By Aaron Aaronson

Greetings. It is I, the renowned explorer Trepidus Turnesidus. I am about to embark upon the most important, momentous expedition of my career, one that will uncover truths of life and the universe so that no one will ever see things the same way again. My findings will be truly groundbreaking and revolutionary and upon completion of my journey all textbooks will have to be rewritten and all understanding of the world revised to reflect the indisputable proof I shall present. You see, I am a member of a secret society and we are the true crusaders to reveal actual fact. Science is but a mind control tool the powers who wish to control you use to force their thoughts into your mind and make you believe their lies. But, I set off on my expedition this day to uncover the lies and show the world the truth for that is the ultimate goal of the society of which I am a member. For I state proudly I am a member of the Devoted Unilateral Manipulators Beyond Anti-Science Sacrament Enlightenment Society. So follow my quest which I shall detail from entries in my journal that I will carry with me as I will put to rest one of the greatest lies of all time. Read on and I will prove to all beyond any shadow of a doubt the truth that the earth is actually flat, not round as they would like you to believe. Yes, this I will do, marching proudly with the banner of the Devoted Unilateral Manipulators Beyond Anti-Science Sacrament Enlightenment Society, more commonly known by our acronym, D.U.M.B.A.S.S.E.S. For we are the real revealers of truth and fact. Yes, we are D.U.M.B.A.S.S.E.S and I am a member of this secret society And we are here to show you what is really true. So join me on my journey will you? Let the D.U.M.B.A.S.S.E.S show you the way. The truth awaits...

Day 1: I loaded supplies for the journey, placing them in my backpack. It was certain to be a lengthy voyage, requiring more than I myself could carry on my person so I enlisted the services of a sherpa and he carried the remainder of what I myself could not bear the weight of. Actually, in truth, he really carried the bulk of the supplies which were stacked upon a large sled which was tied around him that he pulled with each step. All preparations had been finalized. It was time for the voyage to begin, the voyage to prove once and for all that the earth was indeed flat. “Tallyho loyal Sherpa, we are off on our journey of utmost importance, to prove once and for all and shine the light of truth upon the ignorant and prove that the earth is flat. Let us begin!” I eagerly announced. My loyal Sherpa associate dutifully and eagerly concurred, eager to begin our voyage to bring truth to the scandalous lies that the conspiracy of the scientific elite had deceived the public with, their ludicrous notion that the earth was actually oval. Though, in that moment, my loyal Sherpa associate must have also seen someone else passing by because the look on his face was of utter disgust and disbelieving contempt as if he was looking at a total moron. And so, our adventure begins…

Day 2: Unfortunately the expedition team was forced to remain at base camp due to inclement weather conditions. It was an intensely severe storm that swept across the area, pounding the ground with a heavy rain that would indeed have made travel treacherous. It was agreed by the team that our mission would be better served after a night of sleep when conditions would be more fortuitous to our endeavour. I feared that my sherpa associate might become dispirited with the delay of our expedition so I decided to deliver a rallying cry to stoke his enthusiasm.”Fear not my loyal sherpa associate, we may have been delayed in beginning our quest, but I promise you there are no forces upon this planet that will be able to deter us from seeing it through to the end. I swear to you that we will overcome whatever obstacle is thrown in our path and we will put an end to this diabolical conspiracy and silence all the deceitful scientists who seek only to promote this conspiracy with lies and dupe the public with this ridiculous idea that the earth is round, and through our noble undertaking we will reveal to the world once and for all with indisputable fact that the earth is indeed flat. Tell me loyal sherpa associate, what do you have to say about that?” Unfortunately he took the news of the delayed onset of our expedition even worse than I thought because at that point he exited the tent of the base camp and went outside and sat beneath the rain all night, shaking his head with a despondent, disgusted grimace upon his face.

Day 7: We have actually been making good progress in terms of our quest, our foot travel having covered more ground than even I expected. For all those flat earth deniers out there, those who are blinded by the propaganda promoted by the freemason, illuminati, scientist conspiracy, well allow me to shine light upon your darkness and open your eyes to the truth. At no point during our six days of walking did our steps follow a pattern that was elliptical. That’s right my friends, what more proof do you need? The earth is indeed flat.

Day 11: I am sorry to say that we encountered the first obstacle to completing our mission this day as we encountered a problem that stood in the way of our walking progress. That problem was that I and my loyal sherpa associate stood before a quite large body of water that blocked our path. Now, one might suggest that it was a predicament easily overcome by merely transferring ourselves to a boat until making it to the other side, but that was not possible for our findings to be indisputable and would corrupt the data that would prove our premise true. Why I have, in my life, many times travelled by boat, often over great distances. I would even state that being on a boat provides some of the most direct and irrefutable circumstantial evidence of the world being flat. I mean, if you stand on the deck of a ship and look off into the distance, even if using binoculars, all you see is the flat ocean. Hmm, that’s funny, I mean, if the earth was actually round, wouldn’t I be able to see the point where the oval starts to form? But I don’t. Why the ocean just goes on and on, at no point curving, how very interesting. What more proof do you need? The earth is flat my friends. This detail provides indisputable evidence that the earth is flat but it is circumstantial evidence and our goal here, our monumental undertaking, was to once and for all unravel the web of lies and deceit that has been spun and held over the eyes of the people of the world. To do that we needed direct, empiric evidence that the scientist conspiracy could not possibly provide any counter argument against with deceptive, rigged mathematical equations or lies. Why we could arrive at our destination, proudly and triumphantly declaring, “See that, we have travelled the entire earth and at no point was it rounded, ha! We have proven the earth is flat.” To this they might then counter “Well, yes, but there was that time you were on that boat. Why the movement of the boat on the water, and the gentle, peaceful motions why it creates a trick of the eye involving reflective terminology so that it only appeared to you that you were moving over flat waters but right there was the very point where the earth rounded around its oval trajectory. Now, we would have looked at your evidence from your travels and certainly there would have been no possible way for us to dispute your findings, only there was that time you were on that boat so we’re not going to listen to anything you have to say. ” So no, we could not take that chance. We could not travel by boat. We had to find another way. I stood there on the shoreline, looking out at the water mass. I turned to the sherpa. “Come my loyal sherpa associate, we must swim across the water mass to achieve the goal we seek.”

Day 15: Me and my loyal sherpa associate continue to swim across the mass of water we had encountered, as we had been doing the four days prior. As I swam I turned to my loyal sherpa associate and spoke. “Do not worry my loyal sherpa associate, it won’t be much further now, why I can actually see the shoreline up ahead and take pride my loyal associate for our efforts, though admittedly arduous will greatly aid us in proving our hypothesis. I mean, this body of water we have been swimming across these last five days, it certainly was flat was it not. Ha, ha, ha,” I boisterously laughed. My loyal sherpa sidekick growled and shook his head. “No, no, no, don’t try to speak to express your disdain for the ignorant round earthers. I’m sure it would be quite difficult with the rope in your mouth.” My loyal sherpa associate had a rope in his mouth that he clenched with his teeth that was connected to a raft he was pulling, which floated on the water behind us, upon which were our supplies for the mission. “Stay strong my sherpa associare for soon we shall reach dry flat land!”.

Day 16: As we continued to traverse the water body I thought upon another of the great lies of the scientist conspiracy that if true would have presented another potential peril in terms of our undertakings. Now, there are those out there in the “scientific” community who claim that man made climate change is creating global warming. They claim ridiculous conspiracy theories such as the world faces a threat of rising sea levels due to the melting of the polar ice caps where the waters contained within them will overflow and spill out upon the lands they are contained within. Therefore, if what this consortium of disinformation was saying was true, how could I and my loyal sherpa associate know that during our journey across the water mass this might not possibly happen? Well, this was not a fear in anyway for me. The reason as to why I set out across the lake unafraid is from true, actual scientific research from another member of the D.U.M.B.A.S.S.E.S, the renowned senator Mo Brooks, who absolutely dispelled the climate change hoax presented by the uninformed when he brilliantly declared that rising sea levels were actually being caused by rocks falling into the ocean from the erosion of the sea wall of rock structures. You see, that is a cause of sea level rise that is easily explained by the D.U.M.B.A.S.S.E.S, the true perveyours of scientific understanding, not you supposed “scientists” who falsely claim it is occurring by man made actions. Though, now that I mention it, I suppose it could be stated it is occurring in part due to, not man made, but child made activity from all the children on beaches skipping rocks across the waves. “Hey, little Johnny, what the fuck are you doing? Didn’t momma tell you not to skip those stones? Oh crap, you’ve doomed the planet to hell. Now the water is going to rise up and drown us all thanks to you. Well done little Johnny. I always knew you were a dick!” We would not be in danger during our journey across the lake for there were no cliffs along its sides. Um, there also weren’t a bunch of kids on the water’s edge who were skipping stones into it. “You know what little Johnny, you are such a dick for destroying the planet with your damn destructive stones!” And please, as all us D.U.M.B.A.S.S.E.S know, the idea of global warming is just a hoax. Why this truth is so easily presented by senator James Inhofe during a senate hearing when he, to prove global warming was indeed a hoax, during the winter held up a snowball to make his visual display. I mean, see this, what’s this here? It’s a snowball. Now, if global warming was actually real how could he be holding a snowball in his hand in Washington DC during the month of February. Ah yes indeed D.U.M.B.A.S.S.E.S, that there is a snowball that can exist during February is indisputable proof that global warming is just a hoax. Well played D.U.M.B.A.S.S.E.S. Global warming is just a hoax that can only persuade the uninformed. Also, the earth is flat my friends. Carry on, this fact will be proven.

Day 18: We reached the shore on the other side of the water mass we had started from. At this point I suggested to my loyal sherpa associate that we rest for the remainder of the day and get some sleep considering we had been swimming nonstop the last seven days. My loyal sherpa associate obviously welcomed this news as he dropped the rope from his mouth that had been carrying the raft with our supplies on it. He was panting heavily and he sighed so intensely with relief and exhaustion that his expression could almost be mistaken for an anger filled scowl. His exhaustion in the next moment was impossible to miss as he slipped, lurching forward, his hand inadvertently striking me in the face and knocking me to the ground. I sat upon the ground and looked up at my loyal sherpa associate. “Worry not, loyal sherpa associate, I realize the toil of our efforts has taken a toll and you have lost control of bodily movement. But I assure you it is a small price to pay to realize the majesty of our endeavours. And so as I sit here on this undeniably flat ground I implore you to never lose faith in the importance of our mission. Never despair loyal sherpa associate for we will achieve our goal in the end and show to all the ignorant, non-thinkers controlled by the conspiracy of scientists that the earth is indeed flat! Tell me, are you with me loyal sherpa associate?” My loyal sherpa associate must have been really, really tired because at that moment he again slipped, losing control of his leg which swung through the air, hitting me in the head, knocking me unconscious.

Day 21: I sat upon a folding chair, intently examining a map that was laid out on a small collapsible table. I examined the map, trying to figure out what the next steps of our route should be to achieve our goal. I knew there were many established methods that had been utilized over the centuries to correctly interpret maps but I immediately discarded all these methods. You see, they were all deceptions promoted by the nefarious scientist conspiracy and were all based on the notion that the world was round, something I knew was a blatant lie. No, I had a better way. I would go with my gut, for inside I knew what was actually true, not any of that drivel spewing from the mouths of the “scientists”. Yes, I indeed knew better than them. I looked upon the map and smugly nodded my head. I knew where it was that we should go. I chuckled and announced out loud, “Oh scientists of the world, prepare to look like fools.”

Day 23: I am sorry to say that the expedition of myself and my loyal sherpa associate encountered a significant problem that greatly imperiled our mission. I awoke to the new day to begin our journey across a treacherous desert region. I had informed my loyal sherpa associate that we would begin this leg of our journey at the break of dawn. I had somehow incorrectly read the maps and had originally believed the large land mass we were approaching was actually a forest region with many freshwater lakes and rivers and therefore had not bothered to refill our water supplies. For the both of us we had about a quarter of a liter that would be all we had to sustain us on our travels as we crossed the many mile desert region. I reassured my loyal sherpa associate that there was no cause for concern because when our water supplies ran out we would simply drink our own urine, for we would do whatever was necessary to complete our mission and prove to the world once and for all that the earth was indeed flat. To rouse my loyal sherpa associate’s enthusiasm, I stirringly pronounced “Our mission and goal is far too important. We must bring an end to the conspiracy and so we will gladly and proudly drink our own urine in the name of truth. Tell me my loyal sherpa associate, are you with me?” At that point my loyal sherpa associate snarled, had some sort of bizarre muscle spasm that caused the middle finger of both hands to thrust up with all other fingers folded as he growled and then he had another bizarre muscle spasm where his right arm swung towards me, striking me and knocking me to the ground. My loyal sherpa associate then marched off in the opposite direction from which we were heading. My loyal sherpa associate was gone. Unfortunately my loyal sherpa associate was not up for the rigors we would have to endure to prove to the people the truth we knew that the earth was flat. I realized that it was now up to me to complete the mission. Without the assistance of my associate it was guaranteed to be a far more arduous journey. I must confess to feeling some unease in terms of whether by myself I would be able to complete the travels. There were moments where I asked myself whether it might be wise to abandon the quest. These worries were never given any serious consideration. The mission was far too important. My travels would certainly be more difficult and the adversity would without question be far greater but I would find a way and would persevere and overcome all obstacles. Whatever I had to do, however I had to improvise I would find a solution to whatever problem I was presented with and by God I would prove to the world that the earth was flat.

Day 24: I have yet to set out to cross the desert. I encountered a problem that forced me to remain in the place I had been overnight as I tried to figure out what to do. The problem I encountered was that it turns out I was not actually physically able to pull the sled my sherpa associate had been pulling upon which were the supplies for the expedition. I spent the day loading what I deemed most essential that would fit in a backpack I would have with me as I continued on. The rest had to be left behind. I finished the remaining drops from the water supplies and set off to begin to cross the desert. Oh yes, do not worry people of the world, I will uncover the lie that they have deceived you with all these years and prove to you the truth that the earth is flat.

Day 28: I continued my travels across the desert. The journey up till this point had indeed been brutal. The sun was very intense and the temperature soared up into the 90s and beyond on a daily basis. I was extremely weary from my efforts but knew that I must press on. I stopped and stared into the distance, hoping that I could see the end of the desert region. I did not. All that I could see before me was sand stretching out to the horizon. But, you know what else I saw? The horizon itself. Was the horizon rounded? No, it was not. This very much increased my resolve.I nodded my head with determination and realized that a urine break was what was needed before continuing on. Oh boy, yeah, I really wish I had refilled the water supplies before setting out to cross the desert.

Day 35: I staggered across the desert, my weak legs straining and stumbling. It had been several days since I had eaten. All I had to sustain myself was my own urine which I would then drink. The problem was that, beneath the weight of the sun, and from my efforts, I really was actually urinating very rarely. I was breathing very heavily as I struggled to continue forward. I felt as if I was going to collapse. I dug down deep to keep myself going for if I was to succumb to my weariness and drop to the sand, the mission would be ended and my goal would remain unfulfilled and the people of the world would never know the truth that the earth was flat. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to keep going. I had to keep fighting. I couldn’t give up. I staggered across the sands, struggling with every ounce of strength to keep moving forward. My steps became clumsy, confused, I stumbled, I fell. I dropped to the sand and lay there on my back, just staring up into the sky, directly into the sun, panting heavily, my limbs drained of all energy and strength, unable to move. I sighed despondently. It was over. My quest had failed, a quest I had set out upon with such noble aspirations, to prove to the world that the earth was flat would not be realized and I deeply regretted I was not able to fulfill my task and bring the patrons of this world out of darkness and into the light and as I lay there on the desert sand my eyes began to close as I settled into my own forever darkness. At that moment though I heard a voice call out to me. “No Mr. Turnesidus, you can’t give up, you can never give up until you have reached your goal, to prove to the world that the earth is flat, you can never give up. Your mission is too important for that.” My eyes opened as the blurred picture in front of me gained clarity. I could not believe what it was I saw. “I cannot believe it, my loyal sherpa associate, you have come back to rejoin the mission.” I excitedly exclaimed. My loyal sherpa associate spoke again “That I have Mr. Turnesidus. Why, the mission is far too important in terms of the name of truth and the good of humanity for you to ever quit. You must see your mission through.” I felt inspired. “But then, you’ve rejoined the mission my loyal sherpa associate, so then you can assist me in reaching our goal. Could you possibly start by going back and retrieving the sled that had the supplies for the voyage on it, well that and also to refill our water supply, I’m really getting sick of drinking my own urine.” My loyal sherpa associate shook his head. “No Mr. Turnesidus, I cannot do that. This is a journey you must make by yourself. Deep down inside you knew this was the case for you truly are the only person on the planet who can prove the world is flat. It is your calling. It is your destiny. And it is a journey only you can make.” “Wait, please, the travel has been even more treacherous without your assistance. Please reconsider my loyal sherpa assistant.” I pleaded with him. “My name is Sherka by the way Mr. Turnesidus.” my loyal sherpa associate announced. I looked upon him with confusion. “Um, wait, so then you’re a sherka, not a sherpa?” My loyal sherpa associate shook his head. “No, I am a sherpa but my name is Sherka. I was just pointing that out so you would no longer refer to me as your loyal sherpa assistant.” “Um, so then you’re a sherpa whose name is Sherka?” I asked. Sherka nodded his head. “Yes Mr. Turnesidus, I am a sherpa named Sherka. But I am more than that Mr. Turnesidus, I am also your personal spiritual guide and shaman.” To this information I reacted with amazement. “Wait, wait, so then you’re my loyal associate, personal spirit guide, shaman sherpa named Sherka?” Sherka nodded his head. “That I am Mr. Turnesidus, and I have returned to provide the guidance so that you will be able to carry on and see your quest through until the end. The power has always been inside you Mr. Turnesidus, always remember that. You are the last dragon. You are the oompa loompa who made the basketball team. You are the king of Woopie Hoopie Shoopieville and you wurk blarm phlaaah. And it is only you who can reach the noble and glorious goal of proving to the world that the earth is flat. So come Mr. Turnesidus, dig down deep and find the strength to continue on your quest. Your work is far too important to ever quit.” I looked at my loyal associate spirit guide, shaman sherpa named Sherka and nodded my head. “Thank you Sherka. I always knew that your presence on the expedition was integral for its success but I now realize that your physical presence isn’t what is necessary, because you will always be there with me as my spiritual guide and will always be leading the way. I’m ready now Sherka, I’m ready to rejoin the mission and reveal to all upon the world how they have been deceived. By God my trusted spirit guide, shaman sherpa named Sherka, I won’t let you down. I declare to you in no uncertain terms the mission will be a success!” Sherka nodded happily. “That’s wonderful Mr. Turnesidus. Now you go get’em and give’em hell. Hurry Mr. Turnesidus, for the sake of the mission, get to it and show the world the lies they have been taught. Hurry Mr. Turnesidus, hurry, with Godspeed go and show the people of the world the earth is flat.” I raised myself from the sand and unleashed a primal scream then took off running across the sands.

Day 37: I took my first steps out of the desert and stood within an area that had actual vegetation growing. I had made it. I had overcome the desert trials and the expedition would indeed carry on to its glorious, groundbreaking conclusion. I sighed with relief. I smiled contentedly. I knew in this moment I would now be able to see the mission through to the end. It was time to begin the next steps of my expedition, but, my travels across the desert had left me drained. Before beginning my next steps in my quest to prove the truth I realized that what was needed was an aid to provide physical sustenance. I pulled out and drank long from my bottle. Oh boy and holy shit, I really, really wish I had refilled my water supplies before stepping out upon that desert.

Day 39: My quest continued. The terrain over which I travelled was far more welcoming. I found a water source and filled my bottles from it. Admittedly the crossing of the desert had been a treacherous trial but I had overcome it and continued forward with a renewed vigor. It would be much easier going from here on out and my steps were powered by an unflinching confidence that there was nothing that could prevent me from reaching my goal and proving to the world that the earth was flat.

Day 40: Got attacked by a bear today. Apparently I had unknowingly crossed into a bear family’s area. As I walked I saw a very young, small bear stumbling about, oblivious to my presence. I suppose I realized that the prudent thing to do would be to make my way out of the area before the bear spotted me but it was such an awfully cute sight to encounter I couldn’t help myself and instead just remained there gazing upon the majestic sight of nature. I suppose realizing it was an unwise move I then approached the baby bear and stood right before it, waiting until it made eye contact with me. I suppose also, even though it was an undeniably sweet moment, but I suppose I realized that my next action of reaching my hand down toward the baby bear and petting it on the head while saying “Whoosha woosha cutie bear, yousha woosha cutie bear” was probably an unwise move. My words were followed by two thunderous roars from behind me. I quickly spun around to see two mammoth bears standing on their hind legs, waving their front paws at me threateningly as they towered over me. Apparently the parents didn’t want me petting their baby cub for some reason and were being protective. They lunged at me and down a towering hill I fell, tumbling end over end until I crashed to the bottom. Now, I know what some out there might be saying. “Wait a second, you just said you tumbled down a hill after being confronted by two grizzly bears who didn’t want you petting their baby cub. That’s the craziest story I’ve ever heard because if there was a steep hill then that would prove the earth isn’t actually flat after all.” Oh, but how mistaken you would be for the premise I seek to prove is that the earth is not round, it is indeed flat. I never postulated that it wasn’t at times also bumpy. Flat it indeed is and this episode, far from dispelling the truth I seek to reveal to the world, actually reinforces it for when the ground began to rise from the flat earth did it then continue in an elliptical shape to the other side of the globe, no that it did not, upon reaching its peak it very soon descended back down. Bumpy my friends. The earth can be a little bumpy at times but ultimately it is flat, not an oval. Who out there can still doubt my proclamation?

Day 45: I stood upon the sand, staring out before me. I looked to either direction then stared ahead with some trepidation. It was clear that what lay before me was the ocean and to prove my theory I knew to be true there was no other choice but for me to swim across it. This would indeed be a daunting and perilous journey and there was the very real possibility that my attempts to traverse such a mammoth body of water may not be successful but I was determined to face any adversity for the completion of my quest. I knew upon embarking on my journey there would be unforeseen circumstances and unexpected encounters that I would have to find a way to deal with and overcome and could not let these trials break my resolve and so with determination I took my first steps into the water and began slowly swimming until I would eventually reach the other side.

Day 46: Now, one might say the challenge I was currently embarked upon, swimming across the ocean, wasn’t exactly an unforeseen circumstance or an unexpected encounter considering my goal was to travel across the entire earth and to do so I was sort of going to have to at some point cross an actual ocean. Several of them actually. They do actually make up quite a large percentage of the surface area of the earth. I must confess I never actually factored this detail in when making my plans to attempt my journey. I knew as I swam within the ocean I may never actually make it to the other side but still I swam on. My goal was far too important for me to just give up and quit. I knew I had to see my journey through until the end.

Day ??: I must admit that I had lost track of exactly what day it was so from here on out I will no longer be able to give the precise day it was of my travels. I had been swimming through many, many suns and moons and water was all that I could see. Behind me any evidence of the land I had set out from was gone. There was only the vast ocean that surrounded me, water as far as the eye could see. I continued on.

Day ??: I paused in the water and just looked ahead, hoping I would be able to detect a land mass somewhere in the distance. I saw nothing but the ever stretching ocean. I was very weary. My limbs were straining to keep me afloat. I knew not how many days it had been since I had set out upon the ocean. I was desperately in, um, wait, hold on a second here. O.k., that’s better. The reader may be surprised to hear that it’s actually exceedingly difficult to write in a journal while swimming across the ocean. Where was I then in my recounting of my journey? Oh yes. I was desperately in need of food. There was some seaweed that had floated past me at one point so I figured why not give it a try. Man did it taste like crap. I vomited it back up. I wasn’t sure if it would have any restorative qualities but in the end it didn’t matter as it had been returned to the sea from which it came. I was desperately parched with thirst and wanted a sip of water more than anything. Water was all that was around me. Water was all that I could see but alas “Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink” or so the line goes. I knew I could not give up. I continued on.

Day ??: Many more suns and moons had come and gone since my last journal entry. I floated upon the water, using every last bit of strength to keep myself afloat. I looked ahead. Still there was only the seemingly unending ocean, no land in sight. As I bobbed out on the water I began to think to myself. What the fuck were you thinking that you would actually be able to swim across an ocean. I mean it’s a fuckin ocean. You swam across a large lake. That was certainly trying and difficult but this is a fuckin ocean. You don’t think that maybe you should have factored in the feasibility of this endeavour when planning out the most important undertaking of your life? I bobbed there upon the ocean and in that moment all my efforts seemed hopeless. It seemed pointless to go on. I feared I had failed in my quest. I closed my eyes and felt like just giving up and dropping to the ocean’s floor. I knew I could not go any further. My quest was over. I had failed. It was a moment of pure anguish and despair. But then I heard a voice. “No Mr. Turnesidus. You cannot abandon your dream of proving to the world that the earth is flat. If you quit now the world will never know the truth.” It was Sherka my loyal sherpa associate. “Sherka, you’re back.” I excitedly exclaimed as I turned and saw Sherka bobbing in the water next to me. “That I am Mr. Turnesidus for I felt you were in a desperate moment and had to come to tell you that you cannot turn back.” he pronounced. I thought upon this and spoke with resolve. “You’re right Sherka. I have come too far on my quest and my mission is too important for me to ever give up. I must prove to the world that the earth is flat.” Sherka my loyal sherpa associate responded. “Um, no, what I meant Mr. Turnesidus is that you can’t turn around and try to go back to where you first entered into the ocean because you’d never make it. It’s way too far. You’d most certainly drown and die. So you must press forward Mr. Turnesidus. You must continue on until you spot dry land and when you do, dig down deep and use your last ounce of strength and don’t give up until you have reached it.” I thought upon this. “Yes Sherka. You are right. There is no other choice but to continue on. And by God Sherka I will, and I will continue on until I have spotted that dry land and I will dig down deep and I will continue on until I have reached it and once I have I will continue on no matter the obstacle I must face, no matter the hardship, no matter the adversity and by God Sherka I will continue on until I have reached my goal. The cause is too important. My motivation too noble for me to ever quit. I will shine the light of truth upon the darkness and with God as my witness Sherka I will prove to everybody that the earth is flat. Thank you Sherka, thank you! This was just the motivation I needed!” I felt the power of my determination fill me with more energy than I had had when first entering the ocean. I knew my mission would be a success. And so, I continued on…

The reader should know this is not another journal entry from the renowned explorer Trepidus Turnesidus. I will now tell the rest of the tale of his quest. You see, the moment after he met with Sherka and was filled with the motivation he needed to continue his quest something happened. There was a small boy standing upon a beach at the water’s edge. He held in his hand a small rock. He excitedly tossed it out to the sea. The stone struck an approaching wave, then skipped to another and then another and then into the sea the stone it sank. It was at exactly that moment that the renowned explorer Trepidus Turnesidus was exuberantly lurching forward to continue his quest to reveal the truth. Alas, in that moment a surge of water swept over Trepidus Turnesidus’ head and he disappeared. He never again emerged from the water and I am sorry to say that the renowned explorer Trepidus Turnesidus, until the end a proud member of the D.U.M.B.A.S.S.E.S was gone. His quest to reveal to the world with undeniable fact the truth that the earth was flat had failed and the people of earth would remain within the darkness of their ignorance and would go on believing the lie they had been deceived with that the earth was round. Though Trepidus Turnesidus was unable to fulfill his life’s dream I suppose there is still some consolation to be had because Trepidus Turnesidus did dispel another nefarious lie that the scientist conspiracy has tried to make the world believe. The lie that was unquestionably dispelled is that man made causes are responsible for climate change and and global warming and that this will lead to rising sea levels. For it is obvious to any with any sense at all that Trepidus Turnesidus drowning at the moment the rock was tossed into the sea after spending many weeks trying to swim across the ocean, without any question proves that, another of the D.U.M.B.A.S.S.E.S, senator Mo Brooks was right and that rising sea levels are a result of rocks falling into the ocean and not in anyway from human caused pollution or the myth of global warming. For you see, it was at that exact moment that the sea absorbed all the rocks it could handle upon the ocean floor and had run out of space and it created a rise of the sea level that swept over Trepidus Turnesidus’ head. So in closing, in memoriam to the renowned explorer and revealer of truth Trepidus Turnesidus, from all us D.U.M.B.A.S.S.E.S let me say this…

Way to go little Johnny you little shit! You just killed the genus revealer of truth, renowned explorer Trepidus Turnesidus. What the fuck is wrong with you? And you’ve destroyed our beautiful flat planet! Damn you little Johnny you stupid little dick! The sea level rose because of you and now the planet is doomed. Didn’t I warn you about throwing rocks into the ocean? Didn’t I tell you what would happen? I hope you’re proud of yourself you dumb shit! How stupid could you be? Congratulations little Johnny. For not taking the slightest precaution or making the slightest intelligent choice to advert the catastrophe you’ve doomed our beautiful flat earth. On behalf of all the D.U.M.B.A.S.S.E.S, let me just say we warned you this would happen little Johnny, we warned you and you didn’t listen. And now look at what you’ve done.

The End

Hey, if you really want to see a couple of total DUMBASSES I suggest you look up the actual comments of United States senators Mo Brooks and James Inhofe. You can find them online and see just how fuckin stupid these absolute DUMBASSES truly are.

by Aaron Aaronson (from the book "Self-extermination. Sounds Like a Plan")

Roger felt the heat coming from the kitchen and he cringed. It was as if the walls themselves were sweating. He stood before the shutter like doors blocking entrance to the kitchen, light stabbing through the slits of the wood, piercing him with the reality he knew he now stood within. The cackling sizzle of burning oil from within the kitchen roasted his mind as it cut through the night. He knew it could be nothing else.

But what was there he could do? The only exit from the house was a door only accessed from the kitchen. A fire marshal examination of the structure might have at some point been a course of action that someone should have pursued but it really was a little late for it to do any good in terms of the current predicament. There really was no way around it. For Roger to make his escape from the house he would have to enter the kitchen. And if he did that, then...

Roger gripped his head in his hands, he shook it side to side, anxiety and fear pulsating, coursing through his entire body, his heart pounding inside as if about to explode, his mind racing, speeding off in every direction, looking for an answer, but all thoughts colliding with each other, like some demolition derby of futility, all answers going up in flames. From inside the kitchen sounded a rippling, heckling, cackling, crackle from the stove. There really was no answer to the situation except one. He would have to make his way into the kitchen and hopefully make his way to the door before it was too late. But if he did that, then he would have to…And then…

But he had to be certain, even though with everything in him he already knew that he was. He needed visual confirmation. And so he slowly, apprehensively moved his head toward the shutter like doors, so that he could peer through the slits. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes again and the picture, at first cloudy, soon cleared and there it was. He would be lying if he tried to claim that before looking through the doors he thought there was any chance it could have possibly been anything else.

