The Extemporaneous Story
 

With this thread, I want to start an extemporaneous story and see where it goes. I'll begin the story at the end of this post. Hopefully, someone else will follow and take the story wherever their imagination leads them. Then someone else jumps in, and on it goes. I put this under Tilted Nonsense because, while we are free to wax poetic or wax eloquent, odds are that we will wax chaotic. Don't be too enamored by your own writing prowess. If you feel the urge to control the outcome of the story, give it up, because someone will surely come along and twist this titillating tale in ways that you never imagined.

Enjoy!


The story begins...

As the piercing rays of morning were cast across his weathered face, Tyler awoke with no recollection of the previous night. "It must have been some party," he thought. The room was in total disarray, and all he knew was that he was in a strange hotel room, his head hurt like hell, he was naked, and beside him lay a sleeping dwarf.

Standard fare for a delegate to the Democratic National Convention. He stumbled to the sliding glass door to see if he could recognize where he was.

Tyler realized,that by tying one on the previous evening,
he had opened a door that might only be closed with a left hand...

and therefore darkness engulfed him momentarily.. he simultaneously
splashed water on his face....as he poured the tinkling essence that would
revive him,
over the rocks,
that the
maid
so
diligently,
provided.

Why the maid insisted on filling the toilet basin with cracked ice befuddled him. When he was finished tinkling his essence over the rocks, he gave himself a good shake and, with his left hand, he reached for a towel to dry his face.

He was in that strange place..almost dry..yet still damp..
that delicate balance of deciding to be enamored of his own
rather steamy visage in the mirror..or letting his gaze drift to the
most exquisitely done grout-work on the bathroom floor.

He decided to contemplate the grout work. "Grout" seemed like such an ugly word. But it didn't matter. If grout had a new name, a fancy name, maybe a French name, like "chabois" or something, it would still hold the lowly yet necessary role of holding tile together. And gathering mildew. Which provided a market for mildew removing. But there were more important matters pressing than the "food chain" of grout. "Who the hell is the naked dwarf?", he pondered...

A naked dwarf? When he first woke up that morning, Tyler had realized that he was naked and beside him lay a sleeping dwarf. But as he looked more closely now, he saw that indeed the dwarf was naked - butt naked. When Tyler reached out with his left hand to rouse the little guy, he discovered that the dwarf was no longer sleeping. He was dead!

The dwarf appeared to be asleep, but as yet our good man Tyler
has been inching around the fact that a true oompa- loompa..
was inhabitating and (apparently) still breathing in the same room with him.
The undercurrents of his thoughts quickly became riptides.

"I should take a mirror and place it underneath his nostrils perhaps"

"when is checkout time at this establishment?"

"Will I need a shovel?"

Okay..yeah..it is dead..

Tyler took a toke off of his left handed cigarette. The dwarf dilemma was upsetting his apple cart. He had to figure out what to do about "Sleepy". The vertically challenged creature formerly known as not dead. He could put "Decomposey" on a baggage cart and leave him in the hall, face down, with a liquor bottle crooked in his arm...

...fortunately for Tyler..he was due to check in for his day
job as a hot- dog vendor. His most lucrative site at Fisherman's Wharf
held the scent of an idea...

"I know that my friend would understand"..he muttered to himself..

"Maybe the best way to remember him is to dismember him...
and let there be a fish feast"

"but how do I do this alone?"

Hardly believing the situation he got himself into, Tyler decided to better examine the diminutive dead dwarf. Much to his surprise, Tyler now realized that this was a female dwarf and it had some kind of magical looking amulet around her neck. It appeared to be a hand carved jade elephant ...perhaps she was a Republican. Feeling a little mixed up about how the story of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs usually plays out, Tyler bent over her and gently kissed her lips, thinking that he had some kind of strange attraction to the little woman. Suddenly, the little diva of a dwarf arose!

