Dump Crisis
How many dumps does it take to get to the crisis of it?
“Get down! Lay down in the AIR!” the bird with the gun yelled at the other birds.
The just-married couple trusted each other completely. During that first night, after the reception, they slept soundly. But his wedding ring, seeing the coast was clear, slipped off, stole her sleeping ring’s diamond, and was never seen again.
“Hey, Delancy, nice shoes.” “Hey, Jim. Thanks. Came with the ‘ployee of the month plaque.” “Again, congrats.” “So… what are you doing here on my route?” “I’ve got a letter for you.” “That doesn’t make sense. I’m a fellow postman. And I don’t even live on your route.” “Oh… well… the letter’s riiiight HERE.” *Umphf.* Delancy’s gut collapsed from the kick, and after a lot of wriggling pretty soon Jim had a new pair of shoes. Delancy finished his route walkin’ around puttin’ holes in his thin socks.
They ended on “Brown Sugar.” The crowd was flailing and acting nuts; the volume was at a fevery pitch, echoes of the screams swirling around the domed arena like high water in a wobbly bowl; and the band looked no worse for nearly fifty years of wear. That’s when Mick pulled out the gun. Everyone in the first eight rows—only the first eight, he was “being specific for a reason,” he said—passed their smartphones, wallets, and jewelry up, The folks in the front row tossed the items over the security barricade and onto the stage. The security guards, ashamed behind their dark sunglasses and scowls, pretended not to notice. (They were facing away from the stage, but they could clearly see what Mick was doing on the Jumbotron.) Then Jagger laughed, executing Keith.
Keith’s blood (not to be glib, but some, Charlie included, were surprised to see he had any) had an ectoplasmic thickness to it as the goop poured out of the fresh “rock corpse” and over the stage. Because of the unpredictable and various sudden sinks and dips of the stage, the red slime spilled in multiple, globby tributaries. Then one tributary moved like a tentacle, stood up like a periscope, as if alive, and whipped down hard on a smaller, more sickly tributary which up until that time been holding a very nice handbag.
A baby takes the plastic clothes from a virgin lollipop.
Things To Do In a Halloween Car:
1. There’s a Jack-O-Lantern-shaped horn on your bone-made steering wheel. Hitting it activates a ghastly cackle that seems to emanate from deep within the car.
2. Buckle that safety belt, I mean, make that snake bite onto its own tail.
3. Putters to a halt? Fill it up with ice-cold blood.
4. If the bat’s wings aren’t flappin’ from the sides of the extended haunted house-style canopy that reaches out the sunroof on the hearse, you ain’t gettin’ the best gas mileage!
5. Strike forward knowing that on the giant skull you got for a cow catcher the teeth have been sharpened… what’s that? I’m, I’m too loud for you? Oh, I’m sorry. … You’re still cryin’; I’ll wait. … I just thought maybe you loved the Halloween Car as much as I did. It’s obvious you don’t.
6. It’s a dark, dangerous world out there, or so I feel in my wrappings. That’s right: I’m a mummy. I take care of the Halloween Car. And sometimes, when I’m sitting in the lobby of the Ghost Garage, watching the ghost mechanics work on the car, I put down my copy of The Boo Zombie and take in what a weird afterlife this is.