There in the kitchen, standing by the stove, cooking an assortment of peppers, onions, and mushrooms was an eight foot tall, homicidal, psychopathic potato.

Really now, are you even going to attempt to postulate the ridiculous argument that, when Roger was hearing cooking sounds from within his kitchen it could possibly have been anything else?

Well, maybe it was just his girlfriend who woke up from a nap and felt like making herself something to eat, you counter.

No. You know full well that is a ludicrous theory. Roger doesn’t have a girlfriend.

Well, maybe it’s his ex-girlfriend who broke into his house, stole all of his underwear, urinated on the bed, rubbed all his personal belongings on her vagina, cut out the eyes of all the photographs of him, then set the bedroom on fire when she burned an effigy of him, but only after writing on the walls with her own blood “I would die for you. But will you die for me? Ha, ha, ha, die, die, die!!!!!!!!” Then writing on the walls on the outside of the burning room with her own feces, “I love you, as I hate your fuckin guts you miserable bastard. Die, die, die! Ha, ha, ha. Ha, ha, ha. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Um…Ah...O.k., that is admittedly a considerably more likely scenario than the previous one you offered. And, I do have to concede, one that is actually entirely likely to have been the case, but no, you are wrong. It was an eight foot tall homicidal, psychopathic potato standing in Roger’s kitchen, cooking that assortment of vegetables. And Roger knew this from the very first moment he heard the hissing sound and could smell the vegetables being fried.

You see, he could tell by the smell there were peppers being cooked. And, she always really hated peppers. Therefore your possible explanation for the situation was entirely outlandish and preposterous.

Back to the potato.

The mammoth figure stood there. It was using a spatula to occasionally press upon the vegetable combination, occasionally flip them over, so as neither side would be overdone. Aside from that it just stood there, humming to itself, as the hulking, behemoth monstrosity that it was. It was an ominous sight to say the least and Roger hadn’t a clue what it was that he could do. But he knew, he had to do, something.

But what? What was there he possibly could do? Sometimes when faced with an impossible situation you have to somehow dig the deepest into your soul to overcome all odds and so declare victory will be the only possibility, and nothing will stop you, absolutely nothing. But how? What to do to redirect a clearly unwinnable situation in your favor, turn the tables, and march out that seemingly unreachable door as the victor, triumphant?...But how?...What to do?...How to win a battle that could not possibly be won?...

“Well, I guess I could go in there and hit it with a chair.” pondered Roger out loud.

Hmm, just a suggestion, might possibly want to reconsider that course of action, just saying is all...

“O.k., that's it then, that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to go in there and hit it with a chair.” Roger concluded.

Ah, brilliant move and a wise battle strategy I would say. Except that, that may well be the most entirely moronic plan of attack any half-witted dimbicile has ever proposed throughout the entire course of human history. But by all means, go, hit the eight foot tall potato with a chair, I’m sure that will solve the problem completely. Call me a misinformed prognosticator if that is what you wish to do, but I have this sort of funny feeling, this night will not end well for you.

But, back to the potato…

“Yeah, that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to go in there and hit the eight foot tall potato with a chair.” announced Roger, again out loud and with increased certainty of the strategic intelligence of the plan.

Fuckin douche...

Roger slowly opened the door to the kitchen, edging the two parts aside, a glorious light shining upon him as if he were revealing revelation, stepping into the arena of the soul with the answer for his salvation. He was going to grab a flimsily constructed chair by the counter and knock the potato over the, the, look, fuckin potatoes don’t even have fuckin heads, so essentially he was entering into a course of action, thinking that by knocking the eight foot tall potato over the, over the, over the fuckin potato with a flimsily constructed chair, it was somehow going to solve all his problems.

“Come on baby, time to make some mashed potato.” snarled Roger through clenched teeth.

Um…Ah…Oh you are a fuckin douche.

Roger just stared at the potato with a forceful look and spoke, “Hey little robot, I'm going to turn you into a tator tot.” Roger flashed a sinister smile then walked to the counter, opposite the stove, grabbed a light wooden chair from it in his hands, raised it into the air, then stalked up to the potato, until he stood directly behind it, proclaiming, “Come on, let’s make some gravy.”

Um, make some, it’s a potato you fuckin moron, if you could be any more of a stupid douche, little moronic douche.

Roger, chair gripped firmly in his hands, above his head, ready to strike…

And then…

Down Roger swung the chair upon the potato’s, um, potato, with a loud shout and a trembling body to deliver the full force of the impact.

The potato?

Well, it didn’t flinch at all, didn’t move an inch or react in any way whatsoever, the blow did, after glancing off the potato, strike the frying pan, toppling the cooking vegetables from the stove to the floor though, at which point, after a few moments of silence and inaction the eight foot tall potato slowly turned around towards Roger and erupted with a monstrous voice. “You! Spill my spices! The spices I have been working on for over an hour. But you, you, you spill my spices!”

“Well, yes I did hit you with a chair, but, the spilling of your spices was an entirely unintended consequence of the proceedings.” countered Roger.

“But you spilled my spices!” the potato growled.

“Look, dude, the spilling of your spices was an entirely unrelated occurrence. I was merely trying to hit you over your, your, your potato. Look, potato, I never meant to spill your spices, so can’t we at least leave it at that?” Roger summarized, attempting diplomacy.

“No, we can’t leave it at fuckin that you fucker, you fuckin spilled my fuckin spices!” snarled the potato with seething anger.

“You know, I think I have to point this out, you have this absolutely unbalanced obsession with your spices.” observed Roger.

“But you fuckin, motherfuckin, fuckin spilled my fuckin spices you motherfuckin, motherfucker!” the potato bellowed.

Roger shook his head with somewhat dismay. “Um, I would say touché except there was no touché at all. You know, you’re actually being a quite belligerent and disagreeable eight foot tall homicidal potato so I think I am really going to have bring a halt to this conversation and bid you Mr. headless potato, good day. Now if you’ll excuse me, I do believe it is time for me to race from the room and hurry up the stairs for you appear as if you’re about to kill me. So then, with that I’ll be off.”

“My spices!!” unleashed the potato with a roar that shook the very house.

At that point Roger turned around and took off running, out through the now open shutter like doors that had previously been blocking the entrance to the kitchen, doors which, to be perfectly honest, to Roger, were entirely pointless, senseless and idiotic. They were also, the only thing she had ever brought into the house. She had always said she was crazy about them and needed them because they gave her this giggly, happy, wappy, shippy, whippy, blippy, kill, kill, kill, die, die, die feeling in her left calf and…Well, Roger figured, why not let her have installed the shutter like doors on the entrance to the kitchen if it would make her happy. To which she responded, “Damn right it would make me happy. Can’t you tell I’m happy you kill, kill, kill, die, die, die Roger? Love you Roger, hate you Roger, die you Roger! Forever Roger! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!”

Um…Yeah…

But back to the potato…

It stood there with its arms raised and emitted an earth shaking growl as Roger sped from the room, heading for the stairs, to hopefully make his way to safety.

He exited the kitchen, rapidly stepping from the tile to the wooden floor, at which point his foot slipped and sent him hurtling into the wall, his face colliding with the wall, opening a deep gash above his right eye. This, of course, would not have happened if the rug had been there. The rug that had been there outside the kitchen door was probably Roger’s favorite item of the house. It had this really cool coloring and patterning and he would always stop and stare at it before entering the kitchen, thinking to himself ‘You know, never really been a big fan of rugs, but that’s a damn fine rug.’ She always hated the rug. And when she left the house she stole it, wrapped it around a mound of dead, painted black flowers, poured gasoline on it, set it on fire, then threw it off a bridge, she then setting herself on fire and jumping off the bridge after it, shrieking “I love you rugger, I hate you rugger, die fuckin rugger, die, die, die, die, die! Why won’t you love me back rugger?”…

Eh?...

Details are murky about whether she survived the plunge from the bridge into the lake beneath it. Much like the murky depths of the lake her corpse shall forever remain within upon the floor. Or?…There are rumors, legend around the surrounding town that, every now and then, when a couple is out upon the lake for a leisurely, peaceful, romantic boat ride beneath a warming sun on a bright summer day, at times a completely fuckin insane woman will emerge from the water, grabbing them and pulling them into the lake to their watery grave, growling as she does so, the phrase “Die Roger, die”. Could it be her? Is it possible she survived that fall into the lake?...Who can say? It’s a mystery…Of course, the 532 ranting, hysterical, essentially incoherent voicemails she left on Roger’s phone last week might possibly provide some indication of what the answer to that question would be…Cheh…Cheh..Cheh…Huh…Huh…Huh. Several of the messages it was her just making those sounds.

But back to the potato…

Roger picked himself up off the ground and bolted to the stairs, knowing the potato was almost right upon him, the tension of the moment breathing upon his neck, Roger knowing that if he broke stride for even a moment the potato would descend upon him and it would all be over. He turned the corner and leapt up the first few steps of the stairs but lost his footing and slipped, his head slamming upon the steps, opening a gash along the side of his left eye, both his knees bloodying from the collision with the stairs. But Roger knew he couldn’t give up, he had to keep fighting forward to make his escape. So he gritted his teeth and propelled himself forward to evade what would be certain death. But as he re-engaged his ascent of the stairs he felt something latch onto him, just his clothing but the grip was tight. Was the potato already upon him? What was he to do? Roger instantly swung his legs around in a violent thrashing, twisting, spinning fury and when he did so, he heard a loud crashing sound behind him. Was he actually able to topple the potato? There was no time to look behind him and see the results of his desperate motion. What was clear was that it had provided him with the necessary time to create distance from his pursuer and so with determination

Roger again picked himself up to continue his ascent of the stairs. He knew he didn't have a moment to lose so he threw himself forward into a rapid stride but collided with one of the walls along the staircase, knocking him to the steps but he knew he couldn't break stride, so, up the staircase he then bounded on all fours, ascending in much the same manner as a toddler would. Bur he was propelled by fear not curiosity, so, oddly, the process was much more clumsily carried out than as performed by those who were just performing their first movements on the earth, and with each step conquered, he was forced to endure the crash of his knees and hands slamming into the wooden step with a jarring thud. But as he looked ahead, before him, he could see he was almost at the top, just a little more. And then, he had reached it, and he stood and quickly dashed to his left to get to his bedroom, close the door and hopefully figure out what to do from there. But, unfortunately for Roger, the repeated collisions with the steps left his legs weakened and deadened and when he tried to stand they quivered and gave out, sending him slamming to the ground, face first with a severe impact onto the floor, his teeth clenching together so viciously he could sense the smell of smoke when they connected with each other. But, even more unfortunately for Roger, when making his climb up the stairs in the manner of an infant explorer, he was doing something else those young adventurers were often apt to do. He had his tongue out...

Roger opened his eyes and raised his body to his knees. Had he been unconscious? Inside his mouth he felt a screaming pain as it was continuously filled with blood that he swallowed in a steady stream. And the stream just kept flowing and flowing.

"Hey there Roger, how's your day going? Me, I sure can tell you I've had better. I certainly have seen better days."

Roger looked down at the floor at where the voice was coming from. Upon the floor, at the top of the stairs there was a fish, who just lay there motionless except its gills pumping heavily, its eyes blinking rapidly.

"You know, how the hell did I wind up here? How exactly does a fish wind up stranded on the floor with absolutely nothing but solid land as far as the eye can see? I sure can't figure it out. I don't know, guess I must have swam into some vortex in the stream that doesn't confine itself to the laws of physics or space and time, causing some sort of shift in interdimensional object permanence re-appropriation or something. I don't know, just thinking out loud. The school I'm a member of, we are encouraged to approach intellectual conundrums with an open mind. Sorry if I'm boring you." theorized the fish.

Roger just sat there on his knees, looking down at the fish, which just lay there in silence, completely motionless except for the movement of its gills and the rapid blinking of his eyes. As Roger did so, staring down into the blinking eyes of the fish, he thought to himself, "I didn't think fish ever did or even physically could blink their eyes. O.k., this is a little weird."

"But what is it that you do when you find yourself in a situation there seems no way out of, a fight you cannot possibly win?" asked the blinking fish to Roger. "Do you just lay there and accept defeat? Do you just give up and let yourself die? What would you do Roger?" Roger didn't answer, he could only stare down at the fish, too entranced by what he was seeing. The fuckin fish was actually fuckin blinking, it was really freaking him out.

"Well, you know what Roger, I'm not going to give up. Damn it Roger, this fish is going to fight. Sure there is no available water for miles around, but damn it. I'm going to get to some body of water and swim my way to freedom. Now let's see here. I guess I just, and then." The fish began flopping wildly around on the floor, flipping over and flailing in all directions for about a minute until it stopped and just remained silent, motionless on the floor except for the movement of its gills and its rapid blinking. Then, again it spoke.

"Nope. That didn't work. Actually it failed miserably. Well then, I guess there really is nothing at all left for me to do but die. So, what are you going to do Roger?" With those words the fish's gills stopped moving and it was dead. Roger slowly extended his hand toward the fish and gently closed its eyelids.

He stared down at the fish and solemnly shook his head. Then the expression on his face turned to one of pure panic as he quickly darted his gaze around in all directions. 'My God, how long did I spend listening to the words of the blinking fish?' He wondered to himself, 'My God, the eight foot tall homicidal potato here to kill me has to be right behind me and patiently waiting with a sadistic sneer.' then sounded within his mind as he lurched around to stare back down the stairs he had climbed.

When he did so he saw there was no eight foot tall homicidal potato standing there and waiting to kill him. There was instead...nothing. Just the staircase he had climbed, surrounded by the walls on its sides. He shook his head with confusion. There was also, as he scanned the area before him, the railing along the right hand wall, an extremely heavy fixture, uncommon so far as these things usually go, that had somehow become dislodged from the wall, a railing such as that when separated from the wall and striking the wooden stairs certainly would make quite the thunderous noise, a noise that might very well simulate the noise that, say, an eight foot tall homicidal potato would make if toppled to the ground by a chaotically violent swirling kick. And, as Roger looked closer at it he could see a section of cloth that appeared quite similar to the shorts he was wearing, then he looked down at his shorts, and yes, coincidentally, there did happen to be a section of his shorts that was missing, but somehow the section of his shorts was snagged upon the banister.

'Weird' thought Roger to himself. Though even stranger to Roger was that the eight foot tall homicidal potato was nowhere to be seen, that who's only essence is the pursuit of his prey and the thrill of the kill was nowhere to be found. 'Why the hell didn't the eight foot tall homicidal potato cooking spices in my kitchen follow me up the stairs to kill me?' Roger wondered to himself. 'This doesn't make any sense at all.'

He then spoke out loud. "What could possibly be going on here?", asked as further self-commentary. He then spit out a mouth full of blood, having grown tired of the charms of just washing it down his throat. He then just stared ahead with a peculiar look, shaking his head with confusion. 'This really didn't make any sort of sense at all.' There then came the sound of a voice from downstairs.

"You know, after you so rudely left, I just figured I would make myself something to eat. Had some of that pasta dish with eggplant in it. And man let me tell you, it was good, I mean better than good, it was great! The way it had the two kinds of peppers, the red and the green, loved that, absolutely loved that. Man, do I love peppers. You know, I really don’t hold it against you that you spilled my spices, it didn't need them, it was truly delicious. And the bread, where did you get that bread by the way? Gotta get me some of that bread. Now I know what you may be thinking, a carb eating a carb, then eating another carb, sort of carbabalistic, but you know what, fuck carbs. Oh, my name is Atkins by the way. Anyway, done eating, so I guess now I'll just come upstairs to kill you Roger."

Roger stared ahead with terror. In a moment the image of the eight foot tall homicidal potato, flashing a wicked smile, and carrying a butcher knife, appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

Cheh, cheh, cheh, huh, huh, huh. Cheh, cheh, cheh, huh, huh, huh...

To this, Roger responded, "Look, really, how many times do I have to tell you to not call me anymore? And trust me, now is really not a good time. And please stop stealing other people's cell phones to call me so that I won't recognize the number will you. And repeatedly mimicking that sound from the Friday the 13th movies, look sorry to have to tell you this, but you're not even very good at it. Look, I'm going now, goodbye."

Oh, probably should have mentioned, at exactly the moment the eight foot tall homicidal potato appeared at the bottom of the stairs, Roger's cell phone rang, and he answered it, because, you know, it could have been an important call, but it was instead, well, you can probably figure that one out.

But, back to the potato...

Roger put his cell phone back into his pocket. The potato began slowly stalking its way up the stairs, an evil smile on its face, dragging the blade of the knife along the wall as it did. Roger turned to his right, to the three steps leading to the hallway that led to his bedroom. With one fell swoop, he flew up all three steps but, unfortunately for Roger, it was an ill fated flight as he stumbled and crashed to the floor, his, o.k., this is admittedly somewhat ironic, his groin landing directly on a can of burn soothing spray that was in a bag he had not yet put away, the spray bought to provide relief for a burn he sustained on his groin when he, nothing sexual whatsoever to do with it please note, dropped a hot french bread pizza on it. What Roger was doing, eating a french bread pizza while naked, o.k., that would indeed be a legitimate question.

With his testacles now in his stomach, Roger picked himself up off the floor and hobbled as quickly as he could toward his bedroom. But he knew with his pace reduced, the potato could overtake him at any moment. He saw the open doorway of his bedroom, it was so close yet so far away and he desperately wanted only to make it through and slam the door shut, to rest for however long within the solace of his temporary freedom and figure out what to do from there. There were only a few steps remaining but he knew he could be brought down before traversing them so with all his energy and a torrent of fear propelling him he dove forward towards the doorway.

But, unfortunately for Roger, the distance of the dive was somewhat misjudged and he landed on the ground, halfway in the room, halfway in the hall. Though even more unfortunately for Roger, his stomach landed directly on a protruding nail from a floorboard he had been meaning for weeks to hammer down before it became a problem. He never actually did this. The protruding nail from the floorboard was now currently piercing and gouging his stomach, as blood from his stomach flowed onto the floor, or if you think about it, technically it could be blood from his mouth that had made its way to his stomach, hmm, really no need to debate ownership or origin of the blood, it belonged to the floor now.

But...back to the potato.

Roger lay there on the floor, knowing that in his attempts to speed his escape he had instead only wasted precious seconds and that lying on his stomach with a nail currently piercing his stomach was not exactly the stance he wanted to be in when the potato, 'My God, it has to be right behind me!', finally caught up to him. So he forced himself from the ground, stumbled into the room, slammed the door shut, turned the lock, then just stood there with his back against it, sighing then panting heavily.

He couldn't believe it.

He had actually made it.

Somehow, defying the unquestionable reality of the situation, he had managed to escape the clutches of the eight foot tall homicidal potato.

He wouldn't have thought that was possible. But he had. He had made it. He was safe.

Or?...

As Roger stood there with his back pressed against the door, his mind was racing, he thinking to himself, "What, are you crazy? Have you gone completely insane? You are standing with your back against your door to protect yourself from an eight foot tall homicidal potato. Give me a break man, they ought to haul your ass off to the loony bin. Wake up man. Come to your fuckin senses. I mean, this is reality talking here, there is absolutely no possible chance in hell there is an eight foot tall potato out there you've protected yourself from by closing your bedroom door, because come on man, reality, there is no possible way it isn't just going to break right through it, shattering it like it's a tooth pick, you as well. You're actually in the most dangerous place you could possibly be. So what to do? What to do?...Just get as far away from the door as you can...Just run away from the door and dive and do it as quickly as you can...So come on, now, do it...Go!"

With this Roger quickly ran away from the door and...

What a douche.

He ran as fast as he could and leapt as far as he could to escape the crashing, splintering of the wood and thus was engaged another flight for Air Roger and...

You know, they really might want to consider shutting down the airline because it's safety record is absolutely dismal, but Roger leapt across the room, landed on the bed, but bounced off, crashed head first into the wall, then crashed down into the nightstand and fell to the floor. And don't even think about any sort of deal for a line of Air Rogers, because, unfortunately for Roger, when he sat up after hitting the ground he also threw up on his shoes. But, even more unfortunately for Roger, when he crashed into the nightstand, he shattered a glass upon it, and when he hit the ground a large jagged piece from it was driven into the left side of his chest, directly above his heart.

Roger just sat there on the floor, looking down at the new wound on his chest. There was an awful lot of blood.

He glanced over at the wall then pulled himself along the floor and just sat there with his back against the wall.

He looked down again at the wound on his chest. There really was an awful lot of blood.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, took one out, lit it, and took a deep drag.

Why not, one last cigarette for he about to die.

He looked down again at the wound on his chest.

The wound went very deep.

He took another long drag.

He let out a long, hacking cough.

The source of the cough? The lethal wound through his chest maybe? Maybe the act of trying to smoke without a tongue. Possibly just the wear and tear of a life long smoker about to die. Hey, take your pick, and when you got down to it, what difference could it possibly make?

Roger let out another grinding, hacking cough, even more violent and lasting longer than the one before. The end could come at any moment.

But, for any who might want to know the source of the cough. Well, it really wasn't for any of those reasons mentioned...

You see, Roger didn't actually smoke. This was actually the first one he had ever had. The pack was only in his pocket because when they were living together in the house he had taken it away from her and he had just never remembered to take it out of the pocket of the shorts he was wearing and hadn't washed them since. You see, she really did have a problem with smoking and Roger was just trying to help get her to stop. You see, when she was living in the house, she would walk around the neighborhood, and whenever she saw preschool children playing in their yards, she would go up to them and give them cigarettes, telling them it was candy, saying "But it's candy that you light with a match, so it's really cool candy!" She would then burst into her song and dance, singing "Who is the best woman in this world. It's the Candywoman! She gonna give you candy, and you'll be eating that candy more and more, every day, all your life, until you die, which the candy woman hopes will be much sooner because of the candy the Candywoman is giving you, you little fuckin, miserable shits...Huh, what's that? Don't think I don't see that look. Don't think I don't know. I see the way you strut around, the way you shake your ass and act all flirty when you're anywhere near my boyfriend. Yeah, I know you want him but he's mine you little bitch! You better not be fucking him because if you are I will kick your little ass bitch! Roger, why won't you have a baby with me? You really don't care about me at all. Oh why? Kill, kill, kill, die, die, die Roger! Hey, why you little brats running away crying and screaming. The Candywoman orders you to come back here now so the Candywoman can kill you, you little fuckin monsters. Oh why Roger, just have my baby Roger, please. I love you Roger?"...

'You know, we may have had our differences and things obviously didn't work out for us, so one could easily think I wouldn't care at all what happened to her. But God, I sure do hope she can one day stop and bring an end to her smoking problem.' thought Roger to himself, his final thoughts within a darkening box whose walls were closing ever inwards until there was only darkness and the box itself was no more...

Of course, should point out, for the record, she has, as of yet been unable to quit because that episode just detailed occurred yesterday, during her frequent times of trolling the neighborhood for any sight of Roger when she realized he wasn't in the house.

Oh, but, back, to the box...

The box had disappeared...

The box was gone...

There was a brilliant flash of light, then a drawn out sounding of a harp that led into a glorious, harmonic chorus of voices singing hymns. Roger opened his eyes and all around him was darkness He looked down at where his body used to be, and it still was there, though it was illuminated by a peaceful, other-worldly glow. It was a magnificent light and it illuminated his steps as he began slowly walking through the darkness. 'Where am I?' wondered Roger to himself. "Could this be, could this be heaven?" he wondered out loud. Roger just wandered then through the darkness, he the only light within it.

It was an amazing feeling. He felt an inner peace he had never before known when he was alive. It was a divine sense of euphoria he never before would have dreamed was possible. And all his physical pains he had sustained in trying to make his escape from the potato, all of them were just gone. And he could talk, not the phonetic, garbled word salad of trying to do so without a tongue, but clear, intelligible words.

"Could this actually, really be heaven?" Roger asked out loud.

Thing of it was, when alive, Roger had never actually believed in God or followed any religion at all. He was an unapologetic Atheist. He found the idea of faith or any sort of higher power to be an impossibility on the earth, life and all things being what they were. But still, that being so, still, here he was. In his attempted escape from the potato he had perished, but when next opening his eyes, here he was, in heaven. He couldn't believe it. And the sensations coursing through his body, and the wonderful thoughts within his head made it by far the greatest feeling he had ever felt. And so on through the darkness he just continued to walk, feeling as he did that he truly was in a better place, never wanting to leave.

After walking for a while, he spotted a bright, glorious light up ahead, and as he got closer he could make out an elaborate throne with a figure sitting upon it. The figure upon it wore a long flowing robe, had shoulder length hair and a goatee and wore a beaming smile. Roger walked up to the figure and just stood before him. At which point the figure held his arms out and began speaking. "Hello Roger, welcome. I am so glad you are here. It was your time. You truly are in a better place now. Do not worry or trouble your soul about anything for there truly is nothing to worry about here. And if you ever have even the slightest flicker of a concern about anything, please, take to heart these words I will now sing to you." The figure on the throne then began singing. "I am going to heal you, lift you up and help you up, fill your blood, drink from my cup, you're in the kingdom above the skies." The figure just sat there. Smiling welcomingly at Roger.

Roger looked back up at the figure and spoke, feeling awe struck, "So, you're God."

The figure replied, "I'm sorry child, couldn't quite understand you. Please, speak again."

Roger stumbled, trying to come up with the right words to say. "I was just saying, just, you know, sort of blown away, realizing that you are actually God."

"God who?" the man on the throne asked.

"Um, God, you." Roger replied, thinking the answer was, of course, obvious.

The figure on the throne looked at Roger with a perplexed look, "Sorry, you're sort of confusing me here."

Roger tried to clarify, but in doing so he found himself wishing someone could clarify for him. "I'm just saying that, you, you know, um, aren't you yourself God, or are you just a subordinate or something?"

"Yes, again, I apologize but you really have me at a loss. Who again is this God you keep referring to?" the figure on the throne asked.

Roger looked at the figure with consternation. "Wait, so then you're not God you're saying?"

"No, sorry for the confusion." the figure on the throne answered.

"Um, and your saying you're not a worker for God, an angel or something?" Roger enquired, still not understanding.

"Sorry, no. You must have me confused with someone else. I've never heard of or ever met this God person." the figure on the throne declared.

"Um, who are you then?" Roger asked.

"An alien." the figure on the throne answered straightforwardly.

"An alien?" responded Roger with disbelief.

"Yes, who else could you have thought I was. Oh, yeah, wait, sorry, I forgot, this God person. Maybe I'll meet him someday." said the alien.

Trying to comprehend the situation, Roger pressed, "But, but, but, in your song you said you're in the kingdom above the skies, that would seem an obvious reference to me being in heaven."

"No, it's a reference to you being on the planet Quaglarzar. "Kingdom above the skies" is the marketing slogan, pretty catchy isn't it?" announced the alien.

Appearing somewhat flummoxed, Roger stammered, "But wait, no wait. You also said it was my time. That's, that's a textbook saying that God has decided it's your time to go, you know."

"Well it was your time to go, your time to go to Quaglarzar. You see, we have allotted time slots for when each member of your planet is scheduled to be teleported to Quaglarzar, pin pointed to the second." the alien explained.

"And so, what, my time, pinpointed to the second just so happened to be as I lay there dying while trying to escape an eight foot tall homicidal potato?" Roger questioned, incredulously.

"Well, if you say so, you see we really don't concern ourselves with whatever events might be transpiring at the chosen moment, it's all laid out quite a while in advance. So if you're saying your time to go to Quaglarzar happened to come at the moment you lay dying while trying to escape an eight foot tall homicidal potato then that would just be the peculiar timing of coincidence. Though, still not clear what that would have to do with this God person you kept referring to earlier. Should maybe look into that." The alien's face took on a somewhat concerned look. "Though, if I might be so bold as to say so. This thing you are saying about being chased by an eight foot tall homicidal potato, you do have to admit the idea of that being real is a little odd. Are you entirely certain that was what was actually happening?"

Roger appeared even more discombobulated. "Wait, o.k., look, no, o.k., look, you also said I was in a better place. At least they're in a better place or they're going to a better place, those are things religious people always say about someone who is dying or dead. Do you deny that you spoke the words, "You're in a better place?".

The alien stared at Roger with a look suggesting Roger really should know the answer. "Roger, give me a break, you live in Detroit. The place is a fuckin shithole."

"But, but, wait, you also said "Drink from my cup". Drink from God's cup, That's like one of the most, I mean, completely religiously infused phrases there is." Roger pointed out, thinking he had made an inarguable point.

"May well be, can't attest to that, but Roger, you do realize that I never said drink from God's cup, I said drink from my cup. And by my cup I was referring to the cup of Quaglarzar which I, as a representative of the Quaglarzar government council am instructed to offer a drink from to all earthlings we teleport from earth so that we can put them to work in our slave mines while, in their spare time, using them as our test subjects as experiments for our biological weapons we plan to employ in our eons long battle with the planet of Withzuglugular so that we might wipe their existence entirely from the face of the universe. So come on now Roger, as I said, drink from my cup. Come on, you can trust me, this will be very good for you I promise, believe me." The alien reached out toward Roger with a cup in its hand, filled with some liquid.

"I aint drinking from your fuckin cup dude. I mean who the hell would actually drink from your fuckin cup after you declared in no uncertain terms what drinking from the cup would cause for them?" Roger asked contentiously.

"Um, mostly Donald Trump supporters actually. So come on, you're feeling thirsty aren't you? Go ahead, have a drink." The alien again extended the cup to Roger.

"I'm not drinking from your fuckin cup, motherfucker!" was Roger's curt refusal.

"Well then, I'm afraid your time on Quaglarzar is at its end. You will be teleported back to earth in just a few moments. Until then, some music for the road. Goodbye then, pleasure meeting you Roger. With that the government representative from Quaglarzar vanished in a poof of smoke. Immediately after, six mariachi singers holding guitars, dressed in traditional, old fashioned mariachi attire sprang up from the ground, three a piece to either side of the smoke still hanging in the air.

The mariachi performers began singing while strumming on their guitars. "Desperado, why don’t you come to your senses. You've been out pissing on fences, since before you were born." They all then started rapidly strumming their acoustic guitars, signaling a song change. Again they started singing, slowly strumming their guitars. "So long little pilgrim. It's that time again. So long little pilgrim. We'll see you again." The mariachi singers then let their guitars drop to their sides and waved to Roger, "Adios amigo."...

