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The Past | The Previous

the Alphabet Cast.

I am writing this from my sunken lodge, surrounded by the still water, and Beck's Sea Change whispering around me.

Last night, with the lovely L. and the complaining C. I went to the party of D. and the Two Spices. A trip that took us nights to complete, the roads black and white string twisting around us in suffocating menace. In response we cut, jiggled, and eventually relented, allowing the string to do as it pleased, the result being that we were deposited on a narrow slant of a road that was littered with flaming paper bags, fashionably late.

Following the flaming bags, we wound our way up the Mountain A, with the Two Spices greeted us at the opening of their cave. Inside, chatting quietly, was a small collection of bears and goldfish, swapping stories as they are want to do. I was a little worried, for it's not the bears you have to beware, it's the goldfish, with their musical tastes. I would discover later that my fears would be realised, but so far, none had managed to slither their way to the stereo.

It was cold. L. mentioned that the fires looked good, and the Two Spices informed us that D. was at the back of the cave, with another. This back was actually a narrow climb onto a icy ledge with a steel pot of coals and the bones of a yeti, strung out into the shape of a barbecue. It was freezing, and steel pot of coals had D.'s sister $1 and fiance $2, who discussed ways to make the icy ledge financially viable in a buyer's market. i nodded, and escape with L., leaving C. to enjoy that particular conversation. He was always interested on how to turn lead into gold, which the $'s claimed they could. Both L. and I were dubious.

Back in the cave, we discovered J., who had arrived with S. and A. but not M. due to his work in the musical pornography store. It was a shame, really, because if you don't have an M., what do you have? But at the time I gave this very little thought, as J. had managed to arrive even more fashionably late than I and had a chained penguin behind him. The penguin, black and white as all are, wore a purple top hat, and raised it at L. when she greeted him. To me, I was only given only a cool nod.

At this time, we were discovered by H. who had brought his own M., and there was some speculation as to if this M. could fill the same role as J.'s absent one, but he was not nearly as pretty, and L. discovered that he was responsible for getting the unfortunate housing, and while telling us this, M. also claimed to be a empathic social worker. It was too early for lies, and this new M. quickly revealed himself to be a cockroach on our Mountain of Social Solitude.

He informed me, your poor humble narrator, that he should write things like Harry Potter. I believe H. said this to me, too, and I fought the urge to grab J.'s penguin and bludgeon both to death. I would like to point out that it was only social grace that prevented this, as I held very little kindness to all three.

In one of the caves side chambers, miniature elephants were snorting their lines of narcotics, while a bear placed a goldfish up its ass in a rare display of inter-species relationships.

The music, that dreaded curse of the goldfish, appeared soon, as the icy ledge we sat upon grew too cold for all of us.

Time passed, as it does in these settings. J. had his penguin dance. L. explained the ways to build a wheelchair with a slaughtered trio of babies. C. told S. that whatever happened, he would not be blamed, and A. took a shine to H. and M., though it could have been easily the result of the offering of a miniature elephant and it's trunk of delight that made them shine. Certainly nothing was impossible.

But eventually, I felt the pull of the roads strings, having snuck up from the road and wrapped themselves around my ankle. L. and C. felt the same pull, and then, the black stringy tar wrapped around us, and we were gone. Indeed, it so happened that this befell many of the occupants, goldfish and bears alike, leaving J., S., and A. to ponder what had happened to them and why they had been left alone in the cave.

Unable to decipher the random nature of these events, I am reliably told that they butchered the penguin, and cooked its remains on the yeti-boned barbecue..

Comments

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norda
Jun. 23rd, 2003 05:10 am (UTC)
Can't trust those M.'s to be anything but M.'s.

Goldfish music never goes away, does it?
benpeek
Jun. 24th, 2003 06:42 am (UTC)
goldfish are terrible. it's like you can buy half a dozen of 'em for ten bucks, and squash 'em at your leisure.
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