As she rose from the musty sheets, the dwarf seemed to float towards the ceiling. Tyler squeezed his eyelids shut and shook his head forcefully.

When he opened his eyes again, the dwarf was no longer in the bed, but the amulet remained in her place. He then decided he would call Stanley to cover for him at the hot dog stand. Something had to be done.

A strange feeling swept over Tyler as he stared at the amulet. He looked at his watch. It was 10:30, but what day was it? He reached for the USA Today that had been slid beneath his door. "What the f...?", he blurted. Today was September 1st. Everything suddenly became more clear. The dwarf was a Republican! Sent by the RNC to detain him and steal his Super Delegate vote from the convention floor. Just how the RNC knew that his particular sexual fantasies involved at least one dwarf, he wasn't sure. The Bush illegal phone surveillance program, no doubt. He had missed the convention completely! His eyes moved to the headlines and he soon realized the awful truth.

HILARY'S BEEN RESIZED!

He read the headline twice. HOLY SHIT! he thought. Was that her miniaturized body in my bed this morning?

He dialed Room Service to request some coffee and a bagel. He wanted to sit and think through the events of the previous evening and what exactly had brought Hilary to his bed.

What if, in his drunken black-out, he had had sex with Hillary! He felt a dry heave coming on as the persistent visual haunted him. What if Bill had part of a threesome with them during the night? He began to think of great Republicans at that moment, like Abraham Lincoln, and well that's all he could think of, to try and dissolve the horrible fantasy.

As he munched on his bagel, Tyler resumed reading to find out what exactly had transpired. He discovered that at the convention, Hillary had lost the nomination to Barak Obama. Unable to accept defeat, she flew into such a shrill and cataclysmic rage that she imploded - but only partially. Her shrieks were so piercing that everyone in the convention hall was temporarily stunned and no one saw her leave. One minute she was there, and the next minute she was gone. With curiosity, Tyler picked up the amulet, closed his eyelids, and shook his head once more.

2008 politics. A hangover to beat all hangovers. Hillary Rodham Clinton floating above him in her new form. He threw his clothes on, clutching the jade elephant, and rushed to the front desk. He was free. The room was not in his name but was in the name Lewinsky. He hurried to the wharf. There was Stanley, purveying pork-tubes in his stead. He had to give Stanley a few bucks to get away so he could be alone at his stand. He didn't have time for Stanley's hot dog jokes. Like "What did Buddha say to the hot dog vendor?" "Make me one with everything"...

Just as Stanley left to give Tyler a little peace, Tyler sighed a breath of relief. Finally he realized that he could give up this bizzare charade and again reclaim his true identity as Elliot Spitzer. He put the amulet in his pocket and contemplated his next move as Governor of New York.

Spitz didn't realize it, but the whole hot dog gig psychologically satisfied his need to get paid for giving someone a phallus shaped item instead of having to pay to give them one.

Spitzer was serving his 9th client of the morning and his head was still in a cloud. He handed a fully loaded dog to the customer.
"How much?"
"That'll be forty three hundred," said Spitzer.
"Hey Seinfeld, I don't have time for no shit, how much is the dog?"
Spitzer was awakened to his error, and tried to recover, "Uh, sorry, $3.50 please." "Hey did you hear the one about Buddha and the hot dog vendor?

From the newsstand just down the block emerged a kid named "Woim" with suspenders on and oversized cap pushed to one side, carrying a load of newspapers and yelling, "Extra, extra, read all about it! Spitz Out!" The headline made him cringe twice. First, he had lost his day job. Second, he had paid out good money and one of the conditions was that they were swallowers. Wasn't "No. 9" obscure and Beatlesque enough to have gone unnoticed as a nickname? After all he had foregone his first choice..."NYGuv." And had abandoned the moniker "Lewinsky" early on...