At that moment a trap door opened up beneath Roger, him falling through into a twisting maelstrom of flashing light and disconnected sounds, then into utter darkness and there he remained for a period of time which there was no way to measure, long or short, and then...He felt his eyes blinking, and then, he opened them fully, and then, he saw that he was sitting on the floor of his bedroom, his back leaning against the wall. He looked about the room, clarity coming into focus. He looked down at this body. There was a large pool of blood beneath him on the floor. At first, when just opening his eyes, there was only silence, but the silence slowly lifted, giving way to loud mariachi music sounding from downstairs. There then came a loud voice shouting from downstairs, "Arriba, arriba, andale, andale! Tito Santana. Would you say I have a plethora of pinatas? Si, si, indeed you have a plethora of pinatas, el potato guapo!" It was the voice of the eight foot tall homicidal potato, there could be no mistaking it. Even though it was the voice of the eight foot tall homicidal potato, mimicking an extremely bad Mexican ascent. Roger looked around the room again, then again looked down at his still bleeding body. He was still in his bedroom, which would mean he hadn't died in his attempted escape from the potato. And the potato was still within the house, and he was still alive. But then, what of that brief time he had spent in heaven, um, rather, that brief time he had spent on the planet of Quaglarzar before his body was pulled back to earth. How to explain that?

The voice sounded again from downstairs, rousingly and joyously. "Amigos, let us again sing the chorus of the song! But potato guapo, why not sing the entire song? You do not argue with potato guapo, only the chorus, so andale, andale, El Matador, Razor Ramon, mucho rapido! Si potato Guapo! Now then let us sing la pelicula!" The potato then started singing, um, the potato really was a lousy singer so it might want to consider singing lessons, and, second point, taking Spanish lessons as well. Anyway, el canto. "I am going to kill you, slice you up and dice you up, spill your blood, drink from the cup...Give me a burger and hold the fries!" There was then the sound of celebratory shouting as the potato repeatedly fired off a handgun into the ceiling.

'Oh that's just perfect.' thought Roger to himself. 'The eight foot tall homicidal potato who is here to kill me and is downstairs singing to itself and speaking Spanish, actually has a fuckin gun now. Could this day possibly get any worse?'

Roger just sat there, within the burning cradle of hopelessness and despair. There seemed no reason to go on, no point in fighting, no reason to try. As he sat there he lamented that he hadn't actually drank from the cup of the government representative from the planet of Quaglarzar and then been forced into servitude in the slave mines while simultaneously having medical experiments performed on him so they could totally annihilate the planet of Withzuglugular with biological weapons. At least there was the glimmer of a possibility he could somehow emerge triumphant within that situation. Here, it was a completely different story. I mean, come on, he had to figure out some way to make it past an eight foot tall homicidal potato and escape from his house. It was an impossible situation, there wasn't anything Roger could think of that he could possibly do. The situation was hopeless, utterly, utterly hopeless.

Even trying to think of a solution, Roger felt himself drowning beneath a sea of distress, and he just wanted everything gone, to be done with it all, to be free, for it all to be over. His eyes were slowly closing again as he spoke out loud, his voice but a murmur, "Hello, fair land of Quaglarzar. Your wayward son is coming home. I was never meant for this world here. Good night. May the masters of Quaglarzar, from my dear sweet home, rest in peace, and may the angels sleep with the sparrows. Farewell...Roger...is gone. There will be no more tomarrows." Roger's eyes fully closed, his head then slumped down upon his chest...

Um, why don't you just jump out the window dude? I mean, it's not like you live on the 53rd floor of some high rise tower. You're just on the second floor of a modest sized house. Really, dude, just jump out the fuckin window.

'Um,' Roger started thinking in his mind, his eyes opening, him lifting his head 'I do have to admit, there is a logic and a bit of sense to that.' He nodded his head with relief, thinking inside as he did, 'It really is a rather short drop to the ground, what's the worst that could happen to me, a sprained ankle? Whereas, if I was to try and actually get past the potato and out the door, the only possible result is certain death.' He nodded his head more emphatically then spoke out loud. "Very well then, I now know what I have to do. I have my answer. I see the solution. And the answer has been staring me in the face all along. So I just have to sneak up behind the potato with a chair and hit it with it."

What? No. Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you? What the hell is this perverse infatuation you have with hitting potatoes with chairs? What the hell is the matter with you, you douche?

Roger nodded his head and stood up from the ground with absolute purpose and determination brushing aside his various physical ailments. He grabbed a light plastic chair from within his room and made his way to the door of the bedroom, opened it, and stalked out into the hallway. "You're going to feel what it's like to be au gratin. Because your day is about to get a whole lot more rotten. You're so going down, because you're about to do battle with the prince of hash brown town. Come on baby, it's showtime."

Um...Oh you fuckin douche.

Um, and Roger's last comments, yes, that is what he said, but that was in no way what it sounded like what he said, because, kindly keep in mind, he has no tongue now. I just didn't feel like phonetically sounding out what it sounded like because though an unintelligible mess, the actual words are what really highlight just how much of a douche he indeed was.

Anyway...

Back, to the douche with a plastic chair, heading down the stairs to hit the eight foot tall homicidal potato with it...

Roger couldn't believe how different he felt on his descent of the steps versus the blinding fear he had felt during his pyrhic climb of them not that long ago. He nodded his head with a steely, forceful determination. His eyes were clear now. There were no more questions skewering him from within. He knew what he was going to do. He was going to sneak up behind the eight foot tall homicidal potato and hit it with a plastic chair, "They say, to the victor go the spoils, well that's what I'm going to be, the victor in this epic struggle, and you, my adversary, are going to be the spoils. So sorry to have to spoil your day Mr. Potato, but you're about to be one very spoiled potato. You know, like, those times when you leave potatoes in a closet for too long and they start growing those things out of them, I don't remember what those things are called, actually what are those things called? Doesn't matter, because that's going to be you." Roger nodded his head with even more confidence and determination.

You know, I'm not even going to bother commenting at this point...

Roger reached the bottom of the steps and stopped to come up with the specifics of his battle strategy. Immediately, he knew what his course of action would be. What was called for here was a truly surprise attack. So he decided he would turn the corner from the stairs and wildly rush into the kitchen and whack the potato with the plastic chair.

The time had come...

It was the moment of truth...

Roger counted down out loud...

"3...2...1...Show time." Roger took a deep breath then raced around the corner toward the kitchen, the chair raised before him, Roger screaming "Buoyzuy!" As he did, look, who cares, he was trying to say the word "Banzai" by the way, but it didn't sound remotely like it, do you actually think there was a chance in hell this was going to work?

But...back, to the douche with the plastic chair...

Roger frantically raced toward the open kitchen doors, wildly shouting, but he crashed face first into something solid, knocking him to the floor. He lay there on the floor and shook his head, slightly dazed by the collision. He then looked up before him to see what had blocked his path. And what he saw were two closed, shutter like doors blocking the entrance to the kitchen. He then heard behind him, heavy footsteps slowly approaching, he turned his head and saw the looming gigantic figure of the eight foot tall homicidal potato, smiling wickedly and holding the butcher knife in its hand.

Roger just sighed and shook his head dejectedly. He knew it was all over now. There was nothing left for him to do. In the end, he would not be the one to be triumphant, the potato had won. Roger looked up at the potato and spoke what would be his final words, "You truly were a formidable adversary. I thought I had you beat but you certainly had a few unexpected moves up your sleeve in the chess game of our battle of wits. I only ask one thing of you, something I full heartedly believe a warrior of your stature would extend to a foe he has felled upon the battlefield who freely admits he was defeated by one who was superior to himself. So, out of honor, I ask you, just make it quick will you?"

The potato looked down at Roger and nodded with the respect that one would deliver on the field of battle to a worthy, defeated combatant.

"Very well then" Roger nodded his head resignedly. "Get on with it then"

The potato raised the knife into the air and began to swing down, but there was then the sound of the door leading outside opening in the kitchen and a woman's voice could be heard, calling out from within the kitchen, "No, I got this." The potato stopped the motion of driving the butcher knife down toward Roger to kill him.

Roger looked ahead at the closed shutter like doors with a foreboding look and spoke dejectedly. "Oh shit. This day is about to get a hell of a lot worse."

The shutter like doors then slowly opened, a blinding light from the kitchen spilling from it into the living room. Sure enough, it was her, his ex-girlfriend, Joanie. She stood there, holding a butcher knife, very overdone mascara on her face to simulate tears, she had blood dripping from her mouth, and was wearing a long flowing black wedding gown. She cackled wildly then spoke. "What's the matter Roger my dear, you don't seem happy to see me. Don't you love your pooky dookums any more. What, are you surprised to see me, well, surprise, here's Joanie! Oh you make me so sad, so sad, I'm...Going to kill you my dearest! Ha, ha, ha, ha!" She then wildly and chaotically laughed with a shrieking, shrill voice while the eight foot tall, homicidal potato started laughing boisterously behind Roger. Then Roger could see three dwarf clowns go running behind Joanie in the kitchen and out the still open door of the house while a bright red elephant came slowly stepping in through the door wearing a tiara of leaves, making its way behind Joanie to the other side of the kitchen while a gaggle of green baby geese waddled behind her and out the door, and five bears riding unicycles and juggling flaming knives entered from outside and circled around the kitchen in a figure eight pattern while, behind her, Elmo from Sesame Street and Gonzo from the Muppets popped out of the toaster and joyfully began bobbing their heads in unison from side to side as Santa Claus, who had apparently been within the oven, pushed open the oven door and started waving like a robotic mannequin store display, repeating "Ho, ho, ho." Over and over. And throughout all of this, joining in Santa's soundtrack to the scene playing out was Joanie's and the potato's wild bellowing laughter.

Roger just stared ahead at the scene before him and shook his head, a completely aghast look on his face, then he spoke, "Jesus Christ, what am I, trapped in a fuckin bad acid trip?" Roger then felt himself growing faint, the picture started to swirl before him, and then everything went dark...

Roger opened his eyes and stared up into the darkness. He was shivering and covered by a cold sweat. He was on his bed. He quickly turned to his side, to the night stand, and turned on his lamp, he placed his legs over the side of the bed and just sat, breathing heavily. A hand touched his head and began stroking his hair. A woman's voice could then be heard, talking soothingly. "What is it my dearest, what's wrong?"

Roger turned to Joanie. "Oh, hi, wow, I just had the craziest, most bizarre dream I've ever had. It was, it was just, so help me I can't even begin to explain it. It was terrifying and, and, just absolutely crazy, completely insane."

Joanie stroked his hair even more vigorously then spoke, but when she did, her face had this detached, distant look and the words were mistimed with the movement of her lips and the words came out sounding monotone, empty and hollow, "Don't worry my dearest... It was all...just...a dream..."

At that moment Roger looked ahead and saw, rising from the floor to stand upright, the eight foot tall homicidal potato, holding a butcher knife, a sinister smile on its face, it began chuckling wickedly. Roger turned to Joanie who also had a wicked smile on her face as she pulled a butcher knife from beneath the covers, herself starting a wicked chuckle. Roger turned and looked at the potato again then back at Joanie then at the potato, then back at Joanie as the two of them continued wickedly snickering, the sound of it growing louder and more pronounced. Roger looked back at the potato then turned and stared directly at Joanie as she stared at him with maniacal eyes chanting "Kill, kill, kill, die, die, die Roger. Kill, kill, kill, die, die, die Roger!"

Roger spoke, "O.k., what the fuck are you even doing here? I have a restraining order out on you, you know?"

It was the potato though who responded to the question, "Yeah, but you don't have a restraining order out on me." The potato and Joanie then looked at each other, both of them erupting in wild laughter, Joanie screeching, the potato laughing boisterously, both of them gesticulating wildly, jerkingly as they laughed.

Roger looked back and forth at them repeatedly then spoke, "Fuh dis shih. I'm owa here. I'm sewwing da fuhhing hows. Jehus Crus I nee a guh rehhy fuhhin druh." Roger got up from the bed and put on his shoes then exited the room and made his way down the stairs, the sound of Joanie and the potato's wild laughter raging away as he did. He walked through the kitchen, opened the door to his house, stepped outside and closed it behind him.

The End

                                Dog Years Within the Curse of 7. Seven Plays

                                                               By

                                            Xavier Cockroachal Damon

visit my website at: http://www.wastelandvoid.wix.com/xaviercockroachal

Off With the Head

Dung

Dung-ACT II

Suicide Fanatics

The Amnesiac

THE UNWELCOME VISITORS

Memories of Tomorrow

Just One of Those Days

Just One of Those Days-(Scenes 11-22)

                                                   Off With the Head

                                          by Xavier Cockroachal Damon

Original performances were directed by Melissa Maney

Cast of Characters:

THE KING

THE ADVISOR

GUARDS 1-12

THE PROSTITUTE

THE JESTER

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT

THE ADVISOR 2

Setting: (The throne room of a castle. Distant past)

At Rise: (THE KING sits upon the throne, wearing a king’s robe and crown and has a somewhat agitated, restless look. THE ADVISOR enters.)

THE ADVISOR: My king, how might you be doing this day?

THE KING: I am doing as I am doing and will be doing how I am doing regardless of what I am doing for I can only be doing how I am doing when I am doing what it is that I am doing and that is exactly how I am doing. And I would caution you to, in the future, think long and hard about whether you truly do wish to ask me the question of how it is that I am doing when it is entirely possible that how I am doing is a state where I will not take kindly to being asked how I am doing.

THE ADVISOR: My king, please forgive me, I assure you I meant no harm or insolence whatsoever. You have my most sincere, heartfelt apology.

THE KING: Very well then, I accept your apology, just use it as a learning experience for the future.

THE ADVISOR: Absolutely my king. You can rest assured I have indeed learned my lesson as I will continue to dutifully and humbly serve the crown.

THE KING: Very well then. (pause) Guards, off with his head!

(GUARDS 1 AND 2 enter.)

THE ADVISOR: But my king, my king I told you, I have learned my lesson, believe me I have.

THE KING: Yeah, well you didn’t learn it fast enough. Guards take him away.

GUARDS 1 AND 2: Yes, my king

(GUARDS 1 AND 2 lead THE ADVISOR away)

THE KING: (THE KING just sits there, fidgety, looking around with a more agitated look.) I’m bored. Guards, come back in here.

(GUARDS 1 AND 2 enter)

GUARDS 1 AND 2: Yes my king.

THE KING: The two of you, I don’t know, get into a, get into a fight or something and one of you kill the other one or something.

GUARD 1: But King, that’s my son, he’s my little boy.

THE KING: Did I freakin ask for a genealogy history of the both of you? No, I asked you to duel to the death with your swords, and that is an order so the both of you follow it or I’ll have you both put to death. So hurry up, get on with it.

GUARD 2: But dad, I don’t want to.

GUARD 1: Son, we don’t have a choice. It be the king’s decree. So come on son, give it your best, and just remember everything I taught you about sword fighting.

GUARD 2: O.k. dad, if you say so. (A furious sword duel ensues. It ends when the son fatally fells his father with his sword. The father dropping to the ground, the son dropping to the ground and cradling him, holding his dying father in his arms.) No, dad!

GUARD 1: It’s o.k. son, you didn’t have a choice.

GUARD 2: But, but, please, you can’t die, I love you dad.

GUARD 1: It’s o.k. my son, I’m just glad it was me and not you. I had to go some time. It’s how it was meant to be.

GUARD 2: But this can’t be happening, I won’t let you die!

GUARD 1: Son, there’s nothing you can do. It’s how the Gods wanted it. It was meant to be. Son, just do me a favor, take care of your mother, will you. And remember, no regrets, you did it, for the crown.

(The father dies. The son starts weeping hysterically.)

GUARD 2: No, dad.

(The son cries even more uncontrollably.)

THE KING: Oh come on, other guards!

(GUARDS 3 AND 4 enter.)

GUARDS 3 AND 4: Yes my king.

THE KING: Will you please take the sniveling, whining little brat out of here and chop off his head.

GUARDS 3 AND 4: At once my king.

(GUARD 2 is led away, crying, by GUARD 3 while GUARD 4 collects the dead body of GUARD 1 and carries it off the stage.)

THE KING: Give me a break. What a whiny little bitch. (THE KING just sits there, even more fidgety.) Well that really failed miserably. It was totally uninspiring. So what the hell am I going to do today? (THE KING just sits there, appearing more agitated.) Oh God, this being a king thing really isn’t easy, having to care for your kingdom, always having to be right. But what am I going to do today? (THE KING even more fidgety and restless looking) Guards!

(GUARDS 3 AND 4 enter.)

GUARDS 3 AND 4: Yes my king.

THE KING: Take yourselves to the execution chamber and have your heads chopped off.

GUARD 3: But, my king, if I might ask, what is it that we did?

THE KING: I’m sure you’ll do something at some point today so just have it done pre-emptively.

GUARD 3: As you command my king, we shall venture to the execution chamber at once.

GUARD 4: (to GUARD 3) But I don’t want to have my head chopped off.

GUARD 3: There’s really nothing that can be done about it, why it was the king himself who decreed it. So no more protestations, as your commanding officer I assure you that if you continue to do so, I’ll have your head chopped off.

GUARD 4: Very well then. My apologies. For the king is only on the throne but by the grace of God, and therefore the king’s words are the words of the divine which only exist to serve the crown. I will die for the king if I must so that the kingdom might prosper. For the crown!

GUARD 3: Yes, indeed. So come on, let’s be loyal soldiers and go follow our orders as the king instructed us to do.

(GUARDS 3 AND 4 exit. THE KING sits there, looking further agitated)

THE KING: O.k., enough of this, I absolutely have to come up with something here. I really need to think of something to do. Hmm, you know, I guess I could just summon the services of a prostitute. Hell, why not, something to do. Guards! Um, guards other than the other guards, um, other than the other guards as well. Um, guards who are not yet dead, in here at once.

(GUARDS 5 AND 6 enter.)

GUARDS 5 AND 6: Yes my king?

THE KING: Guards, get a prostitute from the courtyard and send her in, I wish her services.

GUARDS 5 AND 6: At once my king

(GUARDS 5 AND 6 exit, after a short while THE PROSTITUTE enters.)

THE KING: Why hello. I found myself sitting around trying to think of something to do and so I decided to call on your services.

THE PROSTITUTE: (with a very seductive tone) Oh, I see then king, you wanted something to do and figured you’d do me did ya? Well then king, let me say this. (voice turns very angry) That’s not the way it works king!

THE KING: Um, ah, wait, you know, you are a prostitute, that’s sort of in every way the way it is supposed to work.

THE PROSTITUTE: Want me to work, sure, why not, why shouldn’t I do all the work. By all means. (extremely mocking voice) Ooh sure king, whatever you want king, of course my king, my king, I’ll just do whatever you want my king, ooh sure king, why not king, seems fair king doesn’t it king. You know what king, piss off.

THE KING: Um, ah, again, ah, you are a prostitute you do realize.

THE PROSTITUTE: Piss off you bastard, I’ve got better things to do then sleep with the likes of you.

THE KING: Um, ah, on that point. You know, looking back at all the other times I paid for your services, I’m realizing you never actually provided any. I mean all the times when you would actually join me in my chambers, we never actually had sex or anything, you would just sit there, fixing your hair, or clipping your toe nails.

THE PROSTITUTE: Like I said, I got better things to do then sleep with the likes of you!

THE KING: Um, but, again, you’re a prostitute.

THE PROSTITUTE: Damn right I am, and where’s my money?

THE KING: Um, right here. (THE KING hands her the money) Um, look, could I at least get something out of this transaction?

THE PROSTITUTE: You can look at my ass as I walk out of the room. (THE PROSTITUTE starts walking away, then turns around and comes back.) That’s it, I want a tip.

THE KING: Um, what if I just don’t actually look at your ass?

THE PROSTITUTE: Too late, you already did, now where’s my tip?

THE KING: Um, here you go. (THE KING gives her the money. She turns and starts walking out again.) Um, bye.

THE PROSTITUTE: Piss off!

(THE PROSTITUTE exits.)

THE KING: O.k., that really didn’t go as I had hoped it would. (agitated pause) Goddamn, I have to find something to do with this day or it will be the death of me. But what? But what? Come on, think of something. What though, what? (THE KING just sits there, thinking.) I have it, comedy, could certainly do with a laugh after that last exchange. Why don’t I summon the court Jester for entertainment. Yes, yes. Guards!

(GUARDS 5 AND 6 enter.)

GUARDS 5 AND 6: Yes my king, what is it that you wish?

THE KING: Summon the court jester immediately.

GUARDS 5 AND 6: Absolutely my king.

(GUARDS 5 AND 6 exit, THE KING sits there waiting, tapping his knee.)

THE KING: Now this should actually be fun.

(GUARDS 5 AND 6 enter with THE JESTER.)

GUARDS 5 AND 6: My king, we have arrived with the court jester as you commanded.

THE KING: Yeah, but you took like two minutes to do so when I explicitly informed you I wanted the court jester here immediately.

GUARD 5: Um, but, my king, he wasn’t actually here and we had to go and get him and that we did immediately.

THE KING: Like I give a damn. I said immediately and he was in no way delivered here immediately. That’s it, I’ve had enough with both of you, off with both your heads.

GUARDS 5 AND 6: Indeed my king. For the crown!

(GUARDS 5 AND 6 exit. THE KING sits on his throne as THE JESTER stands before him.)

THE KING: So, jester, what is it that you can do for me, to, you know, to make this day not an entirely wasted piece of crap? Can you make me laugh? Could use a laugh.

THE JESTER: Why the jester can do what the jester does which is what the jester always does, and what he does is make all he encounters laugh, as he fills them with joy and happiness that will put a smile upon their face.

THE KING: Yeah, well, you see, not really big on the whole joy and happiness, smiling thing, so anything else you can do? You know, something to make me laugh but without the whole, smiling, being happy stuff?

THE JESTER: Why my king, how in your kingdom could you not smile and be happy, for clowns fill the streets from end to end and live beneath the stage.

THE KING: Yeah, o.k., time out, little problem with your logic, for if the clowns are beneath the stage you could hardly contend they are living for they would then be obviously already dead. So kindly tell me how a bunch of dead clowns, rotting beneath my feet could possibly in any way help me at all?

THE JESTER: Why a rotting clown beneath the ground, so then grows from the soil the gift of laughter.

THE KING: So what are you saying, a bunch of dead clowns are going to sprout up flowers that are literally laughing? For Christ’s sake, if that happened, I’d have them burned. Is that your answer to the problem?

THE JESTER: Fortune is a fleeting flower, always Jester’s final hour, death played out up on the stage, entertainment be thy name.

THE KING: Well, you know what, it is going to be Jester’s final hour if you don’t actually do something to entertain me and make me laugh you douche.

THE JESTER: How about I do a comical dance?

THE KING: Fine, whatever.

(THE JESTER starts dancing.)

THE KING: Are you kidding me? Do you honestly think that crap could even entertain a mentally handicapped three year old who is entertained by cobwebs and the word the?

THE JESTER: Jester holds the ace of spades, jester feels the cutting blades. Watch him die upon the stage. Watch him die but still all smile, pour upon the growing pile. Watch as laughter fills your ears, entertainment be thy name.

THE KING: Yeah, well apparently entertainment doesn’t be your name because this is about as entertaining as a conversation with a pile of plague infested dung. And so help me, I damn well will smile as I watch you die if you don’t do Goddamn something to actually entertain me and make me laugh. Jesus Christ, what am I paying you for?

THE JESTER: The jester is just here to advise his king, so that his heart it may sing, a smile to replace forever frown, in a kingdom seeming forever burning down, I am the jester, I am the clown. And I do it all, for the crown! I do it all for my king, so that his heart, it may sing.

THE KING: Yeah, well my heart is singing right now, and you want to know what the name of the song it’s singing is, it’s called “Guards get the hell in here and drag the jester off and cut his damn head off!”

(GUARDS 7 AND 8 enter.)

GUARDS 7 AND 8: Yes, my king, did you summon us.

THE KING: Yeah, I summoned you to drag the jester out of here and cut his damn head off.

GUARDS 7 AND 8: At once my king.

THE JESTER: Very well my king, I am only glad I was able to provide you with the entertainment you sought and that the jester can go to his final resting place, knowing he was able to fulfill his service to the crown. So I will depart with these words that I very much hope will allow you to better see to the custodianship of the kingdom. Sometimes when the shit starts to fall, it really starts to pile, so beware wading too deep into your own mess, or Gomer could be a goner and a loner in distress. So do not stab yourself through the heart with a red hot poker, instead listen to my words and laugh, the words of the joker. And so my king, always stay on top of your racket, I’m going to go blow out my brains now with a full metal jacket.

THE KING: O.k, that made the least freakin amount of sense of anything that any moron has ever spouted in the history of the world. Guards, after you cut his head off, cut it off again.

GUARDS 7 AND 8: Yes, my king.

THE KING: Now get out of my sight, you worthless, useless douche.

THE JESTER: (THE JESTER bows.) The jester is but here to please.

(GUARDS 7 AND 8 lead THE JESTER off.)

THE KING: So help me, that was the least funny court jester there has ever been. (THE KING just sits there thinking with much agitation.) Come on dude, come up with something to do this day. This day is not going well. (THE KING is thinking, appearing he may have an idea.) Maybe I should, I don’t know, maybe I should come up with a manifesto, a statement of rule for the kingdom, a plan from which to govern from. Yes, that would seem a productive use of my time and indeed the best use of it to ensure the smooth, effective jurisdiction of the kingdom. Now then, let’s commit my thoughts to paper. (pulls out paper and a quill pen and looks at it a moment then starts feverishly writing) Ah yes (writes) Very wise indeed (writes) Why, genius if I do say so myself. (writes) Almost done, just the finishing touches. (writes) And voila, it is done. Now then, I should really try it out on a smaller audience before delivering my proclamation to the entire kingdom. Guards!

(GUARDS 7 AND 8 enter)

GUARDS 7 AND 8: Yes my king?

THE KING: Kindly stand there and listen to the doctrine I have written concerning my ruling of the kingdom and the state of the union.

GUARDS 7 AND 8: Indeed my king.

THE KING: Now then (clears throat) I want to bathe in blood, my own. Messiah, martyr, my infant sea. Drown myself, staring up at nothing, through air too thick to breathe. I want to run in circles, to shake my sorry hand. I want to fall through caverns, to the empire of the damned. I want to burn in candles, melt my life away. Broken day and night, choking for a glimpse of sight, of something outside the eye. Reduce the night to cinders, the embers in my eye, reduce the screams to whispers, a silent bleeding cry. I will sit upon my throne tonight, and stare out upon my battlefield, and curse both sides, and turn away, and awake, into the day, and face another firing squad. Blind man to the chopping block. (pause) So tell me, what did you think?

GUARD 7: Why, genius my king, pure genius.

GUARD 8: Why a better, more well thought out plan for running a kingdom, never has there been.

GUARD 7: The way you captured the essence of the times, and how you put it into practice for the kingdom, the way it, you know.

GUARD 8: What it could do for the kingdom, for the people, for the, what it did.

GUARD 7: Why I stand here in awe my king.

GUARD 8: A more prudent and wise ruler, never has there been.

(pause)

THE KING: Alright, that’s it, the both of you, report to the execution chamber to have your heads chopped off.

GUARDS 7 AND 8: But my king, we, we, praised your plan with the finest words we know.

THE KING: Yeah, but you didn’t say them with feeling. So go on, get out of here, go to the execution chamber and have your heads chopped off.

GUARDS 7 AND 8: At once my king. For the crown!

(exit GUARDS 7 AND 8)

THE KING: Man, do the headaches never end around here? And I still have to figure out something to do today. But what? So help me, this day needs direction or it truly will be the death of me. But how to find that direction? (pause, THE KING thinking) Of course, why I should just consult with my God. Surely the God of the kingdom can provide me with the guidance as to what it is that I should do with this day. Yes, that is what I shall do indeed. (THE KING looks ahead.) God, I could really use your guidance and your assistance. So if you can hear me, please, oh divine one, reveal yourself to me. (After a pause the lights start to flicker, the flickering becomes more rapid and then the stage goes dark. After a time, the lights slowly return to full, and there is a large cloud of smoke on the stage, it dissipates to reveal, now standing on the stage, SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT.) Scumgor, God of the Broken Night, oh divine heart of the kingdom, you have come to counsel me!

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: That I have child, so worry not, all will be well, for Scumgor, God of the Broken Night is here to assist you.

THE KING: I’m so relieved, this day really was not going well, but now that you’re here, what could possibly go wrong?

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: Tell me, my king, how is it I might aid you.

THE KING: Well, you see, it’s just, well, I’m having troubles and could really use some guidance.

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: Absolutely my king, what exactly would be the nature of your troubles?

THE KING: Well, you see, I’m trying but really just can’t seem to, well, I can’t figure out what to do today.

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: I see, I see, indeed that is a problem. Tell me, have you tried having the heads chopped off of some of your guards?

THE KING: A bunch of them. To be perfectly honest, I’m not even sure if I have any guards left at this point. Wait, hold on a second. Guards!

(GUARDS 9 AND 10 enter.)

GUARDS 9 AND 10: Yes my king?

THE KING: Oh, yeah, fine, whatever, get the hell out of here.

GUARDS 9 AND 10: At once my king.

(exit GUARDS 9 AND 10)

THE KING: Wait, wait, come back here.

(GUARDS 9 AND 1O enter.)

GUARDS 9 AND 10: Yes my king?

THE KING: Go have your heads chopped off.

GUARDS 9 AND 10: At once my king. For the crown!

(exit GUARDS 9 AND 10)

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: Did that help?

THE KING: No, not even a little, what’s wrong with me?

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: I see, I see. You are in dire straits indeed. It’s a good thing you called me.

THE KING: Do you think you can help me?

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: Well I’m damn well going to try. Tell me something king, how would you say your rule is going?

THE KING: Not very well, actually. I don’t really know what I’m doing, and to be perfectly honest I don’t really like it.

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: I see.

THE KING: I mean, on the surface, you’d think it would be a pretty good job. Pay would be pretty good, flexible hours, be your own boss, but to tell you the truth, this job really sucks.

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: Hmm, go on.

THE KING: The thing of it is, I’m really not comfortable with the whole being in power thing. And I think that maybe there’s a possibility that I’m abusing my authority, maybe. I think there’s a possibility that could conceivably be said. And people may not realize this but I really don’t like doing that, it causes me a lot of anxiety.

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: Tell me, king, are you saying you are considering abdicating the throne, actually quitting being king to go find other work instead?

THE KING: I think maybe I am, but what other job do you think I should get if I did?

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: Well that depends of course on what you want to do, that’s the most important thing.

THE KING: Yeah, but that’s just it, I don’t really have any clue what I would want to do or what kind of job I would like.

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: Well, let’s brainstorm here, off the top of your head, tell me something you like.

THE KING: I like cows.

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: You could find something that involves cows, sure you could work with cows. Come on, something else.

THE KING: I really can’t think of anything else to tell you the truth.

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: Let me toss a few suggestions out there. You tell me what you think. How about working in the corner store?

THE KING: I don’t know, never done that before, maybe.

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: Tilling the fields?

THE KING: I don’t even, well, to be perfectly honest, really know what tilling actually is, but it would be outdoors so that might actually be nice.

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: Basket weaving?

THE KING: Um, I have no idea how to weave baskets.

