirt with overalls. The boy was about ten or eleven and he had messy blond hair. He had freckles spilled all over his face and a Yankee's t-shirt and a pair of jeans.
The three walked onstage.
"Hi, I'm Louisa. These are my children, Caity and Ben," the oldest said.
"Who really fucking cares!" a voice in the audiance rang out.
"Yeah, we want to watch the game show!" someone else yelled.
Caity rolled her eyes.
"You guys are too violent."
"Get out!"someone said. The three shrugged. They disappeared in a blink.
|Which was a very good thing because it saved Bob Barker from having to blow their brains out on national daytime television. Even though it would have sent the ratings through the roof, it probably would have ended his career or landed him a talk show.|
Meenwhile back @ the ranch Noir the cat was herding the birds Grey Wing and Tweety the cocateils and stampeding the parakeets.
Meanwhile back @ the ranch Noir the cat was herding
Grey Wing and Tweety the cockateils and
stampeding the parakeets.It was snowing feathers an hailing bird-dodo.
The cartoon version Matthew dressed in bright red hunting gear raced around the
barn with shotgun blazing willy-nilly. "I'll get you yet, you wascal, I will!"
he bellowed. Unfortunately, as he turned the corner the mischevious pair of
parakeets whacked him in theface with a cast iron skillet with a resounding
CLANG!!. His whole body quivered and his face retaining the shape of the
pan. Cartoon Matthew was infuriated. His face flushed bright red. Steam escaped
his ears with a roar like a noon whistle...
In his dank beer soaked living room the flesh and blood Matthew popped the top of another beer and switched the channel back. The game show was bad enough to watch, but at least it didn't involve being crushed into an accordian by falling anvils.
Not to mention boring weevils, crawling in and around from the hairline,
making a beeline for the ear horn, express route to the the cortical mass of
"yum-yum" breadfruit, just waiting to be sampled by anxious pincers. One in
the same though, really, if you were to start splitting hairs; the weevil
and the game show host; digging, digging, digging. One imagines the weevil
in it's larvae form, soft and white; maleable and unformed and then one
pictures the game show host in training attending "game show host" classes at
some prestigious institute of higher learning, like Emerson in Boston,
standing up and enunciating every syllable impecably, in order to cover up the
obvious lack of spine.
"Ariel Zalkind, COME ON DOWN! You've been selected to be our next contestant on "Break the Baby".
|Matthew shook his head violently, and groaned. The wicked brew had begun to give him halluncinations. He slowly pushed himself up from the floor and fell back onto the couch. Now what had he been going to do before he fell? Oh yes, it all came flooding back to him. He had been about to donate his body to science. He had nothing better to do, and it was a great cause. With renewed resolve he lunged for his phone and dialed the number. After mumbling the answers to a few simple questions and giving his address, he was informed that some one was coming to pick him up and bring him to his new home. Pleased, Matthew drained the last of his beer and fell into a coma-like state.|