Wolfing down another dog with mustard, "Tyler" just couldn't figure out who rat'd him out to the feds. In the meantime, in another part of town the east side boys were planning their next big hit. Johnny McC was out of prison now and he wanted to take over the turf. But to do that, they had to figure out a way to capture that magical jade amulet.

Johnny Mac couldn't just mow El-Ty-Spit down in the streets. And he mistrusted his minions to secure the amulet. He would have to do it himself. He would have to gain his trust. He could pose as a foodservice salesman. Or a pimp.

Johnny scurried to the library, in order to check out a book that would
aid him in his quest.

He needed to brush up on his acting skills, it had been ten years since
he graduated from the school of Stanislavski...this actor needed to prepare.

Having secured the manual..all he needed now was the closest thrift store,
and some hair-dye.

He headed back towards the hotel, stopping in at a Salvation Army thrift shop on the way. He found the rhinestone-studded jacket, silk print ascot and yes, even the alligator shoes he needed, paid the clerk and was back in the street in no time.

Next stop was Walgreens, which was only a block from the hotel. As soon as he opened the door, he headed straight for the hair color. As he was debating the appropriate color, the hairs on his neck stood on end.

He felt a chill as he read the flyer that had been left in the empty "Dark Blonde" slot in the "Just For Men" section. It seems that Ger Fer was holding a White Supremacist Rally in Times Square! With special guest appearances from Mike Richards and Don Imus. What kind of weird, alien cloud had descended over New York State, especially its politicians!? Actually this could be just the distraction he needed to get his hands on Wiener Boy...

Weird, alien cloud indeed. High above the Empire State, an invisible realm kept watch over the political processes that swirled below, as it had done since the First Constitutional Convention.

As night falls and the blanket of dark clouds rolls over The City, the reincarnated Alexander Hamilton dons his Batman uniform and takes his seat on the judge's bench atop the Empire State Building. Justice will soon be done.

http://i59.photobucket.com/albums/g2...estatebldg.jpg

"The Realm" was able to invent, or re-invent the souls and the personas of anyone alive after 1787. Since Alexander Hamilton and Adam West fell into that time frame, there was no reason not to combine their unique human qualities into one "SuperHero."

West's unlikely superpower of bad acting could be used for good or evil. Hamilton's deep hatred of Tom Jefferson was also a resource that could be tapped and unleashed for The Dark Knight. But who was to be Robin?...

The ghost of Maria Reynolds was beckoning in the winds, this sweet bird could exceed any expectations of a Robin. But her demure and discreet nature steps aside for another Robin.

Was it going to be Aaron?

"Batman Hamilton" surveyed the city and settled on two possible candidates for "Robin," Would it be El-Ty-Spitz or Johnny McC? If he chose the former, he knew he could clean him up a bit and, with the power of the jade amulet, create a dynamic duo that would fight for truth, justice, and the American Way. However, if he chose the latter, he would be stepping over to the dark side, and he would have to follow a different creed.

BatHam shook his head in disbelief at his last thought. Democrats, were bad people who talked about doing good things. Republicans, or Federalists, were good people who did bad things sometimes. So the dilemma continued in his mind. And the fact that the name Aaron came to him. Burr was a murderous traitor by nature, the blackguard had killed him, hadn't he? So it must of been "The" Aaron that he had thought of. Moses' Robin. Sure he was born before 1787. But he was a Jew. Jews could bend the rules of time and space.

Or was it Hank Aaron? Probably not. While Hammerin Hank would have made a formidable SuperHero, BatHam was the batman, and to have another bat man at his side would be, ...well...batty.

So the possibilities kept rolling in...Robin...who was it going to be? Clay Aiken? Ronald Reagan? Stoned Ho Mary Ann? Aaron Spelling? Louis Farrakhan? What about Hitler? Or Millard Fillmore?

To save the Great Metropolis from indecision and confusion, Robin Hood steps up to bat and says "I'll be that Robin"! Little did anyone suspect that the "Little John" behind this masked man would be the one and only John D. Rockefeller, who was also a well known collector of jade amulets.