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: Is it something you would like to learn?

THE KING: Um, I see absolutely no reason why I would possibly want to.

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: You know what, this is all unnecessary, you’ve already said something you would like doing, working with cows. So you just get some job working with cows, you already have your answer.

THE KING: Wait, Scumgor, does that mean you are counseling me that I should abdicate the throne?

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: You know, king, why I am absolutely certain that that would be a much better situation for you and you would be much happier and it is definitely what you should do. You can trust me on that. I am Scumgor, God of the Broken Night after all. It would definitely be the right choice.

THE KING: O.k, o.k then, you know, I think you’re right, then that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to quit being king and give up the throne.

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: And go work with cows.

THE KING: And go work with cows. Alright then, it’s official, I’m going to abdicate the throne and go work with cows. (sighs) Ah, I feel better already. You know, it’s a lot of pressure being king.

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: Not much pressure working with cows.

THE KING: No, I don’t imagine there would be. So that’s what I’m going to do. Thank you, thank you so much, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: No need to thank me king, excuse me, no need to thank me, worker with cows. But I really must be off now.

THE KING: Of course, by all means, but again, really, thank you, I really was in a heck of a bind and I don’t know what I would have done without your guidance.

SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT: Hey, I’m Scumgor, God of the Broken Night, it’s what I do. And tell me, would I lie to you?

(SCUMGOR, GOD OF THE BROKEN NIGHT flashes an ominous, sinister smile. The stage goes dark, and when the light returns, he is gone.)

THE KING: Very well then, time to do this and just have it done. Guards, send in my advisor. Eh, send in my new advisor.

(THE ADVISOR 2 enters.)

THE ADVISOR 2: Yes my king, what can I do for you?

THE KING: I wanted to inform you that I have decided to abdicate the throne. As my advisor I imagine you would be the one in charge of determining my successor, seeing as how I have no children.

THE ADVISOR 2: Um, my king, I don’t understand.

THE KING: It’s quite simple actually, I’m giving up the throne and thought you should know so you could begin the process of choosing who it is that will replace me.

THE ADVISOR 2: But, my king, there is no choice to be made, you are the king. This can’t be done.

THE KING: Actually it can and already has been done. I’m certain you can find someone who will adequately fill the role as well as I did. (slight pause) Actually I’m entirely certain it would be extremely difficult to not do that, so get to it.

THE ADVISOR 2: No, no, no, my king, you really don’t understand. We cannot choose someone to replace you, for you are the king, and you are the king in service to the crown. It cannot be done.

THE KING: Well as I made very clear it already has been done. I am no longer king of this kingdom.

THE ADVISOR 2: My king, my king, think of the crown, you can not do this. Nothing has been done yet, please retire to your chambers and think this through, I’m sure you will then see the folly of your words.

THE KING: Damn it advisor, it is your job to advise and that you have done, and I am telling you I am rejecting your advice.

THE ADVISOR 2: But my king, I advise for the crown.

THE KING: Advice taking into consideration. But I am now telling you I already have thought it through and I have already made up my mind. I have abdicated the throne, I am no longer king, it is already done.

THE ADVISOR 2: Is that then your final decision as king?

THE KING: Yes, for I am no longer king. Get it through your head, I am not the king anymore.

THE ADVISOR 2: Very well then. I see your decision is final. Guards. (GUARDS 11 AND 12 enter) Please take the king into custody and have his head chopped off for crimes against the crown.

(GUARDS 11 AND 12 grab the king.)

THE KING: What? What is this? You can’t do this to me, why I am the king.

THE ADVISOR 2: (shakes his head) No, you are not the king anymore. (THE ADVISOR 2 removes the crown from THE KING’s head and places it onto his own.) Guards prepare the criminal for execution for crimes against the crown.

GUARD 11: (strikes THE KING with a punch) You mingy cur. Death is too good for you.

GUARD 12: (strikes THE KING by kicking him then spits on him) It’s people like you trying to tarnish the crown that make me sick.

(GUARDS 11 AND 12 hold the king, then one leaves while the other keeps him restrained, the guard who left returning, wheeling a guillotine to the center of the stage. The two guards set the king up on the ground, his head through the guillotine. THE ADVISOR 2 positions himself behind the guillotine to be the one to release the blade. THE ADVISOR 2 raises his arm above his head.)

THE ADVISOR 2: The king is dead. Long live the crown.

(THE ADVISOR 2 releases the blade as it comes down towards THE KING’s neck and the stage goes dark.)

(BLACKOUT)

THE END

(from the not yet published book "John Harm, Private Detective. The Case of the Evil, Global Shadow Conspiracy and Disgusticon the Transformer and The Heist of the Century) by Aaron Aaronson

Greetings to all who care to hear my tale. If you’re interested, well then stick around because it’s actually a crazy little story. My name is Xavier Crane. Really not much else for me to do but tell it, for those who wish to hear it that is. I’m sort of incarcerated at the moment, as I have been the last ten years. And well, here in my cell, not exactly an abundance of options of things to do. Yeah, these four walls and this tiny little space within which to live has been my home the last ten years. But, well, looks like tomorrow I’ll be saying goodbye to my little home so I figured it might be a good time to look back at the events that put me here. Reminisce about those days when I was actually in the outside world, when I was actually free and by doing so I can try to understand what exactly went wrong and led to my being imprisoned in this tiny cell for all these years. Now, I may be giving the wrong impression with how I’m phrasing things here. Yes, the events led to my ten year sentence in this cell, but you see, come tomorrow I’m not going to be a free man.

Hmm, actually, come to think of it, I suppose I will be a free man come tomorrow, but, I won’t be walking out of here a free man tomorrow if you get what I’m saying. You see, tomorrow is my execution date. Dead man walking is what I am and come tomorrow the steps of my life will be done. Now, I suppose the first question one might ask is do I have regrets. In truth, I really don’t. Sometimes when you see your dream, you have to reach for it, no matter the cost. And you know what, looking back, oh man, we almost pulled it off. We came so damn close. And even now, having occupied this cell for ten long years and knowing that tomorrow I will be put to death, truth is, I’d damn well give it another shot and let it roll one more time just to see if we could actually pull it off. Because you’ve got to dream, you’ve got to dream. And so help me, if we had actually been able to do it, that would have been something to see.

You know, life, it’s a funny thing, you think you have everything covered, think you’ve gone over everything that could possibly happen, think that you are ready, but well, even then, sometimes things don’t go exactly as planned. But man, if we just could have done it, just could have done it, oh boy, it would have been the heist of the century.”...

Xavier Crane stood, his hands gripping the walker he was forced to use as his mode of transit. He was staring out the window of a coffee shop. Outside, well it was quite the downpour, the sky tearing open and lashing the area with the constant whip of rain. In pelting droves the rain it fell, drenching the world below. There were very few people on the sidewalks this day, mother nature’s tirade forcing them back indoors. Would that then mean she wouldn’t show?

Xavier Crane displayed a momentary look of disquietude then hobbled with his walker to the short flight of stairs that led to ground level. Slowly he descended the stairs. Um, as if there really was any other choice than to descend the stairs slowly, he was on a walker, take into consideration. He walked to the front door of the building and performed the always cumbersome process of opening it and stepping through. The door slowly swung closed behind him as he stood outside, standing beneath an extension of the roof that shielded him from the rain. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, pulled a cigarette out and lit it then stood there, leaning against the wall, smoking his cigarette, his other hand pressed down atop his walker.

The rain was really coming down and showed no sign of letting up. He scanned the surrounding area, hoping to catch a glimpse of her approaching but he was starting to worry she wasn’t actually going to show. Things lately really hadn’t been working out particularly well for Xavier Crane. There is that saying that when it rains, it pours but on a day like this and considering how things had been going as of late for Xavier Crane, I suppose it would be more fitting to say, when it rains, someone better call Noah.

‘She has to show, she has to.’ Xavier Crane tried to reassure himself as he stood there and smoked his cigarette. If she did, this would be his final heist, his final job, and if they were able to pull it off he could get out of the game, call it quits and retire to some island in the Caribbean or South Pacific and finally live the good life and just lay there, stretched out on the beach, watching the sunset and sipping rum filled pina coladas out of a coconut.

Um, sipping from a coconut filled with rum, but still...

Xavier Crane had never worked with the woman before but he had heard through the grapevine that she was the best at what she did, and he knew that to pull off this heist he was going to need the best. Even with that, well he knew there was no guarantee the job would be a success. Things could possibly go, really, really bad. It was a risk Xavier Crane was willing to take. Would she be up for the challenge? Or would she be scared off? Well, there was no way for Xavier Crane to know that answer until he talked to her. If if he talked to her that is. He took a long drag from his cigarette as he again scanned the area. There was no one out walking and the rain from above continued to barrage the ground below.

Now, one might be thinking this impromptu North American monsoon laying siege to New York City on a day where the ever reliable prognosticators of accuracy, the weather forecasters, had predicted partly cloudy, to be a warning and a premonition to just walk away from this job, that it was destined to go South in a real bad way and things would not end well. In truth, as Xavier Crane stood outside and watched the liquid battering fall from the sky, smoking his cigarette, he did actually feel that cold hand reaching out and touching his spine, sending shivers of uncertainty throughout his body, imploring his mind to reconsider and just walk away. Xavier Crane took the final drag from his cigarette and flicked it away with his thumb and index finger into the deluge pouring down, attempting to send it to the grate above the sewer. It never made it though. The rain pouring down was so intense it stamped down on the cigarette as it attempted to sail through the air, pounding and pummeling it down to the ground and Xavier Crane stood there in the doorway, staring down at the cigarette that was only a couple inches in front of him upon the sidewalk.

Xavier Crane just stared at the cigarette. The rain unleashed from the sky swallowing it up in a puddle, the cigarette disappearing, a bitter howling wind tore through the scene, like the echoed future memory of a mistake you can’t erase, as if the lamentations of lost souls screaming out with warning, doing everything they could to rescue others from making the same mistake, knowing their lives were already gone but as a bid at redemption, attempting to deter others from taking the wrong path by using symbolism, because really now, when you can’t even make it to the sewer, wouldn’t it really be smart to just walk away?

Xavier Crane pulled out and lit up another cigarette. No, there was no damn chance he was walking away. He had his plan and he was going to see it through and make his play and find a way to see that day when he was there on that beach, a lesson life always did teach, a place he would never reach, but he would defy, and just lie there and sip then take a dip, then return to lying on the beach beneath the sun, knowing he had finally won, where all the shit was finally done. Now go ahead and say he was just being dumb. But Goddamnit, so help me, Xavier Crane would find that spot beneath the sun where he was drinking his Pina Coladas filled with rum.

Um, where he was drinking rum.

But, she had to show for the plan to be set in motion. He knew there was no way he could pull it off alone. Xavier Crane stood there with his hands atop his walker, smoking his cigarette, waiting...waiting...waiting...

He reached the final drag of the cigarette, took it and tossed it into the rain, flinging it from between his thumb and index finger. He decided to head back inside. He turned and with one hand on the walker, pulled the door open with his other hand. As he was about to step through he took one last scan of the area and when he did he spotted a figure approaching in his direction, shielding itself with a mammoth sized umbrella, slowly walking on the same side of the sidewalk the coffee shop was on and heading in its direction.

Xavier Crane hesitated. ‘Could that actually be her? Could the heist still go down?’ he wondered to himself as the person’s footsteps drew ever closer. He stepped back outside, away from the door, letting it close. He leaned against the wall and pulled out and lit another cigarette. He was leaning against the wall in such a way that he was no longer able to see if the person with the giant umbrella was still heading towards him but it didn’t matter because if it wasn’t her, well then he would just finish his cigarette and go back inside but if it was her, well then, everything would be a go and the plan for the heist of the century would be about to start.

Xavier Crane stood there, the smoke from his cigarette drifting in a spiral and disappearing into the rain. His cigarette was nearing the end. He took the final drag and flicked it away into the rain. Xavier Crane sighed. “Guess it hadn’t been her after all” he spoke to the rain. He turned to go back inside.

At that moment a woman holding an extremely large umbrella appeared from around the corner. and spoke. “Mr. Crane I take it.”

Xavier Crane nodded his head. “Yes. And so I imagine you would be Ms. Emily Clout.”

Emily Clout nodded her head. “Yes. I’m here to talk about the heist you have in mind.”

“Very nice to meet you. I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t show.”

“It was the weather, but eventually I was able to hail a gondola.” Emily Clout noted.

Xavier Crane pulled out and lit a cigarette. “A gondola you say?”

“Yes, taxis weren’t running due to the rain so they sent out a fleet of gondolas.” Emily Clout explained.

Xavier Crane nodded his head admiringly. “How interesting. I like that, it shows you’re a resourceful woman.”

“Actually all it shows is that I was able to hail a gondola. I had nothing to do with replacing the taxis with gondolas so I don’t believe it is an accurate indication of my resourcefulness.” Emily Clout responded, deflecting the compliment. “Though make no mistake, resourceful is something I indeed am.”

Xavier Crane looked out at the street which was flowing with water. “You know, I hear they say Venice is nice this time of year.”

“I hear that it smells bad.” Emily Clout stated.

Xavier Crane shrugged. “Heck, wouldn’t bother me, I really don’t have any sense of smell.”

“You have no sense of smell.” Emily Clout commented with an odd look.”

Xavier Crane shook his head. “No, I do not.”

Emily Clout just stared at him. “Um, that’s actually kind of really weird.”

“Can I say something?” Xavier Crane asked.

Emily Clout nodded her head. “Please do.”

“That’s a really big umbrella you have there.”

“It was being used to cover the gondola, when I got to my stop, I stole it.” Emily Clout detailed.

Xavier Crane nodded his head, impressed. “Well, that then would be an example of just how resourceful you are.”

“Actually it’s just an example that I like stealing things. I already had an umbrella so I didn’t actually need it.”

Xavier Crane spoke, admiringly. “Well, it certainly at least shows you are one highly skilled thief. I mean to make off with a giant umbrella from a gondola without anyone noticing, pretty damn impressive Emily.”

“It’s a five foot wide umbrella I stole from the gondola I had just taken a ride in. Of course the gondola driver saw me take it. When he shouted at me I just hit him with it.” Emily Clout pursed her lips with a sneer. “You don’t want to be around me when I’m angry.”.

Xavier Crane smirked. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. I live for danger. But I have to say, I very much respect your humility. You know, in this racket, everyone thinks they’re the top dog. It’s actually refreshing to see someone so reluctant to take credit.”

“Might I ask you something?” Emily Clout asked.

Xavier Crane nodded his head, “By all means.”

“Don’t you think it would make more sense if we talked inside, considering the weather?” Emily Clout suggested.

“Can’t smoke inside.” Xavier Crane explained.

“I see.”

“You know Emily, I got to say, I like your moxy.” Xavier Crane commented.

Emily Clout considered the comment. “Hmm, interesting word to use, kind of an archaic term.”

“Actually it’s a new slang term for you got a nice ass.” Xavier Crane clarified.

“I see.” Emily Clout pursed her lips with a sneer. “Mr. Crane, I think you should know, by saying that you just made me angry.”

Xavier Crane smirked. “Hey, get angry baby, like I said, I live for the danger.”

“I’m going to punch you in the face.” Emily Clout announced.

Xavier Crane shrugged nonchalantly. “Fire away babe, I can take a punch.”

Emily Clout then lunged and delivered a haymaker punch to Xavier Crane’s face, knocking him to the ground.

And thus a partnership was born and the heist of the century was set in motion...

Xavier Crane and Emily Clout sat inside the coffee shop at a table, Xavier Crane holding an ice pack to his chin.

“Now then Mr. Crane, please tell me the details of the heist.” Emily Clout requested. “But, before we go any further, I think you should be aware I have difficulty walking. I wasn’t forthcoming with that information because I didn’t want to torpedo my chances of signing on to the job before we even met.”

“Already knew that, you think I didn’t learn that little detail before seeking you out?”

“I see. You’re obviously then a man who does his homework.” Emily Clout commented.

Xavier Crane considered the statement for a moment. “Um, not really, I guess that’s one of the reasons I flunked out of high school. But, your impediment shouldn’t be a problem in terms of the heist. I was already aware of that information when I planned it.”

Emily Clout nodded her head. “I see, and I’m glad, continue then.”

“To be honest, I wasn’t at all put off by that detail. Now, normally logic would suggest that you don’t want the two main members of a heist team with movement impediments but I sort of liked the idea of the cripple comradery. The job I was originally planning was to rob the bank a few blocks down from here, but I changed the target.”

“I see. So the target for the heist is no longer the bank a few blocks down the road?”

Xavier Crane shook his head. “No, it is not.”

“I see. Why, if I might ask did you change the target?”

“Because I’m on a walker, and to actually get to the heist I would have to first walk those couple of blocks and I would really rather not do that.” Xavier Crane explained.

Emily Clout nodded her head. “I see.”

“So I chose a new target to be one that would be better suited to my own limitations and upon doing so your mobility restrictions ceased to be an issue as well. And I’ve heard you are the best so--”

“I am the best.” Emily Clout declared.

“Um, remember what I said earlier about how I liked that you weren’t so high on yourself.”

“I’m not the best. I may possibly be the second best, maybe third, could possibly be even further down the list, can’t say for sure, I suppose the jury is still out.” Emily Clout amended her statement.

Xavier Crane nodded his head approvingly. “There you go. Now, at first thought, one might think the new target doesn’t make as much sense.”

“What is the new target?” Emily Clout asked.

Xavier Crane pointed out the window. “See that there across the street?”

Emily Clout nodded her head. “Yes, a funeral home.”

“That’s the new target.” Xavier Crane stated,

Emily Clout looked at Xavier Crane with an uncertain look. “The heist is that we’re going to rob a funeral home?”

“Exactly.” Xavier Crane proclaimed.

“Um, if I might say, that does sound like a rather odd choice. The bank would seem to be a more lucrative target. Might I ask why you chose the funeral home specifically?” Emily Clout questioned.

Xavier Crane detailed his reasoning for the target’s selection. “Well, this is not information that is known to the public. That particular funeral home has many secrets. For one, they store all the money from the business on site in a safe. Also, it’s not entirely on the up and up, because they actually fleece the people they are preparing for burial, draining their bank accounts and all their documents, stock ownership and money and it is all located in the safe of the funeral home as well. Also, well let’s just say the owner is sort of the fanciful sort and he plans for when he himself passes away to be entombed within the funeral home itself because he holds some far out ideas of coming back to life. So what he has done is built a sort of throne room in the basement beneath the funeral home like the Egyptian Pharoahs would do with the pyramids and like the Pharoahs did he has stocked it with all of his most extravagant personal belongings and wealth and it is covered with gold.”

Emily Clout nodded her head. “I see, that really would seem to change things. But, why would he stock up the throne room with all his belongings while he is still alive? I mean they would all be things he could still use.”

“Well, he also installed a big screen T.V, a bar, pool table and a waterbed and that’s where he goes to hang out with his friends and to sleep with prostitutes so it’s a functional throne room even before his death, but the heist is that we will rob it blind.”

“O.K, that really does make a lot more sense. I understand now why you chose it as the target.” Emily Clout agreed.

Xavier Crane continued with his reasoning. “Yeah, all that and, well, it’s really the only place I can get to. You see, my apartment is the building right next to this coffee shop here.”

“Your apartment is right next door, so then why didn’t we just meet there instead of here, would seem we would have had more privacy?” Emily Clout questioned.

“Yeah, but we really wouldn’t, I’m pretty sure the feds have it bugged so I don’t discuss any criminal dealings while in there, not in person, not over the phone and when I watch porn I keep the sound all the way down. Because you can never be too safe.” Xavier Crane explained.

“I see, you appear to be a man who plans ahead, is ready for any contingency and covers every base to ensure that nothing will go wrong.”

Xavier Crane pointedly asked “So then, tell me, are you in?”

Emily Clout nodded her head. “That I am Mr. Crane,

“That’s wonderful.” Xavier Crane banged his hand down on the table in celebration.

“I mean, with you handling the planning what could possibly go wrong.” Emily Clout asked rhetorically.

Xavier Crane nodded his head confidently. “Damn straight babe, what could go wrong?”

“Off the topic of the heist. If you don’t mind me saying so, you have really nice eyes.” Emily Clout complimented Xavier Crane.

“To be honest I do mind you saying so.” Xavier Crane responded.

“Why is that if I might ask?” Emily Clout inquired.

Xavier Crane got a perturbed look to him. “Damn little bastards are always seeing things that either make me really pissed off or just flat out make me sick. Tell you what, I’ll sell them to you for twenty bucks if you want them.”

“Wouldn’t that sort of be a hindrance in terms of the heist?” Emily Clout speculated.

Xavier Crane shrugged. “I don’t see why. If I sold them to some vagrant on the street, well, sure, but you’ll have them and so they’ll still be on the job. So what do you say? Could use the twenty.”

Emily Clout seemed uneasy about the suggestion. “I’m still not convinced that it’s such a good idea.”

Xavier Crane negotiated. “Tell you what, you think it over while I go and get a spoon. But you’re definitely in?”

“Absolutely, what could possibly go wrong?” Emily Clout answered.

Xavier Crane spoke with self-assurance. “Damn straight babe, I got things covered, so what could possibly go wrong? Now let me go get the spoon.” Xavier Crane got up from his chair and hobbled with his walker toward the counter in the coffee shop.

It was a sunny day, people were milling about the sidewalks, cars were plentiful upon the roads. Standing outside the coffee shop, leaning against the wall were Xavier Crane and Emily Clout, Xavier Crane with one hand on his walker, smoking a cigarette with his other hand. Xavier Crane still had both his eyes. Apparently negotiations were still ongoing. The two of them were staking out the funeral home, looking at it intently as the people on the sidewalk passed them by.

“So, how do you want to get inside?” Emily Clout asked.

Xavier Crane surveyed the funeral home for a few moments more then spoke. “I’ve been analyzing the options and I think I have settled on a way.”

“Which would be?”

“The door.” Xavier Crane stated.

Emily Clout questioned. “The door? But won’t that set off the alarm?”

“Already thought of that, we cut the alarm.” Xavier Crane answered.

“And how will we do that?” Emily Clout inquired.

“By cutting it.” Xavier Crane declared.

“So then I guess that means you are well versed on how to disable an alarm because personally that’s never been my area of expertise.”

Xavier Crane shrugged. “Um, actually, no, I really don’t know much about it.”

“But then how will we disable the alarm?” Emily Clout asked with concern.

“Um, that associate of yours, the one you said you were bringing onto the job, what was her name?” Xavier Crane asked.

“Crazy Mamba.” Emily Clout replied.

“Does Crazy Mamba know how to disable an alarm?” Xavier Crane asked.

“Actually it’s one of her specialties.” Emily Clout pronounced.

Xavier Crane nodded his head. “Perfect, Crazy Mamba will disable the alarm then.”

Emily Clout nodded her head as well. “O.k, I’m with you. And once inside, what’s our next move?”

“We spray any surveillance cameras that might be present with spray cheese.” Xavier Crane detailed.

“Spray cheese instead of say spray paint you think would be better?” Emily Clout inquired.

“Spray cheese tastes better and if we get hungry we can eat from that. Spray paint just wouldn’t be the same.”

“Good point. You really do think of everything. So after that, where do we go next?”

“We hit the safe. Now, Crazy Mamba, you said she is one of the best safe crackers on the planet.”

Emily Clout responded affirmatively. “That she is, we get the three of us inside and she’ll handle the safe.”

“Very good, and while Crazy Mamba is working on the safe, you and I will make our way to the throne room and pillage it. We will strip it down to the core.” Xavier Crane announced.

“How are we to get into the throne room?” Emily Clout asked.

“We use the door.” Xavier Crane stated.

“Won’t it probably be locked though?” Emily Clout wondered.

“We hit it with a hammer.” Xavier Crane declared.

“I see. But, stripping the throne room bare, wouldn’t that involve a lot of heavy objects? With our physical limitations, how are we going to get the stuff up the stairs and out of the throne room?”

“Crazy Mamba can carry things, right?” Xavier Crane inquired.

“And how. She may be over 70 but she’s extremely burly, stout and built. Crazy Mamba is as strong as an Ox.” Emily Clout declared with amazement.”

Xavier Crane nodded his head. “Perfect, so Crazy Mamba will carry the stuff up the stairs.”

“How are we going to then make our getaway with everything we stole?” Emily Clout inquired.

Xavier Crane answered assuredly. “Already covered that. We will steal the hearse from the funeral home and load everything inside a coffin and drive away free and clean.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” Emily Clout responded approvingly “So then you’ll be the one driving because I never actually bothered to learn how to drive, always just used mass transit.”

“Actually I have no idea how to drive.” Xavier Crane said.

“Then who is going to drive the getaway hearse?” Emily Clout asked.

Xavier Crane thought for a moment. “Um, does Crazy Mamba know how to drive?”

Emily Clout nodded her head. “Actually yes, she does.”

Xavier Crane declared. “Well then Crazy Mamba will drive the getaway hearse.”

“O.k, I’m hearing you, you really are someone who covers all the bases and have done a great job of planning this out. And so, after we’ve loaded up the hearse and made our getaway, where do we go after that?”

“Back to my apartment.” Xavier Crane announced.

“Back to your apartment. The one across the street from the funeral home?” Emily Clout asked.

Xavier Crane nodded his head. “Exactly.”

“But I thought you said you thought your apartment was being bugged?” Emily Clout questioned.

“Not to worry. Once we have unloaded the coffin with everything we stole from the heist and Crazy Mamba has carried the coffin up the stairs, my apartment doesn’t have an elevator you see.”

“So Crazy Mamba will carry the coffin up the stairs of your apartment building and to your apartment.” Emily Clout repeated to make sure she understood the plan.

“Indeed. And once we get it back, we pop it open and sort through our haul.”

“But, then, back to the question of your apartment being bugged by the Feds.”

Xavier Crane responded dismissively. “Not a problem, once back, we speak in code. We refer to what we stole as Smurf candy, ourselves as the three little pigs, the hearse we call Hi Ho Silver and the funeral home itself is La La Land.”

Emily Clout nodded in agreement. “Good, we do that and they’ll have no idea what we are talking about. If I might just offer this compliment, you truly are a brilliant tactician.”

“That is something that has indeed I imagine at times been said I think.” Xavier Crane boasted. “And, having thrown them off the track, we figure out from there what to do next.” Xavier Crane got a fanciful look in his eyes, his voice taking on a dreamy tone. “Don’t know about you, but I see a tropical beach in my future, to just get out of the game and live the good life.”

Emily Clout got an invigorated look on her face. “Me, I don’t know if I could give up the life. I get such a rush when I’m on a job. It’s when I feel the thrill and excitement of a heist that I feel truly alive. Everything going crazy, danger at every turn, that’s what really gets my blood flowing.”

Xavier Crane chuckled. “Well, sorry to disappoint you Emily, because if things go as planned, the job should go off without a hitch and be pretty damn uneventful. It will be like taking candy from a baby.”

Emily Clout nodded her head in agreement. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, we’re robbing a funeral home, how hard could it be?”

“It’s going to be so easy it will be like taking candy from a dead baby.” Xavier Crane amended his previous statement. “So I’m sorry the job won’t be able to give you the rush you want, but ooh baby, it’s going to make you rich like you wouldn’t believe. My plan is easy money and smooth sailing. Trust me, it’s going to be a cakewalk.”

“Yeah, what could possibly go wrong?” Emily Clout optimistically asked.

Xavier Crane widely grinned. “What could possibly go wrong?”

Xavier Crane stood outside the coffee shop next to his apartment building, one hand on his walker, smoking a cigarette with his other hand. Emily Clout came walking down the sidewalk and walked up to Xavier Crane. Xavier Crane spoke with a somewhat concerned voice. “So, I got your message that you wanted to talk to me about something regarding the heist.”

Emily Clout nodded her head. “Yes, I think maybe we should consider pulling back from the heist and holding off for a while.”

Xavier Crane looked at Emily Clout with surprise. “What? Don’t tell me you’re getting nervous, I thought you lived for the thrill of the job.”

Emily Clout shook her head. “No, I’m ready to go, it’s just that there have been some unexpected developments.”

“Such as what?” Xavier Crane asked.

“It’s crazy Mamba.” Emily Clout stated.

“What of her?” Xavier Crane asked.

Emily Clout showed a look of great concern. “She’s been acting real shady lately, I’m not sure we can trust her.”

Xavier Crane pulled out a pack of cigarettes, took one out and put it in his mouth then searched his pockets to find his lighter. “Damn it Emily, the heist is going down tomorrow, why is this the first I’m hearing about it?”

“I’ve been monitoring her, hoping she would come back to her senses but I realize now she’s a lost cause. I think if we took her on the heist it would lead to problems.” Emily Clout warned.

Xavier Crane found his lighter, pulled it out and lit the cigarette. “Give me the lowdown, what’s the skinny Emily?”

“Well, lately she’s been wandering the streets wearing a bathrobe.” Emily Clout explained.

Xavier Crane shrugged. “Well, I think we can work around that, the job doesn’t require formal attire or anything.”

Emily Clout continued. “And she constantly is banging on a drum she has fixed around her waist, calling it her “Hymn of War and March to Death” dirge. And she’s shaved her head and gotten a tattoo on her skull that says “Suicide Mission. Born to Die”.”

Xavier Crane conceded. “Um, well, admittedly, that is a bit more disconcerting. What else?”

“Well she keeps getting into fights with random strangers for no reason and beats them unconscious with a hammer. And she looks for the biggest person possible as a challenge, she is 330 lbs. And no matter how large the other person is, Crazy Mamba just loses control and beats them into a bloody heap. And when I asked her if she could hold it together for the heist she told me “Absolutely. I will hold it together until I alert the cops about the robbery because the way I truly want to go out is suicide by cop”.” Emily Clout detailed.

“Eh, I think you were right to be alarmed. Anything else?” Xavier Crane asked.

“Well, when I asked what she hoped for most to get from the heist, she said getting you and me killed because she hates our miserable freakin cuts and after we get gunned down she wants to crush our heads open and drink our blood from our skulls.” Emily Clout added.

Xavier Crane just stood there with a dubious expression. “Eh?”

Emily Clout suggested. “So really Mr. Crane, Crazy Mamba isn’t good to go for the heist and I think we really should consider calling it off. I have a really bad feeling about it.”

Xavier Crane hesitated for a few moments with a contemplative look on his face. He took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled.. “Damn it, no. Crazy Mamba obviously has gone a bit crazy, but damn it, we don’t need her. We can do this thing, just the two of us Emily, we don’t need no Crazy Mamba. Don’t you see Emily, this is the score I’ve been waiting for. Pull this off and I can be done with the life. I can find my beach and for once actually live. I can’t walk away from it. Don’t you see Emily, I need this. I stand with all my dreams right before my eyes and all I have to do is reach out and take it. I’m doing this, even without Crazy Mamba.”