So Robin found himself quickly spinning into a telephone booth and spinning out in his pimp garb.

While the forces of good were assembling, new threats and villains were rising besides the hot dog man and the pimp Republican who would be president. Ted Kennedy's head was one of the more formidable. His head had separated from his body and grew bigger every day, bouncing across the New England countryside and towns, with only one purpose...To eat New York...

As Big Head Ted was bouncing up and down the streets and avenues of The City looking for what to devour next, its eyes, which were bigger than it's stomach, were looking for just one thing ...the largest pastrami sandwich anywhere to be found. Lucky for the good citizens of TC, 2nd Ave. Deli was open again and could be used as the bait to trap the Giant Headed Democrat.

ring awoke with a start; the agony of taking that leap onto the concrete,
to join the mortals,was rapidly sinking in as she tasted the blood
in her mouth.

Every cell of her being; fully human now: singing with an
odd exquisite excrutiating pain.

Experiencing hunger pangs for the first time in her existence..
she righted herself, brushed off the dust..(and the on-lookers stares,)
trusting her nose to discover the delicious source..of a something called
'deli.'

Throughout the centuries that preceded this moment, 'ring the impaler' had only a thirst for blood. She never knew human hunger, nor did the other 3 remaining members of her blood-sucking species (Heather Mills, Kevin Federline, and Sammy the Leech.).

Ring stood still in stunned amazement, locked between the alluring aromas of the something called "deli," and the events that had brought her here. The taste of blood was fresh in her mouth, her mind repeated the number 9, and around her neck was a jade amulet she had never seen before.

The chaos was evident. Current events references. And references to 18th, 19th, 20th and 21st century politics. References to Batman, Snow White, City of Angels and Dracula. The fourth wall had been invaded also. It only made one wonder, what could be next...

So she went to the 2nd Avenue Deli and decided to go for the corned beef and pastrami on rye. As she devoured the sandwich, gently dribbling deli mustard down the corners of her mouth, the smoked meat set her zombified brain in motion and she realized there was only one thing to do.

...order a thick vanilla milkshake. But wait, that may not be kosher. What is a zombie to do?

Adherence to strict dietary laws is hard for a zombie. In fact, adherence to any laws, except maybe Murphy's, was nearly impossible. However, with the jade amulet around her neck, Ring possessed human qualities, which meant she was free to choose what she did, what she ate, and who she ate! She was free to follow laws or not follow laws. She ordered the milkshake.

Since zombies walk slowly with stiff legs, arms stretched out in front of them and have that inimitable zombie "look", you have to be pretty slow or stupid yourself to get caught or bitten or eaten by one. The milkshake provided this lactose intolerant zombie an extra weapon. Already known for not smelling too good, a flatulent zombie could render a victim unconscious from several meters away. And with a few feet of flex tube, with one end up her zom-behind and a lighter at the ready on the other end made for a decent flame thrower.

But that would have to wait. For now she was alive, and with the power of the jade amulet nestled between her breasts, she looked and smelled ok. Her skin wasn't rotten, her breath didn't have the stench of human detritus, and she found she could form decent sentences, as opposed to the usual gutteral sounds her zombie-throat would make. Although she now looked human, she still was a bit zombie-like; sort of a cross between Mary-Kate Olsen and Amy Winehouse. As she finished her milkshake, she let fly a fart that caught the attention of no one - except for the peculiar patron at the end of the bar.

Zombie needed to blend in to get ahead in this City of Delis, so she decided to use the name Zoie, a name she thought might appeal to a suitable human. She studied the peculiar patron and noticed he had a slightly balding head and a smerky twinkle in his eye. Zoie was sure the man was probably just another human guy, but she thought he could just as easily be the governor of NY. When the patron heard Zoie's fart, he said to her "hey, are you talking to me?"