Emily Clout appeared very worried, ominously declaring. “But Mr. Crane, without Crazy Mamba it will be bad mojo.”

Xavier Crane tried to persuade her. “Bad mojo or no bad mojo for me it’s still a go. Come on Emily, don’t you have dreams too? Don’t you fantasize about what you’re going to do with all that money, and don’t you, as someone who lives for the thrill of the heist want to know that feeling of just lying there afterwards and smiling with pride that we actually pulled it off?”

Emily Clout had to admit. “Yes, it’s true, that more than anything else is what powers me, to be able to just say to myself we actually did it. That would be an amazing feeling.”

“So then are you still in Emily?” Xavier Crane asked.

Emily Clout nodded her head. “Yes, I’m in.”

“Wonderful. And don’t you worry, we can do this.” Xavier Crane exclaimed with determination.

“You’re right, what could possibly go wrong?” Emily Clout proclaimed.

“Exactly babe, what could possibly go wrong.” Xavier Crane declared with a confident voice.

The night of the heist had arrived. It was just after midnight. There were no cars upon the streets. no one was walking the sidewalks. Xavier Crane and Emily Clout stood outside the closed coffee shop, staring at the funeral home. They both carried large black bags, Xavier Crane’s bag was tied to the side of his walker. They were dressed in black, wearing black gloves and with black bandanas covering their heads. Beneath their eyes they each had a black streak of grease.

“So, you ready to do this Emily?” Xavier Crane asked.

“I’m ready, but can I ask one question?” Emily Clout replied.

“Fire away.” Xavier Crane invited.

“Why did we put the grease under our eyes?” Emily Clout asked with puzzlement.

“It’s grease so that if someone punches us in the face, the punch will just glance right off.” Xavier Crane explained.

Emily Clout looked at Xavier Crane with condescension. “Um, I don’t think it would actually work that way.”

“Believe me, that’s exactly what would happen.” Xavier Crane confidently declared.

“No, I really don’t think so.” Emily Clout disagreed.

“Hey, you feeling angry Emily?” Xavier Crane taunted.

“Well, to be honest, your stupid idea about the grease is actually making me a little angry.” Emily Clout snarled.

Xavier Crane smiled mockingly. “Then punch me in the face. You’ll see the punch will just glance right off.”

“That’s really not what would happen.” Emily Clout predicted with annoyance.

Xavier Crane prodded. “Hey, what’s wrong Emily, afraid of looking like a fool?”

“I already look like a fool with this stupid grease on my face.” Emily Clout grumbled.

“Well then punch me in the face and you’ll really look like a fool.” Xavier Crane dared.

Emily Clout’s lips pursed with a sneer. “O.k, now you’re really starting to piss me off.”

Xavier Crane smirked. “Well then make a fool of yourself. Humility is the best medicine for anger.”

“Alright, that’s it, you’re going down.” Emily Clout threw a haymaker punch to Xavier Crane’s face, dropping him to the ground.”

Xavier Crane reached his hand up to the handles of his walker and pulled himself up from the ground, shaking his head. “O.k, I see, I guess you’re right, that really didn’t help at all.”

“Then can we go wash this crap off our faces?” Emily Clout suggested.

“We’ll wash it off after the heist. The streets are clear. Now is the time to strike. Are you ready to go?” Xavier Crane asked.

Emily Clout nodded her head. “Ready.”

“Let’s roll.” The two of them made their way across the street to the funeral home, attempting evasive movements to attempt to conceal themselves even though they were doing so under the light of the street lamps and anyone watching would clearly see that there were two awkwardly moving people, one of them using a walker, wearing black with streaks of grease beneath their eyes, two people who for some reason appeared to be engaging in some odd, modern dance, cripple duet as they crossed a narrow street to the funeral home. They reached the sidewalk across the street and stood out in front, looking at the funeral home. “O.k. now without Crazy Mamba here to disable any possible alarm I’ve changed what our point of entry will be. We’re going in now through the window.”

“What about the alarm? You don’t think it would be connected to the window too?” Emily Clout asked.

“You know, if I was a betting man, which I am, I would place my bet that it won’t be. Don’t worry Emily, I’m feeling lucky.” Xavier Crane announced with swagger.

Emily Clout took a deep breath. “O.k, let’s do this. I really hope it works though.”

Xavier Crane responded nonchalantly. “Of course it will work. Don’t get your panties all in a bunch Emily.”

“Why are you talking about my panties?”. Emily Clout complained

“I, ah, just thought you would feel better if they weren’t all bunched up.” Xavier Crane commented.

Emily Clout pursed her lips into a sneer. “My panties are not all bunched up.”

Xavier Crane saw the expression on Emily Clout’s face. “Um, well, you should probably keep it that way then, for your own, um, comfort and all. Now to get through the window.”

Xavier Crane and Emily Clout, because of their physical limitations, labored considerably to set up a garbage can that they could stand on to reach the window. After doing this there was an exponentially more cumbersome process of finding other objects to in essence create a series of steps which would allow Xavier Crane to reach the top of the garbage can, a climb he eventually made with much effort. Xavier Crane stood atop the garbage can and wrapped a handkerchief around his fist. He then punched his hand through the window, breaking the glass. At which point Xavier Crane lost his balance and fell off the garbage can to the ground. Xavier Crane lay on his back on the sidewalk and looked up at Emily Clout. “Look at that Emily, told you I was feeling lucky. No alarm, alright, we’re in.”

Um, the statement alright we’re in may have been a bit premature because with their physical limitations the process of the two of them actually making it from the top of the garbage can and through the window was so monstrously difficult, time consuming and awkward that it would have been absolutely comical if it wasn’t so pathetically sad.

Eventually though they did make it through the broken window. Emily Clout and Xavier Crane scanned the surroundings. Emily Clout announced. “I don’t see any cameras.”

Xavier Crane nodded his head. “Then no needs for the spray cheese. That means more for us. This heist is going like gangbusters already.”

“So what’s first, the safe?” Emily Clout inquired.

Xavier Crane shook his head. “No, we have to wing it. Without Crazy Mamba here there is no way for us to get into the safe so in terms of the safe, at the end, we’ll tie a rope to it and attach the other end to the hearse we steal and drag it out. To start, we’re just going to start small.”

“Doing what?” Emily Clout asked.

“We’ll just rob all the corpses waiting for burial.” Xavier Crane directed.

Emily Clout appeared uneasy. “Mr. Crane, I don’t know, I mean stealing from the dead will bring us bad mojo.”

“You’re being silly Emily. Talk like that is just superstitious nonsense. I mean, come on, their dead, they can’t hurt us.” Xavier Crane’s voice took on a whimsical quality. “And as for bad mojo, well go ahead and bring it on because when I’m on my beach, sipping my rum out of a coconut I’ll be making my own mojo.” .

“Um, why would you drink your rum out of a coconut, why not just use a glass.” Emily Clout asked, confused.

“Um, well it’s symbolic.” Xavier Crane answered.

“How could drinking out of a coconut be symbolic? And symbolic of what, of being a castaway on a desert island?” Emily Clout pressed.

Xavier Crane attempted to think of a response. “Eh, you know Emily, I understood that you were a woman of action, not asking questions. So you want to stand here talking all night or do you want to do this?”

Emily Clout nodded her head. “You’re right, let’s do this.”

Xavier Crane laid out the plan of action. “Now, when we find where the corpses awaiting funeral services are kept, we go through their pockets and steal their wallets and loose change and we steal whatever jewelry they happen to be wearing. Those that are not yet dressed for the funeral, we find where their belongings are being stored and go through the same process.”

“Mr. Crane, why exactly would all the corpses be getting buried with their wallets?” Emily Clout questioned.

Xavier Crane considered this, appearing somewhat befuddled. “Um, eh, hey Emily, action or talk?”

“Action, let’s do this.” Emily Clout declared.

“Let’s roll.” Xavier Crane pronounced.

Xavier Crane and Emily Clout started slowly hobbling through the funeral home. I suppose though, the comment let’s roll would actually be a fitting description of what Xavier Crane was doing because the front legs of his walker were wheeled so he was, in a literal sense, actually rolling.

In the viewing area of the funeral home there was a casket containing a corpse that was already out on display for a service the next morning.

Xavier Crane pointed to the corpse in the casket. “Come on Emily, let’s start with him, let’s check all his pockets.” The two of them scavenged through the pockets of the corpse that was on display. “You finding anything?”

“So far I’ve got a pocket watch and a silk handkerchief,” Emily Clout answered “how about you?”

“I’ve got a wedding ring and a class ring, both appear to be gold. Now take his tie.”

“You want to take his tie?” Emily Clout asked.

Xavier Crane shrugged. “Well, it looks like a really nice tie.”

Emily Clout removed the tie from around the corpse’s neck and placed it in her bag. “Alright, done.”

“Yeah, not a bad haul. Now to find the room where all the other corpses on the premises and their belongings are stored.” Xavier Crane directed.

Xavier Crane and Emily Clout hobbled along and passed through the adjoining room which was a room used for item storage and within which there were several other corpses that were being prepared for funeral services. The corpses were wearing no clothes, had no items and were each covered by a sheet. Actually there was one corpse in the room that had an item on it, it was an elaborate pendant, with images of the sun and the moon encased by a star that was attached to a necklace and on it Xavier Crane was fixated.

“Hmm, this is interesting. Hey Emily, take a look at this.” Xavier Crane motioned to the necklace and pendant around the neck of the corpse.

“Wow, that’s a really unusual looking pendant.” Emily Clout announced, impressed..

“Looks like it could be worth a fortune if we found the right antique dealer.” Xavier Crane exalted.

Emily Clout eagerly agreed. “Yeah, take it then.”

Xavier Crane removed the necklace and pendant from around the neck of the corpse and put it into his bag. “Alright, now to search through the personal effects and take anything else of value within the room. Now let’s get to work. The two of them began scouring through the belongings, placing numerous items in their bags

At this moment the corpse Xavier Crane had taken the necklace and pendant from raised the upper half of its body from the gurney it was laid upon, stretched out both its arms then swung its legs off the gurney and began slowly, staggering toward Xavier Crane and Emily Clout. When it did this, all the other corpses in the room raised their upper bodies from the gurney they were upon, then stood up and began slowly stalking with plodding steps toward the two of them in the same manner.

“Alright, let’s finish up here.” Xavier Crane directed as he continued searching through the belongings, putting anything of value into his bag.

Emily Clout stopped filling her bag and just turned to Xavier Crane, speaking with an uneasy voice. “Um, Mr. Crane, that pendant really does seem nice but I thought this was supposed to be the heist of the century, so far all we’ve done is amass a bag of trinkets and clothing accessories and all we’ve really done so far is be grave robbers which I must admit I feel more than a bit uncomfortable about. When are we going to hit the big score?”

“Not to worry, once we’re done in here we will head down to the throne room and that’s where we will really clean up, this here is just small time, you’ll see.” Xavier Crane reassured her.

Emily Clout nodded her head in agreement, then continued filling her bag. “O.k. then, let’s finish this up.

Xavier Crane placed one last item in his bag then looked around the room, there was nothing more of value to steal. “Alright, that’s it for here. Let’s head down to the throne room.” Xavier Crane spun around with his walker as Emily Clout also turned around to make their way out of the room. When they did they saw the group of zombies making their way toward them

Emily Clout exclaimed anxiously. “Holy shit, the corpses have come back to life! What the hell do we do?”

Xavier Crane gestured with his hands to stay calm. “Don’t get upset, we just have to stay calm.”

Emily Clout somewhat hysterically shouted. “Stay calm! How the hell are we supposed to stay calm? We’re stuck in a room full of undead zombies who are slowly marching toward us. Normally the one advantage people have against zombies is that zombies move slowly and you can run away from them, only problem is that we move even slower than they do. Damn I wish Crazy Mamba was here because then she could just punch their heads off their bodies but what do we do?”

“Don’t worry, I planned in case this might happen, I’ll take care of it.” Xavier Crane authoritatively declared.

“You planned in case the corpses in the funeral home came back to life and tried to kill us?” Emily Clout asked with consternation.

“Yeah, you go into a job like this you have to prepare for anything.” Xavier Crane then pulled out an Uzi and sprayed the zombies with bullets then pulled out, lit, and threw a molotov cocktail at them, the zombies being engulfed by fire as they continued staggering across the floor. “Hurry Emily, let’s hobble out of the room.” Xavier Crane and Emily Clout slowly made their way past the zombies who were on fire and exited the room, closing the door behind them. Xavier Crane sighed with relief. “Whew, we made it.”

Emily Clout was breathing rapidly, obviously rattled. “Wo Mr. Crane, corpses coming back to life and trying to kill us, that’s about as bad as it gets in terms of bad mojo, yo. You don’t think maybe that’s a sign we should just walk away?”

Xavier Crane shook his head dismissively. “You’re being crazy Emily. That was nothing. Come on, pull yourself together. All that’s left is for us to rob the throne room and then tie a rope to the safe that we will attach to the hearse we will steal and drive it across the street to my apartment. That is the true job, and that is the heist of the century. And come on, what could possibly go wrong?”

“Yeah, you’re right, what could possibly go wrong?” Emily Clout asked.

“Now to get to the throne room, the entrance should be just down this hall.” Xavier Crane and Emily Clout slowly hobbled down the hall until reaching the door that led to the basement of the funeral home, the throne room.

“You have the hammers right to break through the door?” Emily Clout asked.

Xavier Crane nodded his head. “Indeed I do.”

Emily Clout was examining the door. “I don’t know, this door looks awfully sturdy, like its super reinforced. This is the door to the throne room so do you think the hammers will even be able to break it?”

“I’ve got other tools in my bag of tricks. I don’t care what I have to do. I’m getting through this door. There’s no way it will stop me from realizing my dream. But, you know, as I said before, I’m feeling lucky so maybe the door will actually be unlocked?” Xavier Crane turned the doorknob of the door leading to the throne room and the door swung open. “How about that Emily, it is unlocked so we don’t even have to break it down. Our fortunes have obviously taken a turn for the better. I suppose a certain someone who wanted to cancel the heist just because some dead bodies came back to life and tried to kill us must feel pretty stupid right about now.”

“Are you calling me stupid?” Emily Clout asked accusingly.

Xavier Crane smugly shrugged. “I’m just saying you must feel pretty stupid.”

Emily Clout’s lips pursed into a sneer. “You know you’re making my angry.”

“Well the common cure for anger is stupidity.” Xavier Crane arrogantly announced.

With a venomous sneer on her face Emily Clout threw a haymaker punch and decked Xavier Crane, dropping him to the ground. Xavier Crane used his walker to pull himself up from the floor to his feet. “Um, Emily, feel free to beat the crap out of me after the heist is done but now is really not the time. Come on, it’s just down the stairs and we will hit the jackpot. It’s all easy money from here on out.”

Emily Clout sighed. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I mean what could possibly go wrong?”

“What could possibly go wrong?” Xavier Crane proclaimed.

The two of them very slowly made their way down the steps leading to the throne room. They reached the bottom and scanned the area. It certainly was a majestic sight. The throne room extended as one open space over the entire floor of the basement level of the funeral home. There was gold everywhere, large golden and small jeweled statues. Paintings hung on the walls from the great masters, certain to themselves alone fetch millions. As they scanned the room, there mouths were ajaw at the sheer opulent luxury of the room. They had expected it to be impressive but it exceeded their wildest expectations. This certainly was to be the heist of the century and they had never actually expected to be seeing what they were seeing.

I suppose it would also be safe to say they never expected to be seeing something else they were currently seeing. That being 12 or so mobsters who were either sitting at the bar or around the pool table with cue sticks in their hands, all of them staring at Xavier Crane and Emily Clout with angry, unwelcoming glares.

“Um, mobsters.” Emily Clout noted nervously.

“I can see there are mobsters.” Xavier Crane announced.

One of the mobsters spoke with a dominant tone. “Can we help you with something?”

“Um, what do we do?” Emily Clout asked with even more alarm.

Xavier Crane looking somewhat flustered blurted out. “I’m working on it.”

The mobster who spoke before commented. “Funny thing, I don’t recall inviting you to our little party here. You must be lost. But, far be it from me to not be a gracious host. I’m sure you’re aware the little operation we’re running here is a funeral home so what do yous say we offer you a couple of complimentary coffins?”

Emily Clout began breathing rapidly. “Coffins, there going to kill us, think of something.”

“Try to stay calm. I’ll come up with something.” Xavier Crane tried to assure her.

The mob members all pulled out handguns and pointed them at Xavier Crane and Emily Clout. The mob member who had been speaking, now with his gun pointed at them, continued. “You done walked into the wrong funeral home and now, kind of ironic isn’t it, you’ll both be leaving in a body bag.”

“Guns, they got guns!” Emily Clout anxiously exclaimed.

“Well, they’re in the mob, people in the mob usually have guns, that really should come as no surprise.” Xavier Crane rationalized.

“Yes but they’re going to shoot us with those guns, do something!” Emily Clout implored.

The mobster who was the one who had spoken shrugged with a menacing grin. “And you know what, why waste the money on a couple of perfectly good coffins for a couple of dirty rats. Tonight you’re going to sleep with the fishes in your final resting place, your watery grave at the bottom of the river. Arrivederci.”

The mobster started to pull the trigger but at that moment the ceiling above him, which had been the room where Xavier Crane had tossed the molotov cocktail, collapsed and crashed down onto him with flaming rubble, the fire spilling through the hole in the ceiling and into the room.

Xavier Crane directed. “Quick, or rather an unreasonable facsimile of quick to cover.” Xavier Crane and Emily Clout hobbled away and hid behind a giant statue in the room. The remaining mobsters started firing away at them with their guns.

Emily Clout was breathing very quickly and holding her chest. “Holy shit, they’re shooting at us. I freakin hate guns. Holy crap! Oh boy, I think I’m having a panic attack. Christ I need a valium. I need a fuckin entire bottle of valium, This is terrible!”

Xavier Crane looked at her with a surprised look. “Um, what happened to you living for the excitement, the thrill, the danger?”

“Well yeah but I didn’t know there were actually going to be people shooting at us. Holy crap, could things possibly get any worse?” Emily Clout wondered.

“Um, things probably can’t get any worse.” Xavier Crane attempted to reassure her.

At that moment there was a shout from the stairs. “This is the police! Everybody drop your guns and lie face down on the floor. Failure to comply and we will breach the room and you will be killed.”

“Hey, feugo you pigs!” one of the mobsters shouted back

A member of the police force on the stairs announced. “They are not complying. We are a go.” The police swat team then launched several tear gas canisters into the room as all the mobsters starting coughing while also indiscriminately firing their guns in the direction of the police as the police officers fired back, the occasional whelp of pain from people on both sides struck by a bullet as the fire spread across the ceiling and down onto the walls of the room, smoke billowing through and mixing with the tear gas.

Tears streaming from her eyes, Emily Clout groaned. “Jesus Christ, I’m bawling my freakin eyes out here!”

“It’s just the tear gas, it’s irritating your eyes, hold tight and it will pass.” Xavier Crane advised her.

“No! I’m not crying because of the freakin tear gas. I’m crying because the plan has completely gone to shit! This is a freakin disaster. Things couldn’t possibly get any worse at this point!” Emily Clout despaired.

Xavier Crane concurred. “Um, yeah, I think you’re probably right. I really don’t see how things could possibly get any worse at this point.”

At this point a large, burly woman with a shaved, tattooed head and wearing a bathrobe dropped through the hole in the roof the fire was spilling from and to the floor. She let out a primal roar then bellowed. “Everyone in this room must die so that blessed apocalypse can finally begin!” The woman in the bathrobe then pulled an axe out from under her bathrobe and began moving through the room, hacking off the heads of police officers and mobsters in a blood splattering whirlwind frenzy, singing as she did so “I love you Satan, my love is true, I love you Satan, you know I do!”

“Holy shit, it’s Crazy Mamba and Crazy Mamba has gone completely fuckin insane.” Emily Clout exclaimed with shock.

“Eh, o.k, I think things did just get somewhat worse.” Xavier Crane conceded.

Crazy Mamba continued moving through the room, hacking everyone she came near, everyone wildly firing their handguns as bullets ricochet off the walls and whizzed right by the heads of Xavier Crane and Emily Clout as some of the bullets fired struck Crazy Mamba but they had absolutely no effect on her as she continued to hack off the heads and limbs of the members of both sides of the gunfight and the fire that had crept into the room from upstairs continued to spread out against the walls into an intensifying inferno.

Emily Clout spoke with a calm, introspective voice. “Mr. Crane, you know, this heist has made me realize something.”

“What’s that Emily?” Xavier Crane asked while peering around the side of the statue, trying to see what was happening in the room.

“It made me realize that I want to live.” Emily Clout announced. “You know, I always said I loved the thrill and lived for the excitement but you know what, I see now that I just want to live and I don’t need any of this.”

“Emily, what are you saying? Don’t tell me you’re backing out now. We’re so close!” Xavier Crane tried to persuade her.

“Yeah, close to getting killed. And I choose to live. I just want a long, happy, quiet life.” Emily Clout declared, at peace with her decision.

“Yeah, well I’m going to live even if it means I have to die to do it!” Xavier Crane blurted out defiantly.

“You do realize that makes absolutely no sense Mr. Crane.” Emily Clout commented.

At this point there dropped through the hole in the ceiling several of the zombies from upstairs, all engulfed by flame. They ploddingly stalked through the throne room groaning the one word “Brains” over and over and would at times grab onto either a police officer or mobster and drag them to the floor as they chewed through their skulls, the victim shrieking in agony as Crazy Mamba would occasionally pause hacking to death those involved in the gunfight to literally punch some of the flaming zombies heads off while the room had become by this point quite engulfed by flame and those still standing in the gunfight blindly fired shots off because the smoke was too thick by this point for them to have any visibility or clue what it was they were shooting at.

Emily Clout shook her head with resignation. “No Mr. Crane, I’ve seen enough and know that I do have to hobble away. I very much suggest that you do the same because if you don’t I do not see things ending well for you. You just have to accept that the plan didn’t work out exactly as intended and you should just hobble away too.”

Xavier Crane responded defiantly. “Yeah, yeah, well who needs you? I don’t need anyone else to pull off this heist. So go on, get out of here, I can do this all by myself. I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone. After this job I can actually retire, be out of the game, find my beach and drink my rum from my coconut, start all over, a new life, a real life, but don’t you see, to have that, I need this. Do you hear me? I need this. So go on, get out of here. You want to be a coward, be a coward, but let me tell you something, Xavier Crane aint no coward. He’s just a man following his dream. You want to walk away when you’re right there at the finish line, you go right ahead, it just means that much more for me. Actually glad you’re walking away Emily. More for me you see. Me, I’m seeing this heist through to the end. To the end I tell ya.”

Emily Clout sighed lightly. “Well then, goodbye Mr. Crane. It was a pleasure working with you. I very much wish you good luck.” Emily Clout turned and slowly made her way back up the stairs, making her exit from the throne room.

Xavier Crane stared off at the stairs. “Yeah goodriddance, who needs you. You were just holding me back. This has always been my heist and this has always been my show. And there’s no damn way I’m giving up. I’ll get to my beach, yeah. And I’ll be there on my beach with my coconut filled with rum, yeah, you see, yeah. And absolutely nothing is going to stop me from getting there, yeah.” Xavier Crane turned to the darkened, flame covered, smoke filled room and shouted “Alright you bastards, want to party? Well then, let’s roll.” Xavier Crane stood out from behind the statue. He shouted out “Alright, come on motherfuckers! You want to dance then let’s dance. Say hello to my little friend! Because here comes the pain!” He then squeezed the trigger of the Uzi spraying the room with a continuous stream of bullets, laughing maniacally and wildly as he did, there was the occasional scream of pain of someone being hit as he just continued firing off a continuous stream of bullets, still laughing hysterically and occasionally shouting out “Come on motherfuckers!”

He slowed down on the frequency of his shots and listened in between gunfire bursts to try to hear if any of the participants of the battle were still standing. He continued slowing the pace of his shots and listening in between until he was only firing a sporadic shot here and there and then he stopped firing entirely and just stood there and stared into the darkness of the room, listening for any sound of life. There was none, only the crackle of the flames from the fire engulfing the room. He waited for at least a minute. Still there was no sound aside from the fire. He had done it. All of the combatants in the battle were obviously down, not even emitting the groans and moans of the wounded. They were making no sound at all. Xavier Crane was the only one left. He was the last man standing. Xavier Crane spoke out loud. “Just a eulogy to all the fallen. You certainly did throw an unexpected wrench into my plans but looks like I actually will be completing the heist of the century. Because I’m the only one left.”

“Not the only one.” came a husky woman’s voice from within the smokey, murky darkness.

Xavier Crane stared into the darkness, trying to see who was the owner of the voice but he could make out nothing. Then he detected a figure slowly approaching toward him. And then it became clear who the speaker was. It was Crazy Mamba. She stood there in the center of the room, covered in blood, holding her axe in her right hand, staring Xavier Crane down with a sadistic sneer.

“Crazy Mamba.” Xavier Crane announced.

“You still have me to contend with Mr. Crane. Do you really think you can defeat me?” Crazy Mamba challenged.

“You know what, the absolute worst thing there is, is when you’re planning a heist and one of your partners in crime turns out to be a, a, um, well whatever the fuck you are. Betrayal Crazy Mamba, I have to say I really don’t take kindly to that. You went off the deep end, you lost your way and I’m going to enjoy taking you down.” Xavier Crane boasted, holding his walker with one hand and pointing sternly at Crazy Mamba with the other.

Crazy Mamba let out a loud laugh of demonic fervor. “Ha, ha, ha Mr. Crane. There is something you should know. My contract with the devil means that your bullets cannot harm me. Well, that is unless you are able to hit me exactly between the eyes. Do that and you will have vanquished me. Anything else, well, it will have no effect at all. So tell me Mr. Crane, are you willing to give it a try, and grant me my wish that I can die?”

“There’s something you should know Crazy Mamba. I’m a hell of a good shot.” Xavier Crane boasted “And if I was a betting man, which I am, I would put my money on me making that shot. Something else you should know. I’m feeling lucky so let’s roll. So, I’m actually sorry our dealings had to end this way, I truly am. But, hey, whatcha gonna do. Adios Crazy Mamba.” Xavier Crane squinted one eye, focusing intensely while aiming his UZI then he squeezed the trigger. CLICK. He looked at the gun with worry then squeezed the trigger again. CLICK. He pulled the trigger again. CLICK. He looked at the gun with dismay.

Crazy Mamba let out a thunderous laugh. “It would appear that you are out of bullets Mr. Crane. What a shame. You are now easy meat for my axe to grind.” Crazy Mamba unleashed another loud, demonic laugh. “You know the easiest thing in this world would be for me to march over there and hack off all your limbs then simply walk up the stairs and out the door as the true last one standing, but you see, I’m not going to do that Mr. Crane.”

“What do you mean Crazy Mamba?” Xavier Crane asked.

Crazy Mamba sighed with disappointment. “Oh Mr. Crane, did you not hear me when I asked you to try and shoot me between the eyes? I asked you to try and grant me my wish that I can die. Why do you think I came here tonight Mr. Crane?”

“I don’t know, maybe play a few games of pool.” Xavier Crane guessed.

Crazy Mamba snarled with indignation. “Mr. Crane, I assure you there would be numerous less convoluted, complicated, and less potentially fatal avenues I could have pursued if all I wished was to play a few games of pool.”

“Then why Crazy Mamba?” Xavier Crane asked.

“I came here for my endgame. I bathed in the blood of my combatants with the goal that I would shed my own and be taken from this world to join them in death and thus become the queen of the underworld.” Crazy Mamba exalted.

“You know, feel I have to say, you not putting this on your resume was sort of misleading, just saying is all.” Xavier Crane commented.

“But now Mr. Crane you are out of bullets and therefore cannot fulfill my wishes.” Crazy Mamba pointed out.

“Um, you want to give me some new bullets?” Xavier Crane suggested.

“I do not have any Uzi bullets Mr. Crane.” Crazy Mamba declared.

“You want to give me a different gun I can shoot you in the head with?” Xavier Crane presented as an alternative.

Crazy Mamba groaned with annoyance. “Oh dear God. Look Mr. Crane, you have failed me in my quest so I am really going to have to achieve my goal in a different way, and a way that will take both of us out so consider it a win win.” Crazy Mamba went to open her robe.

Xavier Crane reacted with alarm. “Hey, I don’t think there will be any winning for anybody if you show me what’s under your robe. I really don’t want to see what’s under your robe.”

Crazy Mamba let out a taunting, sinister laugh. “Oh, but Mr. Crane, believe me you do.”

Crazy Mamba pulled open her bathrobe, revealing a red negligee but more importantly also an explosive vest that was packed with dynamite. “So long Mr. Crane, see you in hell.” Crazy Mamba pressed the detonator with a euphoric smile upon her face. Xavier Crane turned and dove to his left, trying to get behind the statue. There was a massive explosion, and a ground shaking rumble. Flames spit out from the explosives wrapped around Crazy Mamba, engulfing the entire room as Crazy Mamba herself was shattered into pieces that spread out all across the room. As the reverberations and echoes of the blast subsided it gave way to silence except for the crackle of the flames that now were almost entirely covering the room.

All was still, just the fires that were raging away. All was silent except the sound of the flames. There was nothing else within the room.

Then, there was a movement within the room…

Xavier Crane slowly lifted his head and sat up from the ground. He clenched his left calf which was bleeding heavily from shrapnel wounds. He grimaced and grabbed his right shoulder which was also bleeding from shrapnel wounds from the blast. Xavier Crane scanned around the room. Crazy Mamba was gone. Xavier Crane was wounded badly but he had survived the blast. And now he truly was the last one standing.

Somehow he had made it through the gauntlet of unforeseen problems. Against all odds he had prevailed. The heist of the century could still go down and he could still get to his beach and drink his rum from a coconut. Xavier Crane had won. He had done the impossible. He was still going to pull off the heist of the century.

He quickly darted his gaze around the throne room to try and see if there were any treasures that were still salvageable. He immediately concluded that there was nothing left that wasn’t completely destroyed and burned beyond recognition. That was o.k. though. There was still the contents of the safe and that would be more than enough for him to retire and get out of the game.

He made his way through the flames and then up the stairs. He hobbled over with his walker to where the safe was and pulled out a long rope and wrapped it around the safe. He threw open a drawer of the desk in the room and took the keys for the funeral home’s hearse. He carried the other end of the rope with him as he hobbled on his walker and exited the front door of the funeral home. The hearse for the funeral home was parked on a cross street that led directly toward his apartment. He stabilized himself on the hearse and tied the end of the rope to it. He twirled the keys for the hearse in his hand. It was time for the getaway. He placed the bag of valuables that had been taken earlier and set them on the front passenger seat then folded his walker, placed it in the hearse and got in and sat down behind the wheel. He placed the key in the ignition and turned it. The engine started with a gentle rumble. Xavier Crane smiled triumphantly and spoke out loud. “Paradise, I’m on my way.”

He placed his foot down on the gas and the hearse lurched forward with rapid speed and crashed into the wall of his apartment building, Xavier Crane’s head striking and breaking the windshield, knocking him unconscious...

Xavier Crane lay on the bed of his prison cell, the night before his scheduled execution. “Yeah, you know, looking back, to have come so close, to have almost had it, almost pulled off the heist of the century, if I had it would have been beautiful. But, I guess things just don’t always go as you plan. So if you ask me, do I have any regrets? Well, fact of it is, only that I was right there in that moment, almost had it, and to look back at it all and realize that success was only a blink away, well that is a bitter pill to swallow. And so I lie here in my cell, having been here the last ten years, tomorrow being my execution date, imposed upon me due to my role in the heist and now, not sure anyone hearing this could actually believe me, though that doesn’t make it any less true, but I wouldn’t take it all back even if I could. You know truth of it is, I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything. Man, that was a crazy night. But you see, it’s like I said to Emily that night, sometimes you have to reach for your dreams and I was going to live even if I had to die to do it. And that night I did feel truly alive. Emily, hmm, I wonder how it is she’s doing? Haven’t seen or talked to her since that night for reasons that should be obvious. She made her escape and I’m glad for that and it would be incredibly foolish if she were to draw attention to herself so that they would then uncover her role in the attempted heist. You know, I sincerely hope she is doing well and found a life within which she can be happy. No way to know that of course, so, I think I’ll just tell myself that that is how things are for her. Telling myself that makes me feel better and brings me comfort. But as for me, as I’ve said, tomorrow is my execution date. Really not much more for me to do now. I’ve told my tale about the heist of the century. Don’t have any family, nor will I be receiving any visitors of any kind. My last meal has already been served. Really nothing else for me to do at this point except try to get some sleep, which I actually think I will be able to do. I have no regrets. And then tomorrow the guards will lead me to the execution chamber and the deed will then be done. I suppose I’ll just close my tale by giving another little detail regarding the coming execution itself. I told them that I wanted to go out in that moment in a way that had meaning to me, an object I could have with me that would bring me some peace as I passed into the great beyond. I told them it was something that had great sentimental value to me and I would be forever grateful if I was allowed to wear it when the execution was performed. I was quite pleased that they said they would allow it for it will truly bring me peace when the moment finally comes. What I wanted was a piece of jewelry, a necklace, at the end of which was a pendant, a pendent that had images of the sun and the moon encased by a star. And so when the state puts me to death I will have that pendant and necklace around my neck. I also instructed them that after the execution I wished for the necklace and pendant to then be removed after my death, removed by someone else’s hand. So, no question tomorrow should be an interesting day to say the least, and, quite possibly a heck of a lot more interesting than anyone expects. For tomorrow I am to be put to death. But who knows, later that day I may well again be walking the Earth, but only at a somewhat more rapid pace. And who knows what the future may hold. Maybe I can still pull off, the heist of the century.”

                                                                      The End

by Aaron Aaronson (from the book "Welcome to Nowhereland (5 Stories)")

“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high. There’s a land that I heard of, once in a lullaby. Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue. And the, dreams that you dare to dream really do come true...” E.Y Harburg

I woke up and yawned, for I had just slept and was therefore tired, sure, made perfect sense. Suppose it was because I wasn’t using the greatest pillow ever made that put all other pillows to shame and relegated them to the categorization status of concrete, spiked slabs by a self-important design genius who spent his entire life designing the super pillow for the Gods, a process that has led to a lucrative living in a world that certainly needed another pillow more than anything else. Sure made perfect sense. I sat upon my bed a moment then stood up and went to the front door of my abode so that I might look out upon the new day and see what it was like and thereby begin to determine what I would do with it. I opened the door of my little cabin within which I lived, just a tiny cabin, it wasn’t much, but it was home, and by saying it wasn’t much I don’t think that comment would be debatable, it was really just a 9 by 12 rickety one room abode of decaying wood. I once referred to it as a shack but the coalition of shack owners then sued me for defamation, a problem never encountered when calling it a cabin, apparently the log cabin coalition was more accepting, um, even though all its members also happened to be Republicans, sure, made perfect sense.

But, where was I, oh yes, opening the door of my little cabin to gaze out upon the day. And so that I did. I looked out and saw that the ground and trees were damp, droplets of water dripping off every now and then from some of the leaves. Apparently it had rained the night before. There was a thin fog gripping the world outside and upon it I scanned with my eyes, examining it and my thoughts, attempting to figure out what I, just a in no way spectacular man, could do to make this day a rewarding and special one that would yield the greatest rewards possible. I looked up into the sky, there were scattered clouds, the sun poking through at points. And then, out on the horizon I saw it. A rainbow, its multi colored glorious arc stretching across the sky. And it immediately dawned upon me what it was I would do this day. I would set out into the world and locate the rainbow’s end. I would aim for the stars, reach for the brass ring, and thereby find my pot of gold. I nodded my head with purpose. I was going to make this day a memorable one. It was going to be great and the bounty amassed from its fortunes would be the gift that would keep on giving for the rest of my days, painting them with its beauteous brush strokes so that every one of them would be a masterpiece that before this day I would have never imagined possible. I would find the rainbow and from this day forward life would be a wondrous dream…

So I set out to begin my quest. But before I even started I encountered a problem. The problem was that I was having a very hard time figuring out where to go to locate the rainbow’s beginning so that I might then follow its course and reach its end. I considered that maybe it would be easier if I just joined it somewhere in between and worked from there but then realized if I did so how would I then know which direction to travel? Which direction would lead to the rainbow’s end and which to its start and how could I tell which was which? I then considered the logic that technically wasn’t the rainbow’s start also an end? I mean, there may very well be another individual off far in the distance setting off into the day with the same plan but their start would be my ending and their ending my start, a rainbow’s end depending on your perspective. So where exactly should I even be heading? I decided that since the rainbow was still in the distance the logical thing to do was to just start with my earlier dismissed idea and join it at some point, first heading towards it, not concerning myself with finding either its inception point or terminus just yet and when I reached it, figure it out from there, so that was what I did, beginning my journey by merely approaching the rainbow itself.

And so I walked toward the rainbow.

Over the desert and through the woods I walked. From here to eternity I walked. A bridge too far I walked. Around the world in 80 days I walked. So help me could someone in the area kindly stop playing old crappy movies at such a high volume I walked. But still, I could not find the rainbow. I looked up into the sky and still there I could see it, but it was as if no matter how many steps I took, I never seemed to draw any closer to it and so there it always remained, this specter forever outside my grasp. But I was not to be deterred, for I could clearly see the beauteous image in my eyes and so for the pot of gold I marched ever forward. Persistence and determination would lead to my reward. Nothing that is ever good or worth having is easy to attain, but I was absolutely devoted to the quest and to having my reward. I was absolutely dedicated to bringing successful resolution to my journeys. And I was certain I eventually would, because it was something I wanted so badly how could anything possibly stop me?

And so I walked.

From the Earth to the Moon I walked, Journey to the Far Side of the Sun I walked, The Brave Little Toaster Goes to Mars I walked, Journey to the 7th Planet I walked.

You know, I had been walking for quite some time at this point so either someone had the loudest damn home theater system in history and had felt a yearning for science fiction flicks or there were various people scattered at different points along my journey who had similar tastes in movies, regardless, the throwback soundtrack of my voyage had grown more than a bit tiresome. I stopped and stared up into the sky again. And still there it was, the rainbow I sought. Yet still, myself appearing no closer to it than I had been at the start of my travels. I shook my head with mild distress for if it appeared so immense in the sky and for me to still be no closer to it, that would suggest it was a considerably greater distance away than I had originally envisioned and so my journey to reach it would take considerably longer than I had hoped. Not to mention that if it was such a great distance away, yet appeared so very large within the sky, would it not then stand to reason that traversing its length would itself be a considerably more lengthy process than originally imagined? I felt a momentary discouragement but this was brushed aside by the realization that such a mammoth rainbow requiring so much effort to reach it must then also have a truly gratifying personal pot of gold at its end and therefore all my efforts would ultimately be rewarded well beyond the cost of my labors.

And so I walked.

And I walked.

Through Pan’s Labyrinth I walked. Across Miller’s Crossing I walked, over Blade Runner without the voice over narrative I walked.

O.k., at least in the surrounding area the people had better taste in movies, so things were looking up already. Thus proof to the mantra that if you follow your rainbow, eventually all will be well. And so on I continued to walk.

And so I walked.

Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension I walked, The Waterboy I walked, Howard the Duck I walked, Dumb and Dumber I walked.

Hey, time out, was I currently travelling through the deepest, darkest pits of cinema hell? I stopped again and again looked up at the sky. Again I saw the rainbow in front of me, lighting my path, but again it appeared no closer than it had any time prior. I exhaled with a tired sigh and must confess to at this point being unable to swat away feelings of consternation.

At that moment I saw approaching me, a large pink bubble, such as that one might expect to see released, emitted by the mouth of a giant who was blowing bubbles. It slowly approached me as I stood there staring at it, an extremely high pitched, freakish discombobulated laughter emanating from within it. I was entranced by this bizarre spectacle and did not move even though it was drawing ever closer, instead just staring upon it with a dumbfounded expression as the laughter within it grew louder and louder. And then, the bubble connected with me, rupturing instantly with a water wave that splashed upon the surrounding area, knocking me to the ground. I shook my head to regain my senses and stood up from the now muddy ground and saw that standing before me was a smiling woman in a pink gown. She had red curly hair and wore a sort of tiara and carried a silver wand with a star atop it.

She stared at me with a joyously disturbed look and a wide beaming smile then the smile ruptured into an eardrum piercing stream of the laughter.

I grimaced in pain from the auditory assault. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is it with that laugh? Who exactly are you?”

Her head bounced around in a jerky spasm then she spoke with a voice mirroring the laugh in intonation and high pitched frequency. “Why it’s me, Glenda, the good witch of the North.” She then unleashed another string of the horrid, hellish skewer of sanity that was her laughter.”

“Um, Christ, any chance you could possibly bring that laugh down a few notches maybe?” I requested.

“Oh, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo. Why of course not, for it is me, Glenda, the good witch of the North.” she announced then entered into another onslaught volley of the horrid laughter, “Oh hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo.” her head percolating twitchingly with every high pitched utterance.

“Jesus Christ, you sound like a horse on speed.” I observed.

“Oh hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo. No, no, no, no. Why it is me, Glenda, the good witch of the North, and I have come to aid you in your quest. Why I am well aware you have travelled from so very, very, so very, very, very, very far away, to this distant, different land for a very special reason.”

“Um, actually, I really didn’t travel from all that very far a distance away. I’m from around here you know.”

“Oh, hoo, hoo, hoo. The distance one is away from here is measured by neither space nor time, it is the distance travelled within their head. You have come here seeking the rainbow have you not?” Glenda all witchingly knowingly asked.

“Yes. I have. Have you seen it?” I eagerly inquired.

“Why indeed, it is up in the sky.” She gestured upwards with her hands while slowly moving her head back and forth and staring up admiringly.

“O.k., fair enough, my poor choice of words. You see I know it is up in the sky. I can see it too. But I am trying to actually reach it and so far I haven’t had any luck. Would you, wise, benevolent wicca practitioner of the North know how I can?”

“Why the answer lies within you dear child. You have always had the power to reach the rainbow all on your own.” she announced with an expressive, knowing tone.

“The answer lies within me, but what does that mean?” I asked, not understanding her answer.

“The power of the rainbow is within us all.” She spread her arms out with an ecstatic look.

“But how does that help me?” I questioned, feeling I still had not gleaned the benefits her wisdom was providing for the completion of my quest.

She then instructed with a smile, “All you have to do is click your heels together three times and you will be there, where you wish to be.”

“Click my heels together?” I asked, perplexed that such a simple action could provide me my solution.

“Yes, that is all that you must do.” she declared with a joyful smile.

Still dubious about it I decided to follow her guidance. “Well, o.k. then.” I then clicked my heels together, then did so again, and finally a third time. I stood there waiting but nothing happened. “Um, but, it didn’t work. I’m not at the rainbow. I can still see it in the sky and it’s still just as far away as it ever was.”

“Oh I know, I just wanted you to click your heels together, I get such a happy feeling seeing the dancing like motion, kind of like doing the chicken, and I like the sound it makes too. Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo.” Her head gesticulated disjointedly from side to side even more pronounced than at any time before when she laughed.

“Yeah well I really don’t particularly like the sound your damn laugh makes. And how can you be laughing? You didn’t help me at all. Don’t you understand I have to find the rainbow.” I pleaded.

“Oh but the rainbow is inside you, child.” she exclaimed, pointing her finger at me lovingly.

“Um, yeah, well, if that were the case I think it would be pretty easy to find and I really wouldn’t have to spend countless hours wandering the countryside trying to find it. Look Ms. Glenda, humanitarian alternate religion from the mainstream partaker who hails from the area that has a pole where Santa also resides, I’m sorry but I have to be going. I have to go and find the rainbow.” With that I departed and Glenda entered into an even more ruptured sounding euphoric bout of laughter, I turned and looked at her with a pained grimace, barraged by the discordant, stabbing sound, there being nothing I could do to escape my ears from the auditory battering. Then, Glenda literally exploded. There was a plume of pink smoke and then silence and Glenda was gone. I shook my head with a somewhat disturbed and baffled look, then turned and carried on again, off to find the rainbow.

And so I walked

After a time of walking I passed a large oak tree and continued onwards. After a while I noticed I was walking past another oak tree that appeared very similar to the one I had passed before. And on I continued to walk until I found my steps passing by an oak tree eerily reminiscent to the others I had seen. But onwards I travelled and then as I continued forward I stopped, and I just stared at an oak tree that seemed exactly the same as the others I had surpassed. I just stared at it with a questioning look. Was I encountering the very same oak tree even though my steps were leading ever forward? Was I merely repeating the exact same steps, no matter how many I took, never actually getting anywhere nor making any progress at all? Um, well, you know, trees are rather similar looking so differentiating between them is rather hard to do without careful, close attention so I assumed that they were in fact actually different trees. Add to this logic the fact that upon closer inspection of the area I noticed there was a small running stream behind the tree with a tiny waterfall which had not actually been present when I passed the other seemingly same oak trees before so that it was indeed the same tree I was repeatedly seeing indeed seemed unlikely.

Unless of course it was a tree that kept getting up from its roots and venturing forward with steps outpacing my own. Which would seem to be more a commentary on the tree’s steps rather than that of my own steps.

So I just turned and began walking again in the direction I had been and shortly after doing so I felt an apple strike me in the back of the head and a voice yelling at me, “Yeah that’s right you damn bastard, that’s what you get for stealing my apples! What the hell do you think will happen if you steal my apples? I only have so many you know, you take all my apples and I won’t have any left. And I aint going to let that happen you damn bastard!” At which point I was hit in the back of the head by another apple. But I just continued walking, believing getting into a drawn out confrontation with an oak tree would more than likely not be beneficial to achieving my quest of finding the rainbow and my pot of gold. As I walked away I had other thoughts on what had just transpired. (1) I was assuming it was the oak tree throwing its apples at me with anger for taking its apples from it, which I of course had not done, because, of course, oak trees don’t actually have apples. Though, if it was actually a different tree tossing its apples at me for having taken its apples from it, that was also an action I had at no time performed, for at no time had I removed a single apple from a single tree. (2) If it was the oak tree, or say a different tree which actually had apples in the first place, throwing its apples at me out of anger for my having taken an apple from it, angry because it believed if I continued to do so it would eventually have no apples upon it left at all, it might very well want to consider not tossing the remaining apples it had at my head, for the reason that said action could only serve to greatly expedite its apple depletion. (3) Possibly it was actually an apple vendor hurling his apples at me from his cart for taking an apple from it instead. An apple vendor and cart I at no point took notice of ever being there at any point of my travels so I really don’t think it necessary to point out that also was an action I had at no point done.

And so I just continued to walk, my feet continuing forward one after the other as I proceeded toward finding the rainbow, distance travelled by this point at least one hundred feet since I had passed the tree that had led me to consider whether it was the same tree from before. At which point I was struck in the back of the head again by another apple, followed by the distant shout of “You’re not getting any of my apples! You hear me you bastard? You’ll never get any of my apples you damn bastard you hear me!” (4) It was either an incredibly stupid tree or an incredibly stupid apple vendor throwing its apples at me. The whole event entirely illogical in the first place because I didn’t even like apples. And so onward I just continued to walk in search of the rainbow.

But no matter how many steps I took, when I looked up into the sky it always seemed I was no closer at all to the rainbow. I realized finding the rainbow was proving to be considerably more difficult than I had envisioned. I figured that maybe it would make sense to ask directions and so when passing a gas station, I ventured inside to do so.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for the rainbow, would you happen to know where it is by any chance?” I asked.

“Sure, to get there you just follow the yellow brick road until its end and you can’t miss it, it’s right there.” the attendant responded.

“Um, but, where do I find the yellow brick road?” I then asked, having no familiarity with the exact area I was in and therefore no way to know how to first set out upon the particular road to follow it to its end.

“Oh I’m sorry, you’re not from around this area of course or you wouldn’t be asking in the first place. To get to it you just stay on the road you’re on. Just keep walking straight and in about five hundred feet or so it turns into the yellow brick road and then you just follow the yellow brick road, keep going straight and you’ll find the rainbow.” he clarified.

And so I thanked him for his assistance and continued walking and eventually I could see the road up ahead was indeed yellow so I knew I was on the right track. After a bit I reached it, stepping from the grey stones onto yellow ones that would lead my path to the rainbow. And so I just continued walking, and just followed the yellow brick road. As I did so I glanced around at my surroundings. It seemed the yellow brick road started at immediately the point where hobo encampments began on either side. Eventually the camps ended but the yellow brick road continued on. Continued on to a section where on either side of it were numerous bars one after the other. At some point the section of bars ended, but the yellow brick road continued on, leading me to the rainbow. At that point on either side of the street, right after the bars ended, were again hobo encampments, and down the yellow brick road I continued walking. Eventually the hobo camps ended and on either side there were only occasional trees. I looked down and saw that the yellow brick road had also reached its end. Eagerly I raised my head and looked around in all directions to find the rainbow. But there was nothing, only the desolate surrounding area. Where was the rainbow?

I wondered if maybe I had just made a wrong turn but dismissed this possibility because I hadn’t actually made any turns. I had done exactly what I had been told to do. I followed the yellow brick road all the way to its end and yet, still, there was no rainbow. What there was instead was a clearing with only dirt upon the ground and trees all around it. In the center of the clearing was a neon sign. Some of the characters of the sign were broken and it was emanating an intermittent crackling, buzzing sound. The sign simply said one word, rainbow, and there were five arrows, each pointing off in a different direction. I stood there staring at the sign then looked up into the sky. There in the sky as far in the distance as it had been at any time was the rainbow so I carried on, walking towards it again.

I continued walking until I noticed I was passing through an area that had large fields of corn on either side. A person then came stumbling before me across the road, his momentum carrying him forward until he crashed into a fence and fell down, he uttering the words “Oh crap.” as he lay there on the ground.

“Um, you o.k.?” I asked the man who was wearing a large floppy hat and raggedy clothing.”

“Oh fine, I’m fine, just crashed into a fence again is all.” he announced.

With a curious look I asked, “Again, so then does that happen a lot?”

“Quite frequently actually. One hundred thirty second time today.” he declared.

“It’s only like 9 AM you realize.” I pointed out.

“Yeah, I know, bit behind schedule actually. Pardon me a second will you, time to make up for lost time before I fall really far behind.” The man then picked himself up off the ground, backed up about five steps then ran full steam ahead and into the fence, falling down again. At which point he again stood from the ground, backed up five steps again and then again ran forward into the fence, again falling down. And then he repeated this process over and over, doing so about twenty times until he stood from the ground from his last time falling down, turned to me and spoke. “Well, that oughta do it. Not too far behind now and the day’s still young. So, what brings you around the area?” he asked.

“Looking for the rainbow.” I declared.

His face turned into a wide adoring smile. “The rainbow, oh dear me. Boy would I like to find that rainbow, would follow it all the way to the end I would. Know what would be waiting for me there?”

“Your pot of gold of course. And what would your personal pot of gold be?” I inquired.

“A brain. Oh boy if I only had a brain, why the things I could do.” he declared dreamingly.

“Like stop repeatedly running into fences?” I said.

“Yeah, like that. But so much more, so much more I tell you. Why if I only had a brain I could stop stabbing myself in the arms with rusty nails, stop intentionally chopping off my legs with a scythe, stop intentionally setting myself on fire, stop purposely throwing myself off bridges, stop repeatedly banging my head against walls until I lose consciousness.” He sighed with a wishful expression.

I then provided my free of charge psychiatric analysis. “Um, I ah, think you do have a brain. I just don’t think it’s working quite the way you want it to.”

“Why if I had a brain I could actually figure out the mathematical equation I have as of yet been unable to solve whereby I cut both wrists and femoral arteries and take a bottle of pills so that I die at exactly the right moment so that when someone comes to check on me, my rigor mortis has just at that very moment advanced to the point so that my arms, locked in place bent at the elbows and hands were also both locked in place with only my middle fingers standing forever raised as my final comment to any who might view my corpse. Oh the wonders a brain can do. If I only had a brain I tell you life would be very different. Scarecrow brain 2.0, why if I could just find that rainbow I’d get that brain of mine, and, well of course my very own greatest pillow ever made which would of course be the only pillow I could possibly rest the brain with.”

“I see. So then I guess that means you’re on your own quest today to find the rainbow?” I remarked.

The man’s face turned into a disappointed frown. “No, sheeesh, I’ve got a lot of running into fences I have to do.” The man looked at his watch. “Oh boy, I’ve fallen really far behind again. Sorry but I have to get back to work. God I hate this job, and the salary is dismal. I really think I’m going to have to have a talk with the boss and demand a raise. Anyway, sorry again but I really have to get back to it. I wish you success in finding your rainbow.”

“Thank you. And I, well, hope you have a, um, ah, good day, um, if you can, and, um, sure you will. And, ah, you’re obviously quite good at your job so I’m sure you’ll get that raise you seek.” I said with attempted optimism.

“Thank you friend.” With that the man took off running toward the fence, running into it and falling down. He got up from the ground, took five steps back and did so again. Then got back up and did so again and continued repeating the process as I turned and began walking to continue my quest to find the rainbow, he doing so, over and over as my footsteps trailed away and I was eventually out of sight.

And so my journey continued, the rainbow forever in my sight yet me still not drawing any closer to it being within my grasp. But still I continued to march forward for I knew the rainbow couldn’t forever remain beyond my reach. My travels up to this point had born no fruit but I knew it was merely a matter of perseverance. The elusive rainbow could not possibly remain as it seemed to, forever in the distance. My steps had to be bringing me closer to it and so I walked. At some point I noticed there were head stones on either side and that I was passing through a graveyard. Though still daylight it was indeed an ominous and eerie scene to travel through.

As I looked around, in the area past it, I wasn’t certain, but was almost sure I could detect the shadow of a figure hanging from a distant tree beyond it. Did I have some sort of premonition that the macabre surroundings did not bode well for the rest of my quest? Actually no, I just thought it was really freakin freaky and increased my pace so that I might escape its confines as soon as possible and get to the rainbow. As I was nearing the end of the cemetery, the undertaker who was slowly and methodically digging a hole with his shovel locked onto me with his eyes, following my motion as he continued to dig, not speaking a word until he accidently drove the shovel down into his foot because he wasn’t paying attention. At which point he said “Ouch.” Then reached down and started rubbing his foot as I continued on, exiting the graveyard and thus drawing to a close the ridiculously short lived interaction I had had with the undertaker during my passing through.

And so onward I continued to walk.

I walked beneath a pack of trees that enclosed in overhead as if forming a tunnel, when I came out of this stretch of trees there was a clearing, with only a couple of trees at various points. Standing within the clearing in a frozen stance was a man, rather a man of sorts, or conceivably a robot of sorts for he or it, was a mixture of silver and large patches of brown rust and was made of metal. With curiosity I approached the figure which was just remaining there completely still, its limbs locked in mid-motion. Shining down upon the surrounding area was the sun, casting the gaze from the eye in the sky upon the land. But, only above the one spot directly above the metal figure was a dark grey storm cloud, rain pouring down from the cloud upon the still figure. As I got closer I saw that it had eyes and they were blinking, then it spoke.

“Why hello there. How might you be doing on this sunny day? If it isn’t a bother might I trouble you to pick up the can of oil beside me and squirt some of it on my limbs so that I might be able to again move?” the metallic man requested.

“Sure”, I said then picked up the can of oil and poured some on the joints of his arms and legs.

Soon after, his arms and legs began moving slowly with jerking movements and a loud creaking sound. “Thank you friend.” he said then gestured to the oil can. “May I?” he asked, reaching out his hand. I handed him the oil can and he raised it to his mouth, drinking from it. “Ahhhhh.” he sounded after finishing drinking then added “Really does taste like crap, but it’s actually the only liquid I can actually drink, so when you’re weary, dehydrated and in need of liquid refreshment what else you going to do. Suck down on the crap.” He then began walking ploddingly with disjointed steps to a small bench and sat down upon it. The storm cloud that had been over his head moving above him with his steps, coming to rest, still above him, as he sat down upon the bench. And there the metal man sat, rain dropping from the sky above, rain touching the ground nowhere else within the area. He looked up through the rain into the sky at the sun. “You know, I would say I like the sun. But damned if I ever get to feel its touch. Oh well, whatcha gonna do. It is what it is I suppose as all things are. He then reached up to his face with his metal hand and itched the side of his head, flakes of rust dropping off and floating to the ground from both his head and hand. “Thank you immensely for aiding me in my predicament of the current moment, without your assistance who knows how long I would have been stuck there before someone came along. You very much have my gratitude.”

“Really, no problem at all.” I simply responded.

“Well, nice to meet you. The name’s Reynolds.” he said.

“Nice to meet you Reynolds. My name’s Xavier Armadillopo.” I stated.

“Well, good to make your acquaintance Xavier. So what brings you by the area?”

“I’m trying to find the rainbow.” I announced.

“Oh, the rainbow. Yes the rainbow truly is a beautiful sight. Why I often see it when sitting beneath the rain. I often see the rain as well when sitting beneath the rain. The rain, it is, admittedly a less pleasant sight to behold. But can’t stop the rain from falling now can we. They do say that into every life a little rain must fall. But,” He raised his head, looking up into the storm cloud, rain falling onto his face, spilling down the sides, “I do have to admit I often ask the question, upon this life, why is it the rain is falling all the time? Well whatcha gonna do. It is what it is I suppose. But I certainly wish you well in your efforts, certainly do hope you find what you seek at its end. Why I tell you I certainly do wish I could find my reward at the end of my rainbow.”

“And what is it that would be waiting for you if you did?” I asked.

“Oh that which is most essential to being able to proceed through your days with both strength of action and purpose.” he stated.

“And that would be?” I asked with interest.

“My very own the greatest pillow ever made.” answered the metal man.

“Yes, I hear they say it is quite the pillow.” I commented.

“Well that would be my pot of gold and also a giant vat of weather resistant iron. Why if I had that I would pour it over my entire body. Clouds overhead could not faze me at all. No matter what life threw at me I wouldn’t be bothered at all. For then I would not merely be Reynolds, I would then be Iron Man and there is nothing that could get to me, all would just bounce off my iron exterior and fall harmlessly to the ground upon which I marched. I would be invincible to all of life’s hellish calamity, forever protected from whatever arrows were slung upon me, forever Iron Man which nothing could touch. And with my very own greatest pillow ever made I would then have the only pillow that could cradle and was worthy of resting my iron head upon. And all that I wished would be mine and all that I tried to do would be a guaranteed success. As it is I can’t even carry a plate of pasta without the damn thing falling and crashing on the floor. But, whatcha gonna do. It is what it is I suppose as all things are.” Reynolds then just stared up at the rain cloud, water dropping down upon his face.

“Well, I tell you Reynolds, I’m going to find my rainbow no matter what it takes and you know what else, I know you will find your rainbow as well. And I know we will both reach its end, and when we do, we will both obtain our reward, our particular pot of gold that every rainbow has to offer. You just have to believe and never give up, because if you do that then nothing can stop you from obtaining your goals and making life what you want it to be. You just have to believe in your rainbow and all will be as you want it. And if you believe that then tomorrow is guaranteed to be a better day than today was and all your dreams will come true. You just have to believe. Do you believe Reynolds?” I implored.

“I do.” said Reynolds staring up, his gaze fixed at the rain cloud above him. “But if you don’t mind, might I ask you a favor?”

“Certainly, no problem, what is it?” I replied without hesitation.

“Could you possibly pour some more from the oil can upon my limbs as well as my neck? I appear to have again rusted immobile and cannot in any way move from where I am if you don’t.” he requested.

“Of course, no problem at all.” I picked up the oil can and went to pour it upon Reynolds limbs but nothing came out of the nozzle. I shook the can, speaking, “Actually it seems there’s nothing left in the can.”

“Yes, well then, suppose I drank all that was left.” he surmised.

“Do you have another I could use?” I asked.

“No. That’s my only one.” Reynolds announced.

“Um, so what are you going to do?” I asked with concern.

“I guess just remain sitting here, staring into the storm cloud until another individual happens upon the scene who also happens to be carrying an oil can of their own and is willing to use its contents to restore my movement.” he answered.

“Well you know what Reynolds, I’m absolutely sure that’s going to happen so you have nothing to worry about. Everything is going to work out perfectly fine in the end.” I predicted for him.

“Yes, suppose you’re right, certainly someone is bound to come walking through the forest to this arbitrary spot within which I sit, carrying an oil can eventually. Suppose I just have to wait it out, carried through the time by hope until they do.” he theorized.

“Well you know what Reynolds, I’m absolutely sure they will be coming by any minute now so you just sit there staring into your forever storm cloud and think about how great things are going to be when they do.” I declared encouragingly.

“Yeah, guess that’s what I’ll do, because you’ve got to have hope I guess.” he proclaimed, his tone somewhat somber.

“Yes, you’ve got to have hope.” I announced optimistically.

“Without hope what else is there?” he said, his tone more somber.

“One can always hope.” I said brightly.

“Yes, one can always hope I guess. Of course I would very much like it if that person could enter the scene this very moment but indeed I have hope that they will at some point. Until then, it is what it is I suppose, as all things are.” declared Reynolds with resignation.

“Well I’m telling you Reynolds, when they do things are going to be great. Until then, dream on good man.” I said cheerfully.

“Yes, thank you, and best of luck on finding your rainbow then.” he replied.

“Oh Reynolds, I know I will.” I declared with certainty.