At first Zoie thought it was Robert DeNiro, but on closer inspection she realized it was Peter Frampton (sans the voice box). For some reason, the only non-gutteral response she could make was...do you...you, feel like I do?

The banter immediately turned into a rock and roll contest....

"I Feel Good", he replied...

"Feel Like Makin' Love" she said...

"Do You Wanna Make Love? (Or Do You Just Want To Fool Around?)" he said...

"I Wanna Know What Love Is (I Want You To Show Me)" said she...

"Love Stinks" he retorted...

"Love Is A Many Splendoured Thing" she protested....

"Love Hurts" he maintained...

"Love The One You're With" she suggested...

"Who Are You? Who Who? Who Who?" he inquired...

"I Am The Walrus" she joked...

"Ooooh that smell! ... Can't you smell that smell? ... Ooooh that smell! ... The smell of death surrounds you," he said.

"I Can't Help Myself (Sugar-Pie Honey Bunch)," she replied.

You could try, "With A Little Help From My Friends", he declared.

"I Got Friends In Low Places", she whined.

Maybe you're "Lookin' For Love In All The Wrong Places," he offered.

"She-Bop...He-Bop...A-We-Bop," she exclaimed.

"Whatever Turns You On, Turns Me On," he growled.

The peculiar patron was drawn to Zoie in some strange, unexplainable way. All he could think of was...

Well you're dirty and sweet
Clad in black
Don't look back, and I love you
You're dirty and sweet, oh yeah

Well you're slim and you're weak
You got the teeth of the Hydra upon you
You're dirty sweet and you're my girl

Since Zoie could read minds, she didn't know what to make of these thoughts. Should she bang a gong or what?

Banging was certainly all the stranger had on his mind. How to do it from another room with an oxygen mask and blindfold on was the challenge. More alcohol was the other alternative.

"One bourbon, one scotch, one beer", he demanded the barkeep.

When the stranger finished the beer, he gently set the glass on the bar, turned to Zoie and said, "Where Do We Go From Here?"

Puzzled, Zoie replied, "I don't think that's a real song."

"Sure it is," said the stranger.

"Who sang it?", asked Zoie.

"Ummm, Burt Bacharach," he said.

"You made that up!" charged Zoie. "I hate you!"

With that, the stranger grabbed Zoie by the shirt collar and began to thrash her. In doing this, the jade amulet was torn from Zoie's neck. Zoie suddenly felt a peculiar feeling wash over her.

Zoie quickly realized that the "wash" feeling she felt was her bodily fluids ...zombies don't have much blood... spurting out of her neck and all of bodily orifices. The stranger continued to shake her as her body began to fall to pieces ...which reminded her of one of her favorite Patsy Cline songs.

"I just wanted a piece of her and now she's all in pieces", said the stranger in shock and dismany. He released her as parts of her body fell to the ground. "Don't die, I think I love you" he said ...which reminded him of that car racing song "Tell Laura I Love Her" though this one was named Zoie. As her last parts fell to the ground, all that was left in his hand was the jade amulet. Perhaps because the jade amulet was also green, this reminded him of the lyrics to that Green Day song he hated "Don't Leave Me".

But the stranger was not about to give up and let her slip away forever.

The stranger tried singing "Come Together" over her, but he didn't know what a joo-joo eyeball or a walrus gumboot was, so it had no effect. She was in "Pieces of Eight" and he felt bad about "Breakin the Girl." Panic swept over the stranger as he began to run out of ideas.

"She's come undone" he thought as he looked down at Zoie. Suddenly, the stranger remembered those Red Green TV shows he liked so much, which then led him to start humming the song "Duct Tape My Heart" by Freezepop. The possible solution to Zoie coming undone immediately popped into his mind: duct tape.