“Well then, Godspeed on bringing resolution to your quest.” he concluded.

“Thank you Reynolds, thank you. And it truly was a pleasure to have met you. Goodbye and best of luck to you as well.”

And with that I turned and left, walking again as I continued forward on my quest to find the rainbow. Reynolds, he, well, continued to sit on the bench, frozen still in place, movement of any kind rusted immobile from the perpetual rain cloud forever over his head.

But I was not immobile. I was steadily walking and doing so with both point and purpose. I was going to find the rainbow and I was going to obtain my pot of gold. The next however long a distance it was revealed no events of any kind, nor even any notable landmarks really. It was just a tedious slog through non-descript surroundings and as I did so I would glance up ever so often at the rainbow, but every time I did so it always appeared the same distance away.

I then happened to pass by an amusement park of sorts on my right side. It was heavily populated by dwarf children who for the most part seemed quite happy as they were running around between the rides laughing and smiling. The children on some of the rides not so much. Near the side of the road was a giant bouncy castle that the children would enter and joyfully start jumping up and down on. The problem was that it must have been too tightly pressurized because when they did they were then flung into the walls of it with whiplash speed and then crashed back down upon the floor of it and then up and down and all around like some sadistic game of dwarf child bumper cars only without the cars because once down none of them were able to get back to their feet so they all just kept ricocheting off the surfaces of it, bouncing and crashing into the walls, floors, and into each other as the whole mass of them were crying and screaming for their parents but all to no avail as they just continued in a constant collision course of perpetual motion consumed by desperation and terror. Immediately next to it was the ball pool, that attraction which was a sea of plastic balls children would venture within, but ball quicksand pit of no exit would seem a more accurate description because every child who stepped within it was immediately pulled down, disappearing beneath it and none of them ever rose back to the surface and then more and more children, thinking the ride was empty would themselves venture in only to then also vanish beneath the surface.

As I continued walking past the rides and beyond the small park I couldn’t help but think to myself that they really should have considered stationing some of the workers for the park around those two rides, as the dichotomy of the chorus of screams from the one and dead silence of the other trailed away and were replaced by the occasional normal sounds I had heard on most of the other parts of my travels.

At some point the area surrounding either side began to become considerably more-dense with foliage, both bushes and trees, until it reached a point where the surrounding leaves and branches stretching overhead above me very much resembled a jungle that had had a pathway constructed in the middle of it. And on that pathway I continued walking, various animal sounds audible from within the tangled greenery. The light from the sun above greatly diminished, being blocked out by the branches overhead that seemed to lock hands with each other. And within the semi-darkness I continued marching forward on my quest, knowing that if I continued to do so, eventually I would reach the rainbow and receive my reward.

I continued walking on the road, searching for the rainbow as the road widened and through it I continued to head. As I did I could hear a rustling in the bushes to my side as I walked. It was growing louder with my steps until it became quite pronounced. I stopped and looked at the area of the noise. The rustling continued to grow in volume and then from the bushes leapt a large lion who looked up into the sky, signaling its appearance with a loud bellowing roar. It then turned its head down and stared at me with a powerful, dominant look. It then let loose another call but this one was more akin to a shriek, the lion exclaiming loudly “Eeeeeek!” and immediately and frantically the lion turned back around and dove back into the bushes. From the bushes it spoke out to me. “Oh why’d you have to go and do that for? Why I was just sitting there minding my own business, trying to find a good place to take a nap, wasn’t even bothering anybody at all then you had to come along blaring your stereo, breaking all the mailboxes with a baseball bat and setting fire to all the bushes and trees in the area, your pack of psychopathic serial killer vandals announcing loudly “We are here to torture and kill the lion that lives around here and sell his body parts on the black market after we chop him up into pieces!””

“Um, that’s an interesting interpretation of my arrival here, one which I would personally say is somewhat, slightly erroneous in at least a few ways, but, hey, you jumped out from the bushes and roared ferociously at them when you thought there was a gang of marauding crazy people here to kill you so if that were ever to happen I’m sure you would scare them off so you really have nothing to worry yourself about. And as for me you can see it is just me and that I mean you no harm so you’re perfectly safe from me.”

I then saw his eyes peering out at me from within the bushes. After a few seconds I heard stirring in the bushes and the lion emerged again and spoke when he did. “Yeah I roared but I didn’t actually mean it. I just didn’t know what else I could possibly do to save myself at that point. I’m sure they would have just laughed at me and killed me anyway. I’m just a cowardly lion you see.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a cowardly lion.” I declared sympathetically.

“Yeah, except being cowardly. I don’t know what it is but everything seems to scare me. I just haven’t got the nerve I tell ya. I’m just this always wound up ball of anxiety and I’m even afraid of my own shadow. Wo! What, what’s that black thing on the ground right next to you?” He nervously pointed down to the side of me.

“Don’t worry it’s just your shadow. It can’t actually hurt you.” I declared, trying to put his mind at rest.

He shook his head with a troubled face while looking down at his shadow. “God I hate that damn thing, follows me everywhere I go. I think it might be a government agent spying on me. Do you think it’s a government agent spying on me?”

“I tend to doubt it’s a government agent spying on you.” I reassured him.

“Well you can never be too careful. That’s why I seal all the food in my kitchen with individual bags only I have the key for because I know full well the local Shriners faction is trying to poison me. Oh boy I really do wish I could go find my rainbow and collect my reward waiting at the end.” he lamented.

“You don’t say. That’s funny because I’m actually out here looking for the rainbow for the same purpose.” I informed him.

“Really, well good luck then, I really hope you find it.” he pronounced encouragingly.

“And I hope you find yours as well.” I offered back.

The cowardly lion shook his head dejectedly. “Can’t.”

“Why not?” I asked probingly

“Because if I did the Templar assassins posing as Buddhist Monks would just trigger the explosives they have it rigged with and it would collapse and fall on my head, killing me.” he explained.

“Hmm, I see where thinking that might give you pause.”

“Besides, to get to my rainbow I’d have to take a boat, and if I did that then I know Bigfoot riding the Loch ness Monster would just beat the boat with a giant club until the boat sank.” he added as another reason he was unable to make the journey.

“Hmm, I see where that could be a problem.”

“And of course I’d have to first get to the boat, and how would I do that? Did you know there were roughly 1.25 million traffic accident fatalities in the world last year? Suppose I could go by horse but then I’m guaranteed to be set upon by horse thieves who would then kill me and steal my horse. So then what, by cow? But what are the chances the cow I was on wouldn’t have mad cow disease and just maul me then skin my pelt and wear it while doing his Axl Rose impression in a full length mirror while he keeps a full figured woman trapped under his house at the bottom of a well?”

“Hmm, if that happened that would indeed be an unpleasant turn of events on many levels.” I remarked.

“You know, there’s just really no place in the world that’s actually safe. Terrorists are lying in wait to attack the botanical gardens if I happen to go it. Figure it might be nice to just go to some park and sit on a bench but then some lunar transport to the international space station will just tumble from orbit and crash down on me. Go to the store to buy some milk, and a pack of gremlins carrying butcher knives are just going to surround me and stab me 368 times. And when you figure why not just go curl up in a cave somewhere, take a nap and rest, well that’s all fine and good until the alien dinosaur sleeping in it wakes up, sees me and eats me for lunch. There’s really no place you can go where you aren’t going to have trouble. But, man how different it would be if the darn Templar assassins posing as Buddhist Monks weren’t just going to blow up my rainbow when I got to it so that it collapsed on me and killed me. If that wasn’t what would happen then I could actually get to the end of the rainbow and collect my reward and then everything would be different.”

“So what is it that would be waiting for you at the end of your rainbow?” I inquired.

“Two personal giant cyborg, ninja samurai, bodyguards with lasers, machine guns, and heat seeking missiles and radar technology to detect any possible threat and possessing speed greater than the speed of light and which are indestructible and take out any threat before it has any chance of harming me. That and, of course three of the greatest pillows ever made. One for me, the only that could possibly guarantee keeping all bad dreams away, and the other two for my two giant cyborg ninja samurai bodyguards even though of course they never actually sleep.”

“Hmm, I see where that would be very useful for you to have, the um giant cyborg ninja samurai bodyguards I mean.”

“Eh, what’s the point anyway.” the cowardly lion declared. “I mean you tell me, is there any possible chance that a disgruntled, outcast, maladjusted, super genius, autistic 5 year old computer wiz wouldn’t end up deciphering the code that controlled their operation which even the programmers wouldn’t be able to crack, doing so by using an Atari 800 and a random counterfeit lotto ticket bought from China to thus take control of my two giant, cyborg, ninja samurai bodyguards and make them kill me because one of his classmates said the word euphemism thus triggering the signal implanted in him by a Cherokee Indian tribe who were trying to bring about the second coming of Jesus Christ by my death and the plan going into full effect because seeing another classmate wearing a lime colored shirt was the final piece of their puzzle to make him decide that was the way he wanted to kill a lion that day even though up to that point he always had a profound love of animals?”

Trying to keep him from entirely abandoning his goal I hypothesized, “Well. I guess you could always take your chances that that might possibly not exactly happen in exactly that way.”

He dismissed my attempt at encouragement outright. “Come on. Who are you kidding? Thanks for trying but what are the chances of that?”

“Hmm, I see. Really sorry that you won’t be able to get to your rainbow, but I tell you I won’t stop until I get to mine. I promise you I’ll find my rainbow and collect my reward.”

“And I really hope you do. I truly do. And I very much have hope that you will if you try hard enough, if you put all your efforts into it I’m sure it will be a success.” he forecasted.

“I know it will be.” I declared.

There was then the sound of a baby frantically crying somewhere in the distance.

“What was that?” the cowardly lion asked, darting his gaze around quickly with panic in all directions.

“Sounds like a baby crying, seems like it might be in distress. I wonder where it is.” I responded, looking around the area.

“Oh no, that must be a member of the terrible infants gang that operates in the area. I know they have a hit out on me. Every time I pass one of them they just lock on me with their eyes with this sinister expression that is their gang code for we’re going to murder a lion. I think it must now be crying to alert the other members to amass at the club house to come and kill me. You should probably get out of here. They’re a ruthless gang with no qualms about killing all in the area so they can’t be identified. No reason both of us should have to die, besides, you’ve got your rainbow to find, so hurry, go on, get out of here.” he urged me with concern

I was still looking around, trying to see where the crying was coming from. “I don’t know, it really does sound to me that it might be in some sort of danger, if it is I would like to help it.”

“Oh I wouldn’t do that. If it’s not one of the terrible infants then it has to be a baby surrounded by all the lions of the area, who I don’t get along with by the way because they are actually secretly disgruntled actors who auditioned for the musical “Rent” but didn’t get the part and turned to a Satanic cult to enact their revenge on the world, joining forces with the tigers and bears in the area, who by the way aren’t real tigers and bears but instead ex baseball and football players who are addicted to pain killers, the muscle for various drug and gambling outfits and prone to violent bouts of senseless rage from post-concussion syndrome, who are going to eat it because they paid its parents 500 thousand dollars to do so because the parents wanted to buy a luxury yacht they would name “The Hermaphrodite”. It’s already a goner, there’s nothing you can do. Try and go and save it and you’ll just get eaten as well and then you’ll never reach your rainbow.” he cautioned.

The sound of the crying became even more frantic.

“Yeah, that might be it, but still, I don’t know. I’d really like to know for sure just in case that’s maybe not what’s happening.” I continued searching the area and noticed smoke drifting up into the sky then looked down and saw the smoke was coming from a burning four story building and that the crying was coming from inside. “Oh no, that building is on fire and I think the baby is trapped within it.”

I could then also hear a woman’s voice frantically screaming from down on the ground “Help! Someone please help! My baby is trapped inside on the fourth floor!”

“What are you going to do?” the cowardly lion asked.

“Um, I, well I guess I’m going to go over there and try to save it, what else can I do? So good luck with everything. But I got to go.” I turned to begin heading for the building but was stopped when the lion grabbed my arm with its paw.

“No. Don’t go in there. I will. You know this moment has made me realize that maybe some of my theories of what will happen are possibly not entirely accurate in terms of some of the details. You know, I see now it’s just my fear talking and it really is a terrible thing to live with all the time. And it really is something I very much wish to overcome. And by God I don’t need to find the rainbow and enlist the services of my two giant, cyborg, indestructible ninja samurais to do so. Which is actually good because they would of course have fire as the one thing they were not in fact resistant to, put in place as a fail-safe to stop them in the event a disgruntled, autistic 5 year old saw the color green making him want to kill a lion with them. And you know what else I realize now, that if you stand up to your fears and don’t let them control you then there is nothing in the world that can stop you and all your wishes and dreams will come true. For there truly is nothing to fear but fear itself. So let me do it. And I know nothing will go wrong and all will be fine. I will save that baby and I will emerge from the building a hero, the mother will give me a thankful hug, crying tears of gratitude and joy and when I curl up to go to sleep in a cave that night there will be no alien dinosaur there to kill me because that alien dinosaur was never actually there. I got this one friend. And tonight I guarantee I will sleep the deepest, most peaceful, satisfied sleep I ever have, my reward for a good deed and job well done.”

“Well good for you cowardly lion. And good luck, though I know full well you aren’t going to need it.” I praised.

“Thanks friend, and good luck finding your rainbow because I no longer need mine. So I’ll be seeing ya, but I have to go. There is work to be done.” With that the no longer cowardly lion scampered to the building, shouting as he did “Don’t worry mam. I’m coming to save your baby!”

As he passed her and ran into the building the woman exclaiming “My furry hero. Thank you dear sweet lion.”

I watched as the no longer cowardly lion appeared in a fourth floor window and then began lowering the no longer crying, but instead giggling, baby with a rope of sheets he had tied together as the baby was safely lowered to the ground and into the arms of its weeping, joyous mother. The baby was safe and as I gazed upon the no longer cowardly lion standing in the window, nodding his head with a proud expression, a tear of joy escaped from my eye as well that the baby was safe and that my friend, the lion, had overcome his fears on his own and his life would now be so much more rewarding, free of worries and entirely content.

The entire building then crumpled, collapsing to the ground as a fiery heap, the woman exclaiming “Oh crap, that nice lion who just rushed into a burning building and saved my baby by stringing together a bunch of sheets just got killed when the building collapsed on him and he died. Um, oh crap.” She then looked down at the baby in her arms who was smiling obliviously up at her. “Whose a good little baby, oh you a good little baby, whosha woosha good little baby.” The baby smiled and laughed. “Yes, yousha woosha good little baby. Let’s go goosha woosha little baby, the “Teletubbies” is coming on T.V. soon” The woman then walked away, carrying the baby. The flaming wreckage of the building smoldering in rubble on the ground.

“Oh crap.” I uttered, a pained grimace upon my face. I continued staring at the flaming wreckage. :”That did not go as well as I had hoped. Well, goodbye dear friend. You will be missed. But I must be off to go find the rainbow. And when I do, know this, I will be thinking of you. Goodbye my friend.”

And so again I set off, continuing to walk in the direction of the rainbow?

But where was the rainbow? To have it there always in my sight but to still never seem to grow any closer to it was beginning to become frustrating. But what else was there that I could do? Really there was nothing except as long as I had it in view to continue marching onward to it. And so that is what I continued to do. As I did I found myself passing by two horses, one white and one grey. Standing next to them was a man in a red coat wearing a large furry looking hat and as I walked by the white horse, it motioned to me with a welcoming nodding of its head and so I reciprocated with a nodding gesture of my own. As I did so the man chuckled and said to me, “Oh my, the horse’s name is Qubbles and I do believe Qubbles likes you.”

“Nice to meet you Qubbles.” I said as I passed it by, now passing before the other horse who motioned to me with a nod of the head much the same as the first one had done. I nodded back as I had done to the other horse then called out to the man “So what about this one?” I asked, pointing to the grey horse, so that I might greet it by name as I had done with the other.

“Why that’s a horse of a different color.” the man responded.

“Um, yeah, I can see that. But what I meant was what is its name?”

“I just told you, A Horse Of A Different Color.” the man answered.

“Oh I see. Well then have a nice day Qubbles and A Horse Of A Different Color. Gooday to you sir as well.” I said to the man then continued walking on my way.

And so on I continued to walk seeking the rainbow, I looked up into the sky as I did so and yet still, even after all my travels it appeared just as distant as it did with my very first step. I began to dismay that I would never actually reach my pot of gold but I was not deterred and so onward I continued to march to my goal. My steps had long ago begun to tire and I was indeed feeling weary so my pace was considerably slower than it had been at the start but still I pressed ahead forward to find the rainbow, believing as I did so that the resolution of my quest could well come at any time.

At some point while walking forward I noticed a figure sitting on a rock somewhat ahead of me. It appeared quite short, somewhat stocky and was dressed in green. As my steps drew closer to it I was able to make out more features of it. It was wearing a green jacket with a lighter green shirt beneath it. It had on a green rounded derby hat, green tights and darker green boots. As I got closer still I could make out that it was actually female and had red hair and pointed ears. Her skin was also green. Wait, could this possibly be the Leprechaun guarding my pot of gold?

The possibility had to be considered even though there were a few questions regarding it. For one, I wasn’t aware there actually were female Leprechauns, though admittedly I had no real in depth prior knowledge of the intricacies of Leprechaun genealogy. Also. Though my knowledge of Leprechauns was admittedly scant I knew enough to know that though they were prone to wearing green outfits, there skin itself was not actually green as well, but hers indeed was. Not to mention she was nowhere near the vicinity of the rainbow, certainly not waiting at its end which I had always understood as the place a Leprechaun would be. She was just sitting on a large rock in the middle of nowhere, whistling and singing to herself, though I could not, as of yet, make out the words. But, could this be it? Was it possible she was in fact the Leprechaun I had been seeking all this time?

When I reached a point almost up to her I could actually make out the words of what she was singing to herself. The words were this

“I am A Leprechaun. A Leprechaun am I, I am a Leprechaun, a Leprechaun am I. A Leprechaun I am. A Leprechaun I am. I am a Leprechaun, a Leprechaun I am.” She then began whistling.

The diabolically intricate confounding riddle I had solved. This was indeed the Leprechaun. She just sat there upon the boulder whistling to herself, apparently unaware of my presence. And so I decided to announce my arrival. “Why hello there majestic Leprechaun woman, it is me. I have come to collect my pot of gold.”

She turned her head and looked upon me with a smile. “Oh that’s lovely, wonderful indeed. I knew you would make it. Been sitting here waiting for ya, you know.” The Leprechaun declared welcomingly.

“So then, does that mean I can collect my reward?” I inquired.

“Sure, sure and indeed as well. That’s what I’m here for don’t you know. Rules is rules and the rules is that he who finds the end of the rainbow and the Leprechaun gets to collect his pot of gold. And I also have for you your very own free the greatest pillow ever made.” the Leprechaun answered.

“Wonderful! But, um, I can see the rainbow way over there, how then could this spot here be where it ends.” I asked, perplexed.

“Well, technically the rules is that you reach the end of the rainbow and you meet the Leprechaun and then they give you the pot of gold. But it’s the meeting the Leprechaun that’s important. To be perfectly honest the end of the rainbow has no actual significance in terms of being able to make the transaction. It’s just where us Leprechauns usually are. But to get your pot of gold the Leprechaun doesn’t have to actually be at the end of the rainbow.”

“I see. Well boy am I glad I found you. Feels like I’ve been travelling for ages and by this point I am very exhausted and weary. But I persevered, even when I felt as if I couldn’t go on one step more, still on I went because inside I knew that eventually I would reach the rainbow and get my pot of gold. I suppose being at the end of a rainbow really wouldn’t matter at all. What is a rainbow anyway, just an image you see in the sky, the only possible reward it provides is an aesthetic one to those who behold it in their eyes. It is the Leprechaun and pot of gold part of the equation that is important and by God I have found my Leprechaun as I knew I would and so my goal has been achieved. Thank you dear Leprechaun.” I said with heartfelt gratitude.

“Oh don’t be silly, no thanks are necessary, no thank yous necessary at all. It’s what I do. Genies in bottles grant you three wishes, though as so many unaware souls learn it’s always with a catch, and us Leprechauns at the end of rainbows make your dreams come true.” she announced magnanimously.

“Um, might I ask, why is it you’re not actually at the end of the actual rainbow?” I inquired with curiosity.

“Oh I was, I was, but this particular rainbow was sort of the erroneous, direction wise sort. You see there is an unwritten understanding that the rainbow’s end should be in an area where there is actually something for the Leprechaun to sit upon. Not only was there no such thing but this particular rainbow actually ended in the middle of a lake meaning I would have had to keep myself bobbing in the water while I waited for you and then you yourself would have had to wade out into the lake to find me. Really didn’t seem fair to either of us so I just came over here and sat on this boulder and waited instead.” she explained.

“I see.” I responded, nodding my head.

“Knew you would find me anyway. Leprechaun’s intuition. The Leprechaun always knows.” the female Leprechaun stated, tapping her finger to the side of her head.

“Of course.” I said, again nodding my head.

“You know, the whole rainbow thing is actually relatively new in Leprechaunology. It used to be that we would just sit, waiting in a patch of four leaf clovers. The problem was that was a considerably more difficult spot for travelers to locate. And then of course there was the contract dispute where the four leaf clovers began only sprouting up around the base of trees, and never near any rocks to sit on. Negotiations were ongoing when two different Leprechauns sitting and waiting on the branches of two different trees fell off them, one breaking his leg, the other his arm, so we decided the work environment was deleterious to our physical well-being and that a contract couldn’t be reached so we broke off negotiations and signed a deal with rainbows instead. Has worked quite well for all involved. This rainbow here, probably just its first day on the job, sure it will get the hang of it. It just has to go over the rulebook and all will be fine.”

“I did not know that about Leprechaunic history.” I admitted.

“Yes, yes, indeed. As I said there are the rules. And the rule is that if you find your Leprechaun wherever he or she is you receive your particular pot of gold.” she announced.

“That’s great news. I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am.” I exclaimed with gratitude.

“Absolutely, glad you are, that’s what we’re here for you know. Just one other minor rule, which I’m sure you’ll agree is really nothing whatsoever at all. But to get your pot of gold there is one tiny, insignificant thing required of you.” the Leprechaun informed me.

“Sure, you name it.” I immediately and eagerly replied.

“Well, you did say you were unaware of Leprechaun folklore but it has always been the case that to receive your pot of gold you just first have to give to the Leprechaun your shoes.” she explained.

“My shoes?” I asked confusedly.

“Yes, that’s all, like I said it’s nothing, but those are the rules. I’m sure you’ll agree it’s a very small price to pay. So you just take off your shoes and hand them to me and I’ll give to you your pot of gold and you can be on your way.” the Leprechaun declared.

“Um, but I really did walk quite a long way to get here, is there any way around that? Think I could really use them for the journey back home.”

“Oh believe me I wish that there was and let me assure you I personally have no interest whatsoever in acquiring your particular shoes. It’s all a rather silly stipulation I’d be the first to admit but the rules are the rules. So just take off and hand over your shoes and our dealings can then be completed.” she directed me.

“Would it be satisfactory if I gave you my socks instead?” I queried, thinking that would present less of a problem for the walk home.

“Oh I wish that it were, really I do, but when the contract was negotiated both with the clovers and then with the rainbows it was insisted by them that it had to be the shoes themselves. Always was perplexed why the head of the Leprechaun guild signed that clause. Think originally it had something to do with the clovers wanting it in the contract out of fear the traveler seeking their pot of gold might step on them. Really no clue why the rainbows would insist on it as well. I assure you us Leprechauns really couldn’t care less. And trust me when I state to you that I specifically have absolutely no interest whatsoever in obtaining the particular shoes you yourself are wearing. Just following the rules as they are written, so just give me the shoes and that will be that.” the Leprechaun explained.

I nodded my head in agreement. “O.k. then. And like you said it is a small price to pay to get my pot of gold. Just give me a second will you?”

“Of course, of course, take your time.” she said nonchalantly. I sat down on the grass and went to remove my shoes. At that moment clouds moved in overhead and there was an audible crack of thunder up above. The Leprechaun looked up at it then spoke with a more urgent tone. “Oh dear me. Looks like rain is coming. Any chance you could speed things up. I really have this thing about being caught in the rain. Does nasty things to my appearance, so could you please?”

“Like what” I asked, pausing the process of removing my shoes.

“Like, um, like, it does a number on my hair so really, just speed things along will you.” she beseeched me.

“But you’re wearing a hat.” I commented, just making the observation. There was then an even louder crack of thunder and then a flash of lightning.

“That I am, how perceptive you are. But not all my hair is covered now is it. Bottom strands get wet, the whole thing frizzes up. Will take hours to disentangle it. So really now, quick, the shoes, the shoes, just give me the shoes.” she compelled me.

“Sure, no problem.” I reached down and began to remove the first of the shoes from my feet but as I did so I felt a drop of rain fall upon my nose, followed quickly by one on my cheek, then the top of my head. “Uh oh, I’m feeling drops of rain. Is it too late for you?”

“Yes. Yes it is to avoid what it’s going to do to me.” she declared with a tone that was both resigned and irritated at one in the same time.

“Do you still want the shoes though?” I asked.

“Yes, I do, so take off the damn shoes.” she snapped with an agitated voice.

“O.k., sorry bout your hair.” I said emphatically.

“I assure you it is utterly grateful beyond comprehension for your sympathy. The shoes, now.” I again began to remove my shoe when the rain really began to pour down heavily upon the scene. The Leprechaun just gazed up at it with a look of pure disdain. “Just great. Freakin fuckin perfect. Man I hate when this happens.” At that moment I noticed there were fumes emitting from the Leprechaun’s body as she sat upon the boulder with a scowl on her face.

“Oh my God, the fumes, it’s like smoke or something. Are you o.k.? It looks like you’re melting. That would seem, ah, sort of worse than having a bad hair day.” I observed with concern.

“Yes it would appear that I am. Oh what a fuckin world.” she commented with a dry monotone voice.

“Well is there anything I can do to help?” I offered.

“Yes, actually there is.” At that moment an enormous wave of smoke erupted from the Leprechaun’s body as she exploded in size, instantaneously growing to a mammoth 20 foot tall creature with bulging muscles, her clothing being shredded by the process so that the only left covering her was a pair of cut off shorts. The hulking figure stared down upon me with a seething angry glare. “What are you fuckin deaf? You can give me the fuckin shoes you little shit!”

“I really don’t think they’d even fit you now.” I commented innocently.

The Leprechaun growled with a rabid, monstrous voice, “Just give me the fuckin shoes already. Jesus Christ! How much worse could this possibly get you stupid, little bitch? Don’t you know I am the mighty wicked witch?” At that moment a house came plummeting down from the sky, landing on top of the Leprechaun, squashing her.

I just stood there staring at the house as it lay upon her for a while then called to her. “Um, do I still get my pot of gold now?” She, having been squashed by the house, of course did not respond.

So I just stood there in the rain, staring at the house wondering what it was next that I should do. Then the door to the house opened and there emerged a young woman with pig tails wearing a pale blue and white checkerboard patterned dress. A dog then came slowly trotting up and sat on its hind legs beside her. The dog was a greyhound and its sitting height came close to matching her standing height. The dog released a tired, sleepy yawn. The young woman looked at the dog and spoke. “Toto, I have a funny feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

“Actually you are. This is Kansas.” I said to her.

The look on her face snapped to one of disappointment. “What? Shit. I was Goddamned trying to get the hell out of Kansas. Where in Kansas?”

“Fredonia.” I answered.

“Are you kidding me, that’s only like two towns over. Well this is a hell of a crappy flying house.” There then came across the sky overhead at that moment, from the right, a wave of flying monkeys, I looked upon them as they flapped their wings passing by and continuing on until out of sight. “So then where exactly in Fredonia did I land?” the young woman asked.

“On a Leprechaun.” I said.

“On a freakin Leprechaun. Are you kidding me? Now how am I going to find my pot of gold if my damn house squashed the Leprechaun? Crap, this Goddamned horrible flying, Leprechaun squashing stupid useless house. I knew I should have bought a motor home instead. Then I could have just driven out of Kansas and I could find my rainbow and then get to the end of it and find the Leprechaun and get my pot of gold.” she despaired.

I looked at her, trying to console her that she hadn’t made the wrong choice. “Yeah, but then there’s a good chance you would have just ended up running the Leprechaun over.”

“But what the hell do I do now to get my pot of gold? And I mean, come on, I’m still in freakin Kansas. Getting out of Kansas, at the very least I could have accomplished that much. This has been a complete and total failure I tell you.” She shook her head mournfully.

“Well, you know I didn’t get my pot of gold either so things really didn’t work out for me at all either. Um, I don’t know, do you need a place to stay or something? We could go back to my cabin and hang out if you’d like. Of course I just made this offer momentarily neglecting to consider the fact that you did actually travel here by house.”

“Look, don’t take offence at my saying this but things really are not going to work out for you that way either. You’re really not my type. And by not my type what I’m trying to tell you is that I’m a lesbian.”

“Wow, a lesbian in Kansas?” I responded with astonishment.

“Exactly. Oh man this really sucks.” She sneered, smacking her leg with her hand out of frustration.

“Well. You know if you look under your house you’ll find somewhere near the squashed Leprechaun the greatest pillow ever made. Would that help?”

“It’s a friggin pillow, I already have a friggin pillow, what the hell do I care? How the hell is the greatest pillow ever made going to help me get out of Kansas and find my rainbow and Leprechaun and pot of gold?” she asked with dismay.

“Well I think it’s the new marketing slogan for it actually. “Get out of Kansas, find your rainbow, Leprechaun, and pot of gold. Only with…The greatest pillow ever made!”

“It’s just a friggin pillow! I got a friggin pillow in my friggin house.” she proclaimed dismissively.

“Sorry. Just trying to find some sort of gain you could get out of the situation.” A thought then occurred to me. “Um, wait, you wouldn’t happen to also have a can of oil in that house of yours would you? I actually know someone who could really use it.”

“A can of oil. What the hell do you think, just because I’m a lesbian it means I like to fix car engines and other stupid shit like that?” she responded incredulously.

“So then you’re saying you don’t?” I inquired.

“No, I don’t. Sorry.” she answered, trying to be gracious but obviously agitated by the plight of her situation.

“Damn. That would have at least been something. Oh well.” The two of us then just stood there, each of us looking off in different directions with quizzical, ponderous looks on our faces, both of us trying to figure out what we should do next. I glanced over at her and asked, “So what are you going to do now, do you know?”

“No friggin clue. How about you?” she answered with a discouraged tone.

“Well, I guess just begin the trek back to my cabin. Really can’t think of anything else I can do other than that at this point.” I said, realizing I had not achieved my goal and there really was nothing else to do.

The look on her face changed to one of contemplation. “Well you know what. I was wrong. I actually do know what I’m going to do?”

“What?” I asked with interest.