"When You're In Love With A Beautiful Woman" you'll do anything. Even if she's "D.O.A.". Even if she's a "Living Dead Girl". Duct tape would have to do unless he was miraculously "Blinded By Science" in the next few minutes. Where to start though! She was definitely a "Shatter". He just started doing his best, screeching out a measure of tape, tearing it with his teeth, singing "Dem Bones"...

As Zoie's body parts started to "come together" again, the stranger could hear the voice of angels singing in the heavens. "All You Zombies" was ringing (hi ring! :) ) through the air around Deli Town...

All you zombies hide your faces
All you people in the street
All you sittin' in high places
The pieces gonna fall on you

Zoie's pieces were falling together. The stranger looked at the green amulet still in his hand and rubbed it for good luck. He could see the glimmer of life flowing back into Zoie. As another City citizen walked by with earbud headphones on, the stranger heard the news today about Procol Harem and noticed that Zoie was already a "whiter shade of pale". Soon his beloved zombie would be sort of alive again.

All of ring's desires shall be slaked....

more to ......

come.

The stranger wasn't sure where the provocative thought came from or what it meant, but it aroused him, nonetheless. His gaze returned to Zoie the Duct-Taped Zombie. Even though she was coming together, she was groovin up way too slowly and looked more like Rob Zombie than the Zoie Zombie he had fallen for. He decided to say goodbye and as he simultaneously kissed her rotten, pouty lips and hung the amulet around her exfoliating neck, a transformation took place.

A transformation that could only come from one source. The bar's door slammed open and hovering 2 inches above the floor, ever so slowly moving toward the couple, with her six arms flowing like snakes as she approached, Oprah opened her mouth and her tongue extended like a slithering seventh snakey appendage, into Zoie's mouth, with a squishy, circular motion...

Oprah had acquired yet another addition to her legion of faithful followers. With her sprawling empire, she was the Wal-Mart of the entertainment industry (i.e., big box; ample parking; tons of cash and influence). The stranger stumbled backward in amazement, like a character from a Tex Avery cartoon. His eyes popped out, his jaw dropped to the floor, and a train whistle blew as steam spewed from his ears. When Oprah had finished tonguing Zoie into submission, ......

....her entourage followed behind her and began showing the patrons a few secrets. GayleFriend had a tongue like O and did a whip-crack on Dr. Phil's pants, revealing to all his vagina...

As Dr. Phil squealed and scurried from the room, the stranger turned to Zoie. She was more beautiful than ever, but the frightened, catatonic look in her face was more than he could take. He moved to her, cradled her in his arms, and like a scene from An Officer and a Gentleman, carried her through the twisted crowd, past O and her entourage, and out into the bustling streets of the city.

"I'm hungry, Timmy", Zoie said to her Gere-beat man. He smiled as he looked into her non-maggot filled eyes. He glanced around for the first semblance of food. The hot dog vendor caught his eye. The large umbrella over the stand read "Tyler's II". The franchise was renting space outside an old friend's boat shop... "Tippy's Canoes"....

Timmy sidled up to the hotdog vendor and politely asked, "one loaded frankfurter, please."

Confused, Elliot handed him $5000 and began reaching for his fly...

Timmy set Zoie down, grabbed the dough only and scurried to the next food vendor. A barbecue stand. Pork. The vendor looked suspiciously like Snydely Whiplash but it was really JayMac in disguise.

JayMac thought he had El-Ty-Spitz right where he wanted him, but just as he was about to send over a poison pork sandwich, he remembered that Ty was Jewish. "Drat!" he said as he stamped his feet. JayMac twisted his waxy handlebar moustache and made evil sounds as he pondered his next move. "If only he had a damsel to distress - one who was close to El-Ty - one he could tie to a train track so he could lure his nemesis into danger." he thought. At that moment, Timmy spoke. "Uh, excuse me sir, but my lady friend is very weak and distressed from hunger, give me a pork platter and some Brunswick Stew. Quick!"

The drama was taking a new twist that day at Tippy's Canoes and Tyler's II. Bouncing up the street like a pork-seeking missle was Big Head Ted, slobbering all the way. Down the street came a bitter Pennsylvanian, with his bible and his Uzi...

Unable to cope with his frustration over the economy, the bitter Pennsylvanian lifted his bible into the air and began heaving insults at people who weren't like him. Metaphorically speaking, he took shots at the Mexicans and the Muslims, and the North American Free Trade Agreement. Literally speaking, he pulled a 9mm revolver from a holster and took shots at Big Head Ted.

Fortunately for Ted it was "Brainwashed Pride Day" in New York and a parade of polygamists marching down the wrong street took the shots intended for him.

In the hail of bullets, a few of the polygamists lost a wife or two, but they didn't really notice and the parade continued without interruption.

BatHam crouched high above the ruckus, his "duel" personality getting torqued up by the smell of gunpowder, the shots ringing, and the screams of 16 year old wives. Pushing Robin Hood off the roof to his death was a severe temptation...

A temptation, he reasoned, that he was sure to succumb to one day...so why wait, he thought.

He paused. He decided to check his mini world crisis monitor first. Worldwide food shortage, gas prices, yadda yadda...A new villain! Now there's news! Seems a certain monkey boy named Brocko was travelling across America...super guardian of democracy and peanut butter and all that is good by day...But by night, maker of bombs, some that did more subtle damage than explode and kill. Brocko Bomber....

...was a fresh, new villain, thought BatHam - One who could bring change and renewal to the time-honored struggle between good and evil in the world. But which side was he to be on? A blaring car horn brought him back to the moment. BatHam pushed Robin from atop the building and into the street below, then he went back to his musing. "Which side will I be on, good or evil?...Hmmmmmm"

He would do both. Because he could go both ways. He was bimoral. Besides, he wasn't the only one in the world who had an outwardly respectable persona with a dark side. There was Brocko's side kick...The Right Reverend Wrong...

BatHam stood proud in the smoggy city with his hands on his hips and his chest thrust upward, as most superhero's do. A roguish smile crept across his face as he looked below at the garish scene. Robin lay sprawled in the street, face down in an expanding pool of blood. Suddenly, BatHam's face changed into an expression of seriousness and regret. Regret, not for the sin of murdering an innocent side-kick in cold blood, but because he suddenly remembered that Robin owed him five dollars.

Big head Ted and Robin layin dead and Jay Mac on the move...And polygamists screamin, squeezin and wheezin as the calliope crashed to the ground...And bitter gun man and zombie girl and Hillary and Brocko and Tyler too...And batdude Alex and Ring and Timmy and current events ad nauseum...She said I'll turn you on son into something strong....

"Is it okay if I laugh or cry? Is it okay to choose? Is it okay to do both at the same time?", I ask myself, as I lay in the vicinity.

It seems as if...

On the other side of town, a woman was weeping. A man with three nostrils stood by her, ostensibly to comfort her, but behind his back he held ...

...a large booger on his index finger. He was trying to find a place to put it. He managed to transfer it to a copy of "Popular Rhinology" on the coffee table. "Why can't you be a normal artist?", the woman sobbed. "I'm tired of being humiliated because of your mucous paintings!"...

She continued, "I just don't understand wh..."

"That's it right there!" shouted the man, "Don't you see? No one understood Picasso or Pollock either!"

"Picasso was a brilliant cubist, Pollock was a great abstract expressionist," the woman cried, "What are you?

The man lowered his head, "I'm A Neo-Nasalist. I've told you that a thousand times."

"Neo Shmeo!" exclaimed the woman, "If there was ever such a thing, why haven't I heard of it?"

"Because the work of the neo-nasalists has been suppressed for centuries," the man explained, "Throughout history there have been nasalists, but their works remain unknown. Artists like ..."

"Boog Powell."

"Boog Powell!" she cried. "I've never seen any artworks from the former first baseman of the Orioles, Indians, and Dodgers!"