With a steely unbreakable look of purpose she then declared. “I’m going to find a different rainbow with a different Leprechaun than the one I squashed and I’m still going to get my pot of gold.”

“From experience I suggest you do so when not in the rain. Trust me, a friendly word of warning.”

She continued with her declaration of her just realized course of action. “Because you see, to find your rainbow all you have to do is believe. For I tell you there is that wondrous land somewhere over the rainbow, and in that special place, why there is no rain, and the skies are always sunny and blue.”

“Um, then how did the rainbow form in the first place?” I asked, perplexed.

“Shut up.” she barked at me then continued “And in that wondrous place where the skies are always sunny and blue, um,” She then again spoke directly to me. “I did say somewhere over the rainbow didn’t I? Now if you make that leap to actually get over the rainbow, is it really too hard to make the leap in logic that over the rainbow there wouldn’t actually be any rain?” she theorized.

“Hmm, good point. I didn’t think of it that way. Sorry for interrupting.” I responded.

She then just looked ahead with a resolute and enthralled stare. “And in that wondrous place somewhere over the rainbow where the skies are always sunny and blue, there are Leprechauns a plenty, and the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true. Because somewhere over the rainbow, way up high, there is a land that I heard of, once in a lullaby. I tell you heterosexual male, someday I’ll wish upon a star and wake up where the clouds are far behind me. Where troubles melt like lemon drops, away above the chimney tops, that’s where you’ll find me. Because damn it, somewhere over the rainbow bluebirds fly.” At that moment the pack of flying monkeys flew before me up in the sky, heading from the left making quacking sounds as they did. “Blue Birds fly over the rainbow, why then oh why can’t I? If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow” The gaggle of flying monkeys then went quacking, flying past, up in the sky from the right. “Why…Oh why…Can’t I?” She turned and looked at me, “So I tell you, by God I’m just going to find a different rainbow and when I get there I’ll follow it to the end and there will be Leprechauns too numerous to count and I tell you I won’t land on them and squash them with my house. And I will get my pot of gold and I know this because I truly want it more than anything in this world. And somewhere over the rainbow the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.” She then just stood there, staring out ahead with a hopeful look of determination.

“Gotta say, I do admire your sticktoitiveness. Well you know what, I know you will find that rainbow and you will find your Leprechaun and you’ll get your pot of gold. I’m very happy for you. I wish you the best of luck. Godspeed on your quest.” I proclaimed with admiration.

With that the young woman began happily waving in all directions, joyfully exclaiming, “Goodbye, goodbye everyone. Thank you. I’ll miss you all.” She turned to me “Goodbye heterosexual male stranger I just met and have only known for like two minutes.” She then turned and looked down at the floor of her house, waving with even more emotion than up to that point, speaking tearfully. “And I’ll miss you most of all Leprechaun I never actually met who I squashed with my house.” She then turned and from the doorway she waved out with a beaming smile, Toto standing up from the ground and lazily walking into the house, the young woman stepping inside and closing the door.

And so I just stood there staring at the house awaiting it to take orbit and fly away to that wondrous land where all is perfect and swell and everything always goes well. It did no such thing. It just stayed there on the ground. From inside the house you could hear the young woman’s voice. “Come on…Come on house…Will you fly already?” I just stood there looking upon the house and the house just stood there in no way flying or even moving whatsoever. The young woman’s agitated voice could then be heard inside. “Goddamn stupid useless house. Goddamn stupid non-flying, Leprechaun squashing, non-Kansas exiting friggin house. What the hell are you good for you freakin useless stupid house? Just start flying already.” There was then another pause of silence as I continued to stand there staring at the house which still continued to not move. The young woman’s voice then blared again from within the house with frustration. “Aaaargh! Goddamn stupid house! They say there’s no place like home well I tell you there’s no place like home because there’s no Goddamned place in the world that is so completely useless and incompetent as you are you damn stupid house.”

And so with that I turned and began my journey back to my tiny log cabin. I did so having not found the rainbow or acquired my pot of gold. Some might then see my quest as having been a failure, but you know what, I really didn’t see it that way. For on my quest I had made three very good friends, um, one of whom died, another remained the prey of and a complete victim to his disturbed, self-injurious mind, and the other remained stuck perpetually trapped beneath his forever storm cloud under which he was entirely immobile and rusting and rotting away till one day only a pile of dust. I met a Leprechaun! I also met a really hot lesbian chick. And I saw some monkey’s flying. And on my odyssey I learned many invaluable life lessons that I could apply to my own, and though, no, I did not re-enter that life with my pot of gold, but, by putting those lessons into practice I would be able to improve that life, maybe not by the astronomical leaps and bounds that would have been the case if I had soared somewhere over the rainbow, but still with immeasurable improvements that just never would have been possible had I not entered into my quest this day. Um, ah, admittedly, what any of those life lessons might possibly be entirely escaped me at that moment. Besides, it didn’t matter, for tomorrow was a brand new day and maybe that wouldn’t be the day, and maybe the next wouldn’t be as well, or even the next or the one after that. But some day I would find myself somewhere over the rainbow. I knew it. And there, the dreams that I dared to dream really would come true.

The End

By Aaron Aaronson

Donald Trump. What is there to say about Donald Trump that hasn't already been said? And I am under no illusion that anything I would say here would possibly change anyone's mind. In truth, with any of the Political Theatre of the Absurd essays, the goal was never to do so, just to comment on the absurd idiocy of the 2016 presidential election. And it is absolutely no mis-statement that I truly was absolutely sick and disgusted by all I was commenting on to the point that I truly was completely done with these essays after my last one. And I swore to myself I would write no more. But, defying a super computer designed with the sole purpose of creating infinite, random possibilities of things to comment on, I just keep finding, even after all infinite random possibilities had been dismissed as a topic forum, statements and actions within the proceedings providing a glaring, blaring horrific, absurd flash of sliced and diced reality, that, in the end, I couldn't help myself, and so, with much chagrin, I now present to you "Political Theatre of the Absurd VI: I'm Rubber and You're Glue, Whatever You Say, Bounces Off Me and Sticks to You". Oh, I'm Aaron Aaronson by the way, author of only "Political Theatre of the Absurd V: Final Thoughts", not Xavier Cockroachal Damon who was the author of the first four. And I freely admit that the one essay I wrote really wasn't even my essay except for a like one paragraph commentary on someone else's article, but I tell you, that alone very much led me to get out of the political commentary game and want to move to some rural log cabin in the middle of some forest so that I could bury myself beneath it so as to at least retain the dignity of dying with my sanity. But, I did not do that, I wrote this essay instead. Though, I'm sure there are many out there who would have much preferred I had pursued the other course of action. So, Xavier Cockroachal Damon, worry not, no need for you to come out of deceasement yet again, nor shall I, at least for the moment, join you within it. So, without further extraneous adieu, I now present to you, "I'm Rubber and You're Glue. Whatever You Say Bounces Off Me and Sticks to You". Xavier Cockroachal Damon, rest in peace, and I hope to make you proud.  

Actually I probably will, for I will write it while really fuckin drunk.

"Go fuck thyself motherfucker!"…

"Um, Xavier, writing the essay here, so come on, shut the fuck up dude."...Anyway, dramamine roll please...

Have any out there noticed an unimaginably and absolutely irrational tendency as of late regarding Donald Trump to launch attacks at Hillary Clinton that make the least amount of sense of anything in recorded history? By this I mean the way he has lately taken criticisms levelled at him and just used those very same words to attack her even though any person with any wits whatsoever could see they are the absolute antithesis of her character and conduct, and to take it further, completely contradict the condemning Republican attack line portraying her as a robotic politician always following script?

Now, there has been commentary levelled at Trump by other politicians from both parties, the media and Clinton herself which are presented based on Trump's own words and actions, and are an entirely fitting commentary. He has been called "Unhinged", they have said he doesn't have the temperament to be president, and he has even been referred to as mentally ill, crazy, to use a colloquial, non-politically correct term.

But, Donald Trump then takes these exact same phrases and hurls them back at Clinton while at his rallies, even though, um, please, can a single person out there even attempt to suggest they would have the slightest modicum of a chance of even being a misinterpretation of her personality?..."That Hillary Clinton sure is crazy. Crazy like a donkey."...I mean, say what you want about her, but how can anyone within the political world who has the slightest momentary glimpse of reality possibly believe these particular character criticisms could possibly be fitting to be aimed at her?

I mean, Trump saying Hillary Clinton is totally unhinged. Um, excuse me, I thought Hillary Clinton was the most hinged person on the planet, all doors she walks through falling to the floor out of jealousy at her presence. And I sort of thought that, that was the beyond inane, absolutely idiotic argument of Trump's beyond sycophantic, so long as money in wallet, surrogates who all chime things such as, well I would rather have Donald Trump showing himself as a real person rather than Hillary Clinton's staged, rehearsed show. But, you see the irony with that, don't you, people you denigrate for only ever displaying staged, well rehearsed presentations could hardly be considered unhinged, now could they? Hillary Clinton is about as unhinged as a bank's vault room.

Then came the comments as a retort to various criticisms from multiple sources that Trump doesn't have the temperament to be president. His counter-argument '" She doesn't have the temperament to be president! Hah, take that. Rubber, glue, rubber glue, what the hell you going to do? This is me, Donald J. Trump telling you that you are the one who doesn't have the temperament to be president you lying, ugly, crooked bitch whose ass I'm going to throw in jail along with all your lawyers." Yes, Donald Trump did expand on his comment he would hire a special prosecutor to have her jailed, even though him doing so goes entirely against the constitution, to then say he would also have her lawyers jailed. Which goes against, well, it pretty much goes against, um, you plan to jail her lawyers too? And as for sounding off that Hillary Clinton doesn't have the temperament to be president, so help me, Mr. Trump, if you believed you were making your plea to be crowned buffoon king of the last several hundred millenia, believe me Mr. Trump you definitely won, but won, how are you the only one, who actually believes you won your fidgety, interruptathon, incoherent, egotistical, self-serving above any and all, performance at the first debate, and you do realize don't you, that immediately after stating you have great temperament and that your temperament was probably your strongest quality, you did sort of angrily cut the debate moderator off. Um...eh...But do you even have a single example of Hillary Clinton losing her cool? And, again, I thought your scum surrogates were always putting her down for being robotic and un-emotional. And to make your case, you do what, bring up the email controversy again. Um, Mr. Trump, looking back at commentary from previous essays, the commentary in this one, and many other comments I did not detail, I really think you might need to take a remedial English class. You know, say what you want about the email controversy, personally I think it's a ridiculously overblown much ado about nothing compared to so many, many other issues and events concerning the election, but if you want to see it as an irredeemable crime, and fully believe the "lock her up" chants, well, you still kind of have to admit that there is no conceivable way her actions could be criticized for a tack of "temperament". You want to use a word such as "judgment", hey, go ahead, or, there are other words many would disagree with using that would at least make an appearance in the realm of possibly being fitting, but "temperament"? I'm sorry Mr. Trump but your understanding of anything other than the most basic vocabulary skills is woeful. You know, it was postulated in an earlier essay that your run for president was possibly just to prove you can still be successful even if never maturing mentally beyond the fourth grade. But did you in fact actually graduate beyond the fourth grade? I begin to wonder. I know it's on record that you graduated the Wharton School of business, but very reliable sources have told me, and many people are saying, that the diploma is a fake, believe me. So come on Mr. Trump, it's time for you to come clean with the American public, unless of course, you're trying to hide something that is. You know, the way he acts, he sure does seem like someone with something to hide. And a lot of people are saying, very reliable sources are saying it's a fake. So I challenge you Mr. Trump to prove it to the American public. So come on Mr. Trump, produce your 5th grade end of the year report card. Do that and this sordid conspiracy of cover ups, the resolution of which is so vital to the well being of the public, can finally be put to rest and the country and campaign can get back to what I want to talk about, the issues, the things important to people's daily lives. Do this one simple action for the public's well being and the issue will be, once and for all entirely dropped and I promise I will never say another word about it.

Though, just want to mention, I've already been told by very reliable sources, and many people are saying, the 5th Grade report card is a forgery. Believe me.

Now Trump's statement about Hillary Clinton being crazy. Um, o.k., now you see, you really can't expect, if your arguments are to have any credibility whatsoever, to just shoot back the exact same commentary aimed at you, when all your supporters and surrogates have launched the exact opposite criticisms at her, because when you do that, they sort of don’t in any way shape or form add up whatsoever. And, really, for those of you still clinging to that idiotic notion he has spouted about surrounding himself with all the best people, um, he is, in his mind, surrounding himself with all the best people currently, and he isn’t listening to a fuckin word they say when it actually matters. They are all just there to clean up his mess after the fact. As for his supporters, the degree to which you allow whatever passions within you to overcome the slightest flicker of a thought within your head and follow hook, line and sinker the rancid bait, eating up his words as legitimate debate and follow the words of the obvious sociopathic, perpetually, blatantly lying demagogue, let me say this "I hope the day is treating you well random stranger and kind soul. I have a proposition for you. My name is Chaz Heemageri and I have recently come into ownership of funds totaling $43,000,000,000 U.S dollars but my bank will not allow me to deposit it because my second cousin once wore orange shoelaces at a RUN-DMC concert while protesting the use of chemical additives in corn pudding. If you can assist me in this matter I guarantee I will split half the proceeds with you. Kindly email me for the details at your earliest convenience."

Now, the comment about half of Trump's supporters being a "basket of deplorables" and Trump harping on the "irredeemable" part of the commentary. Clinton did say she regretted the generalization of saying half. But, really now, there are a Goddamn great number of Trump supporters who no one would question are deplorable, except, of course, for other members of the deplorables gang. I mean, no secret is made about it, factions of the KKK greatly praise Donald Trump. Mr. Trump, please meet David Duke, ever heard of him? Huh, wait, no, you haven't, yeah sure, you're unbelievable. And you do have countless legions of Trump supporters, spouting outright hatred and bigotry that would make slave owners from before the Civil War cry themselves to sleep at night out of guilt. These are not people engaged in the discourse of ideological squabbles about the best way to run the country, voicing policy that I freely admit differs extensively from my own beliefs, these are motherfuckers who want to kill or run out of the country every motherfucker who doesn't appear to be the exact same motherfucker they see when looking in the mirror. But, really now, look in the fuckin mirror, you're a fuckin deplorable. You won't see that truth of course, because you are, as said, a deplorable. But for all those of you who ranted and railed at the idea she was signaling you out by making that comment because "How dare she make that comment that I'm a deplorable, I am in no way a deplorable, just someone who believes in conservative values and thinks the country is headed in the wrong direction and the country can do better. How dare you say I'm just like that obvious racist, misogynist next to me, waving the Confederate flag, chanting, all Mexicans should be driven from the planet, while we, kill all the faggots, start a true holocaust on the Jews and actually finish the job, put them niggers back into slavery where they belong, and put all the bitches back into the kitchen because that was where they were born and so that is where they should stay! Hey, where the fuck is my dinner bitch?" I'm not that person at all. How dare she." Um, that person next to you, um, that sort of was what she was saying. But her comment truly was only a political gaffe for the backlash she should have known "politically" it would create for her. But, wait, time-out, I thought it was because of such things you so admired a certain candidate, wasn't it? That he just speaks his mind. And for not being PC? But, of course it's a good thing to not be PC "Except when you're not being PC to me. Waaahhh! Cry, cry, cry! Mommy I'm so upset now I need a cookie." But, you hated "the bitch" because she did not do these sorts of things. "Sexism" can anyone say? Certainly not "The Deplorables" because "The Deplorables", as already mentioned, are, in fact, deplorable. But each should look in their own mirror to judge their own beliefs and actions, not the one you have become inescapably trapped within by others words. And if when you look in that mirror and you see someone, dressed in Nazi attire, and seig heiling you and you smile back, eh, you're sort of a fuckin deplorable.

Of course, there are some still Trump supporters politicians who aren't the bigoted, racist, xenophobic, moronic, douches, they are instead those seeking to gain entrance into a new political establishment to take the place of the old establishment, um, establishment, establishment, and for all you fuckers, go fuck thyselves motherfuckers the most. Because if you still have a functioning brain within your head, and yet you gloss over all Trump's antics, and a much more so fuck you to his various campaign spokespeople, whores of the political system, who, if he loses will jump to the ship of the next candidacy that will hire them to spout their bullshit words of praise based on nothing. You know, for all Trump's beyond disgraceful qualities, it's those that surround him that still know better who truly disgust me. Rudolph Giuliani not a part of the list, because, dude, you've totally gone off the rails and into the deep end of delusional, egotistical stupidity.

But, does anyone else out there see the ridiculous irony of all of it? Trump, goes around railing against the political establishment and rigged contests and the like, that he is his own man, telling it like it is, but then he surrounds himself with political hacks the gullible will actually believe are loyal to his cause, but really, wake up, if he loses, in the snap of the fingers, they would latch onto a completely diametrically opposed candidates so long as it would put money in their wallets or purse. Those you hear telling you the truth are all just political sluts.

You see, Trump saying Clinton is crazy, well, completely fuckin stupid. I'm so sorry if I offended your blind patriotism to a xenophobic, narcissist bigot but what, of all of what has been your prevailing attack line could possibly lead to a denouncement of her as "crazy"? Could Donald Trump have that criticism hurled at him? Well, in case you haven't been paying attention, let me fill you in, the answer is, hell the fuck yeah!

I'm not about to recount all the words and actions making that last statement a fact, want a sampling of some of the evidence, hey, read the previous essays, the best way to do that is to buy the book they appear in "Welcome to the Idiot Box: Stories, Essays, Self-help Wisdom". Call that shameless self-promotion, you know, it's not, because I know damn well, none of you motherfuckers are actually going to buy the damn thing. But, it will be free at Amazon October 24th-26th. Refer to that as shameless self-promotion, well, buy it for free during those days, guess what, I won't make a fuckin penny. So a graduate of the "Idiotic Self-promotion Institute" I suppose I am, a competitor I suppose to "Trump University", because we both offer the same thing, absolute and total, in no way beneficial complete shit. The difference being I am freely admitting my supposed higher learning institute is complete crap whereas Donald J. Trump is robbing you blind, down to your last dollar in a con-man ruse that was in every way a deception to screw the little man out of his money so The Donald could make more. Argue this, well, Donald Trump who is on record as saying he has one of the greatest memories in history, in court records cannot remember the names of or even recognize any of the pictures of any of his "handpicked" instructors at the pseudo university.

Um, yeah...

You know, for all of those out there still so enamored with Trump because of his non-politically correct rants and actually give him credit for every time he crashes through any possible non-breakable wall of decorum or decency and excuse away all his antics because you believe he is just "telling it like it is" or praise him for not being a politician, he's speaking his feelings, not his mind, and you relate to that, well, here goes. You are just those complaining that why don't you have gold belt buckles on your plane you don't even have, because a battered ego so deprived of the nurturing so needed, so deprived due to the horrors of the alternate reality Obamaworld you see within your head, where all that is and should be in your mind was so deprived for the benefit of the rights of others, other than yourself.

News flash. This is the world. And where you're living is the United States of America. And guess what, you're not the only one living within it.

The truth is, you're still the same bigoted, racist prick you always were, only now, you've come out of the closet because some inane clown with ridiculous orange hair led you to believe it was perfectly acceptable for you to hold and voice those opinions. And no, I am not telling you that Ronald McDonald told you that it was o.k. to do so. What Ronald McDonald said was "Buy my fuckin happy meals, buy my motherfuckin happy meals motherfuckers. Buy from the dollar menu, buy so much you'll get morbidly obese and die because I hate you all to hell motherfuckers!" Now it is disputed in the media whether Ronald McDonald did in fact make this statement. But, believe me, he in fact did. I know this because I was there. Now a perfectly legitimate question would be, what was I, a vegan doing hanging out with Ronald McDonald. To this, well I really can't say, you know, I was really fuckin drunk. But, I really should return back to statements made by a different Donald clown with ridiculously bad hair, statements that cannot be, yet ludicrously still are denied, because they were recorded, captured for posterity, to be referenced back to when dissecting the hopefully post-mortem autopsy of a bumbling bufoon's failed presidential run. Though, for those of you interested, I will soon be releasing the Ronald McDonald tapes because I was secretly recording him. "That's right bitch! I'm gonna bust you so far open all your cow murder factories of annihilation gonna be permanently closed motherfucker!" Um, o.k., consider that a preview of the tape because I did say this on it. To which Ronald McDonald responded "But I am Ronald McDonald and I only want to be fondled." To which I said "Dude, you're really freaking me out here." To which I then thought to myself, 'Really, what the hell am I doing hanging out with Ronald McDonald, I could at least be hanging out with Grimace or something.' At which point the Hamburglar ran in and stole all my shit. To which Ronald McDonald replied with a giddy chuckle, "Ha, ha, ha, you fell right into my trap. The evil league of the golden arches strikes again!" And then, um, wait, I may possibly be getting somewhat off topic here. So back to the point of the essay, the words of a different Donald clown.

But, before I do, I will say this, Mr. Trump often rails against the damage done by political correctness, and let's be honest here, this is only ever done to attempt to redirect criticism away from his indefensible comments, and you, Trump supporters, whoop it up and whoop it up and love him for it. But you know what, he's right. But, just not in the way that you think, he's right because of you. He's right because his inarticulate musing, boorish statements and behavior drew all you motherfuckers out of the woodwork and into the open. Whereas before Trump, so many of you would hide behind a facade of societal norms, only voicing your opinions to like minded fellow thinkers out of a fear of a societal backlash. Now you parade down the streets, past NAACP chapters with AR-15s, wearing fuckin Confederate flag painted robes, screaming "We aint racist. We're just doing it because we hate them niggers." And, really now, would racial situations be any better if the KKK manifesto it put out declared "Gosh, we so do love all our colored skin of a skin color different to our own wonderful people, let us all coexist in peace and harmony. Hey, my brother, aren't we all brothers, brother." Or, some anti gay, anti LGBT hatemonger spewing out political speech of "Hey, all my fellow gay and lesbian brothers and sisters, it doesn't matter who you love, all that matters is that you do love. So I love you too brothers and sisters. As I just loved that transgender person up her ass to teach her to adhere to God's law. Wait, did I just fuck a woman or a man up the ass? Um, ah, not important, what is, is that you know, I do so love you transgender brother sister or sister brother. Whatever you prefer. Christ, what the hell did I even just rape? Anyway, love ya, you wonderful, beautiful people who I love the most for having the courage to walk the path that God truly did intend."

I mean, isn't it actually better to know who your enemies are? I think that may be the only possible benefit of the Trump presidential run, exposing a portion of the population for who they actually are. Yes, no way to deny, there is a portion of the electorate who immediately latched onto his candidacy, unarguable alt-right bigot, racists whose comments posted on sites like Breitbart news, who, Trump hired its former executive chairman to be CEO of his campaign, would even make Hitler cringe. But, of course, on camera, these people always deny racism has anything to do with their words and actions even though with some, clearly visible are the numerous swastika, portraits of Hitler and "88" tattoos. And as for the whole "88" thing, I'm sorry but that has to be the most goddamned pathetic exercise in abject stupidity ever perpetrated within this perpetually stupid world. "88, H H, H is the eighth letter in the alphabet, so 88, H H, Heil Hitler." I mean, give me a motherfuckin break. But try this out, in language you should be able to comprehend "6 25", Fuck You. And, just got to say, um, Pepe the frog? Are you motherfuckin kidding me? I mean, look, I got absolutely nothing against frogs. Nothing against you personally Pepe, but, I mean, you know, the fuckin swastika had this iron death power sort of magnetism to it as a symbol but you motherfuckers are marching behind the banner of fuckin Pepe the frog? And that Trump add showing him with his ridiculous hair, all the other buffoons and then Pepe the frog added in, um, have I maybe stumbled upon the true reason for the Trump presidential run, take into account all the chatter he may, because of it be attempting to create his own media empire, that maybe all this chaotic incomprehensible idiocy was just to create a new T.V. show "Donald Trump's Alt-right, Neo Nazi Sesame Street"? I don't know, to be perfectly honest I really don't want to. So to all the Trump supporters who proudly fall into this fold I'll just say this. "6 25". Fuck You!

But look, back to the original point of the essay. Could Donald Trump possibly be choosing worse and less fitting lines of attack against Hillary Clinton? Hey, hate her if that is what you are hellbent set on doing, but don't you think that just maybe you should be hating her for reasons that could at least feign the presence of possibly making an appearance in reality? Can you at the very least admit these arguments completely contradict every shred of commentary ever levelled at her? But, you know what, I'm well aware it would never make a Goddamn bit of difference what The Donald ever said, did, or will do. All would be golden to you. You just see him sailing over the arches, because in his eyes, sentiment you believe true, for The Donald, "I'm rubber and you're glue. Whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you."

"I am the clown of happy town. So turn upside down that upside down frown, as I fill your arteries until they're brown. You are all so going down motherfuckers! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! The Joker aint got shit on me motherfucker!"

Dude, Ronald, shut the fuck up. The point of this essay was to detail the words and actions of a different Donald clown with ridiculously idiotic hair. You're sort of trying to steal the spotlight, even though the whole point of the essay had nothing whatsoever to do with you, still, you're trying to turn the attention back onto yourself. Hmm...That seems like what a certain other Donald clown currently in the news so often does. Who could that other Donald clown be? I don't know. Talk amongst thyselves...

Um, you do realize Donald Trump actually publicly took credit for Mike Pence's vice presidential debate performance.

Again, talk amongst thyselves...

Oh, just have to mention, though not really keeping with the focus of the essay, just feel the need to point it out anyway. Russian parliament and Putin ally Vladimir Zhirinovsky stated that "Relations between Russia and the United States can't get any worse. The only way they can get worse is if a war starts," .

"Americans voting for a president on Nov. 8 must realize that they are voting for peace on Planet Earth if they vote for Trump. But if they vote for Hillary it's war. It will be a short movie. There will be Hiroshimas And Nagasakis everywhere," In other words, if you vote for Clinton there will be nuclear war but a vote for Trump will mean love will rule eternal. Oh Saint Trump, thank you so for descending from the heavens to rescue the world from its crapulence. Oh, and when the U.N. rights chief criticized Trump for being a demagogue, Russia went to the U.N council to complain with absolute indignation for him saying that and that he had no right to say that about Trump. Oh, and when John Podesta's email was hacked, a message was posted from his twitter account announcing he had switched sides and to "Vote Trump". Which, you know, he didn't actually say, and, yeah, still too early in the investigation, to, you know, say it was Russia who hacked it, as has been the case for all the other campaign cyber breaches. But still, you know, they were kind of behind all the others. You know, those comments being made about Trump and Putin being in bed together, well let me just say these latest pieces of information certainly put to rest that crazy talk once and for all.

Of course, Trump and Putin in bed together, well, they weren't exactly resting if you know what I mean. Wink, wink...They were plotting out ways that they, together, could fuck the world straight to hell.

Oh, just another brief comment on something else that deviates from the main focus of the essay, Donald Trump said at a rally in Ocala Florida about ISIS "They are hoping and praying that Hillary Clinton becomes president of the United States, because they’ll take over not only that part of the world, they’ll take over this country," Um, yeah, sure, a likely scenario considering they're failing miserably at actually taking over that part of the world and their attempted caliphate in the Middle East has them almost entirely removed from power in any parts of Iraq and they are completely bogged down in Syria. Sure, a comment like this from Donald Trump is in no possible way blatant fear mongering to scare people. I think the new Donald Trump campaign shirt should be one of those old "I'm with stupid" t-shirts, only with the finger pointing upwards to the wearers head. And Donald Trump should be required to wear it at each and every one of his rallies.

Gonna throw this commentary in here too. You ever notice how the right wing, whether adamant Trump supporters or not, but all conservative media figures, bear in mind "media" does exist in written form and on the radio as well, but, especially Trump supporters, condemn the "liberal media" for supposedly being Hillary Clinton surrogates, marching in lockstep with her so she will gain the nomination, denouncing this as the media playing its sinister role in an electoral conspiracy, um, but they spout this shit even on Fox News, and maybe once or twice I imagine on "Breitbart Media". Um, the media source whose former executive chairman, Stephen Bannon is now the CEO of Donald Trump's campaign. But how exactly is it the right wing media and all the Donald Trump cheerleaders within it, Fox News of course being head of the cheerleader squad, are somehow exempt from being classified as "the media". And you do realize, don't you, that in all your pathetic arguments, that Fox News greatly outnumbers any other news network in viewership. And of course, Roger Ailes, who was chairman of Fox News is now an advisor to Donald Trump's campaign. And Roger Ailes was forced out of his job at Fox News due to sexual harassment claims by numerous female employees. And Donald Trump defended him as being unjustly accused by a bunch of liars who Ailes had done so much good for and that they were ungrateful. Anybody see a parallel to another story about a Donald clown currently quite prominent in the media? Hmm, talk amongst thyselves...

When you are "the media" you really should not have the liberty to denounce "the media" as "the media" just because you disagree with "the media" and are angry they are reporting on the stories that they are, rather than the ones you want them to, to reinforce your personal ideological goals, because when you categorically denounce each and every story by "the media", guess what, look in the fuckin mirror, you are unquestionably "the media" as well. But of course you're just "the media" who tells things the way you want to hear them. Like it is, right? And, um, o.k., I'm moving on from this because anyone who can't see the point I'm trying to make, well...go jerk off while watching Sean Hannity and listening to audio of Rush Limbaugh, while telling yourself how perfect you are.

But we're not done yet!

O.k, just one last thing I'll comment on. Donald Trump, at a rally, mocked the NFL for its efforts to reduce concussions. "Uh! Uh! A little ding in the head you can't play the rest of the season,” he said. Um, o.k., that is admittedly an odd choice of a comment to end the essay with. Though, to be perfectly honest, it's an even odder comment in general. I mean, what in hell could that possibly have to do with the freakin presidential election that you would rant about it at a campaign rally, interspersed within all your other gibberish? And do you actually have the slightest clue about the possible deleterious effects of concussions or the increased danger and severity when a player continues playing and takes another blow to the head after sustaining a concussion before it has had time to stabilize. Of course not, because that would involve a little thing like researching a topic before speaking about it, and a little thing called facts which you of course choose to never concern yourself with unless they are facts of your own creation. But really Mr. Trump what could possibly be your point in making that comment? Trying to show your toughness or something? Problem with that is you would have no way to have any first hand knowledge of what that ding to the head would be like because you would never actually put yourself in any situation where you might sustain one. And why, because you're nothing more than a loud mouthed, wannabe bully who can only bully with his money, inane, temper tantrum throwing, childish punk.

This just in, Donald Trump just tweeted "That Aaron Aaronson is nothing more than a loud mouthed, wannabe bully who can only bully with his money, inane, temper tantrum throwing, childish punk."

Touche Mr. Trump, touche.

But hey, whatcha gonna do, because in the world of Donald J. Trump "I'm rubber and you're glue. Whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you."

The End