"Exactly!", he gloated. "He's just one example of the many nasalists whose work has been suppressed and is unknown! Then there is..."

"My grandfather, Snoddy," the man retorted.

"He was retarded," said the woman.

"He was a genius!' exclaimed the man, "And as Snoddy III, I have been specially chosen, and equipped, to carry on the nasalist art form."

"Oh," said the woman, "You mean because you are the 3rd Snoddy, born on the 3rd day of the 3rd month and you have that monstrous 3rd nose-hole, then you are some kind of chosen one? Some kind of Messiah of Mucous?"

"Well I ain't no, new messiah, but I'm close enough for art from nose. You can call me sir. Sir Real. I'm no Picasso. I am Picknose-o. Vincent Van Blow...

The woman paused to think. She knew quite well that her contentious behavior toward Snoddy wasn’t because of the medium he picked to create his art, nor was it the third nostril, nor the mess that he made when he worked. After all, she too was an artist and she had her own peculiar ways. Besides, she had worked with artists her whole life and she was well accustomed to temperamental, idiosyncratic creative types. No, the reason she found him so maddening was that she was jealous of him.

The first time she saw his work, she marveled at the rich hues, the complex textures, and the exquisite techniques that he used to display his passion. When she first saw his masterpiece ‘Nasal Decongestion,’ she felt that it had been dredged from his eternal soul and not just from his nose. Later, when she first saw his Andy Warholesque, ‘I Can’t Believe It Snot Butter,” she knew she had to meet him.

That was a long time ago and her feelings had changed since then. Although he was yet to be truly appreciated, she knew the time was coming when the world would take notice of his talent and all eyes would be on him, not on her. It was then that she decided that she had to kill him.

"But wait!", she thought to herself, "There are people at work who put their boogers on the walls. MAYBE he's not as good as I thought, and so maybe he doesn't have to die. Maybe I should just go have sex with him instead."

So she did.
But it only made matters worse. Snoddy was so bad in bed that now he deserved to die, she thought.
Her mind went to work to devise a way to eliminate Mr. High and Snotty.

She got up to blow his semen out of her nose. Just one more thing she wouldn't have to put up with if he was gone. The elephantitis of her nose had attracted him to her in the first place. So nose job would be a priority with his demise. Although she had discovered that there was a G spot of sorts in her nasal canal, it only produced a sneeze instead of an orgasm. But now, how to get rid of the rhino reamer...

The woman began to have difficulty with the idea of killing Snoddy. Her apprehension wasn't based on traditional moral grounds, because as an atheist and former President of the Ayn Rand Society, she believed her actions should serve her own interests. Her aim in life was to use Reason to find Purpose and Self-worth, unencumbered by religious dogma. However, since murder was illegal, and carried rather harsh penalties, it defied her sense of reason to go that way, unless it was the perfect crime. But she could disable him somehow and render his art void. So, she pondered what to do next. Devise a perfect, undectable murder? Or, find a way to rob Snoddy of his muse?

She thought to herself, (again), "How can I be entertaining his demise when all I REALLY WANT is more of his mucus?"

Gathering her viscosity measuring equipment,
her hands trembled at the thought of his varied expertise,
in all manners of fluidity.

As she gathered her viscometer, she had an epiphany. Using her love of Art and her appreciation of Science, she would use both to study and reveal the secrets of Snoddy's nose. Once she had a clinical understanding of the inner workings of his nasal passages, based on empirical data, she would then be able to devise a methodology for taking him down. In the meantime, she would have to pose as his lover, his one and only, his girlfriend.

Unfortunately, they were all lying with each other, and the bed wasn't big enough.

She decided a "king" might not be so bad, after all.

So I decided to provide the human blanket.

No one in the world had an inkling of what was about to happen;
the almighty absolute healing power of the Human Blanket,
was about to be utilized after three long weeks of anticipation.