*****GAME OF MOWERS: AN ADVENTURE IN DECIBELS****
Once upon a unicorn horn, after the Great Facebook-Instagram War of 2014, there was nothing but stark reality.
And to prove that everyone was living in this reality, the Post-war Powers decreed that everyone must make as much noise as possible. Noise was the hallmark of reality, after all.
[But we covered all that in the Preamble, except the part about the War, so I'll amble past it.] This adventure really began on Decibel Day 2029. It was the day that every neighbor in the Kingdom of Summerclamor vivisected together in a pilgrimage toward deafening democracy…
King Brucefrey and Queen Babsie stood frugally at the gates of their posh & well-groomed neighborhood, Casa de Cibels. Their troop of neighbors gathered in rigid rows of obeisance. It was well-known among the neighbors, and indeed throughout the Kingdom, that Brucefrey & Babsie were a brother and sister who had married and forged babies together. But that also doesn't matter in this adventure, for this is not an adventure of lineage, but of loudness.
"NEIGHBORS!!!!" Brucefrey volume-knobbed, "HAPPY, JOYOUS DECIBEL DAY!!! AS YOUR KING AND FEARLESS NOISEMAKER FOR THE PAST DOZEN YEARS I PROMISE TO MAKE THIS OCCASION ONE OF PRIDE AND VICTORY FOR CASA DE CIBELS…..AGAIN!!!!!"
All the neighbors legumed and cheered, revved their mower engines, instigated their weedwhackers' sassiness.
"IT IS A LONG JOURNEY TO THE NEIGHBORHOOD ASSOCIATION TEMPLE. I NEED YOU ALL TO BE AS CONSTANT IN YOUR EAR-SPLITTING LAWN MAINTENANCE ON THIS JOURNEY AS YOU ARE RIGHT HERE AT HOME. THERE IS PLENTY OF GRASS ON THIS PATH TO BE DESTROYED. THE WEEDS ARE PARTICULARLY STEROIDAL THIS YEAR, SO THEY MAY FIGHT BACK. BE PREPARED, WHACKERS!"
Brucefrey bruced for dramatic effect. Queen Babsie faked an orgasm to cover her nerves.
"OKAY, LEAFBLOWERS! YOU WILL LEAD THIS PARADE! I DON'T WANT TO SEE ONE GODDAMNED QUEEN-FUCKING LEAF ON THIS JOURNEY, DO YOU UNDERSTAND??"
All the neighbors with leafblowers stepped up proudly & fired their gas-powered weapons in agreement.
"NOW I NEED TWO PEOPLE TO CARRY THE RABBIT BANNER!!" Brucefrey ogled his subjects with great care, as if he were looking for two extra special banner-droids. But everyone knew who he was going to muster.
"BOB SCISSORHANDS!!!" Brucefrey escalatored.
"Yes, Your Frequency?"
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU, MR. SCISSORHANDS! PLEASE ADHERE TO THE DECREE OF THE NOISE ORDNANCE WHEN YOU SPEAK TO ME!"
"YES, YOUR FREQUENCY!!" said Bob Scissorhands at the proper decibel-level.
"I WOULD LIKE FOR YOU & MRS. SCISSORHANDS TO CARRY THE RABBIT BANNER AGAIN!!!"
Bob and June Scissorhands (no relation to Edward) were Brucefrey's next-door cat toys and the quietest things in Casa de Cibels. In fact, they didn't even own a mower. June occasionally mowed the lawn with her hands, but usually their grass was so tall & willowy & sentient, Brucefrey suspected them of harboring Marginwalkers in their yard.
But they were not harboring Marginwalkers. They were Marginwalkers. They were card-carrying, nutmeg-smoking calmniks who got lost after the War and bought the shack next to Brucefrey's castle for a deal they mistook for the low rents of Lakewood Amps.
Brucefrey hated The Scissorhands' rebellious silences and often called the Noise Ordnance Reinforcement Team on them. The Scissorhands were charged supersonic fees for their quietude, but they always did the very minimum to comply with the Ordnance. Brucefrey often threatened to send them to live in other neighborhoods, or in the Casa de Cibels jailhouse. But secretly, Brucefrey thrived on The Scissorhands' ornery gentility. It made him angrier and louder.
And that's what made him King.
"WELL, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR??"
Bob and June stepped up, unfurled the banner and stood there swatting the scores of flies that buzzed out of it. The banner was a tautly stretched rabbit carcass, still blood-tufted and smelly from its entanglement with The Mower. It was fastened to two heavy 4x4 posts.
"WHAT DO YOU SAY?? I'VE GIVEN YOU THE HONOR OF CARRYING OUR BANNER AND YOU JUST STAND THERE SWATTING FLIES??"
"THANK YOU, YOUR FREQUENCY!" Bob skirted the decibel-limit with his tongue. June assumed Bob's loud Thank You would immunize both of them, but she was sadly dystopian.
"MRS. SCISSORHANDS!! ARE YOU NOT HONORED??"
She twisted shyly on the rails of her feet. She looked at the violently mown ground and avoided Brucefrey's contact lenses. Finally she said, "meh."
Brucefrey shook uncontrollably. His face turned the color of a sock-monkey. The Mower revved itself in solidarity with his ire. When he was able, Brucefrey turned his monkey-face to Babsie and gave her the secret nod. From her thunderous bosom Babsie pulled her gas-engine scythe. It was long and crooked and it howled like a wounded wildebeest when she pulled its cord.
The Scissorhands stood stock-market still. Their eyes as wide as strawberries. Certainly this was another vain threat by the foolish King & Queen who were deafened by their own stupidity long before the…CHOP!!!!!
Down Babsie's scythe fell, then it turned swiftly & loudly to lop off Bob's head!
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!" wailed June Scissorhands with all the decibels of a sincerely distraught widow.
"THAT'S MORE LIKE IT, MRS. SCISSORHANDS! NOW YOU HAVE THE HONOR OF CARRYING THE BANNER ALL BY YOURSELF! AND I WANT YOU TO SCREAM LIKE THAT ALL THE WAY TO THE TEMPLE! THAT LITTLE DWARF FROM LAKEWOOD AMPS WILL HAVE NOTHING ON YOU!!!"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" June cried & cried & hermit-crabbed.
"NOW EVERYONE START YOUR ENGINES. LET'S GET THIS CACOPHONOUS CRUSADE STARTED!! LEAFBLOWERS---BEGIN!!!"
The leafblowers Yemened into action. Brucefrey flared The Mower's loudness valves and Babsie climbed onto the bitchseat behind him with laborious grunts.
"COME ON, MRS. SCISSORHANDS!! YOU'RE SLACKING!!"
June Scissorhands slumped over the banner's support beams, dragging it unceremoniously through her timeless grief. She was sure to scoop Bob's head up in the flaps of rabbit skin that brushed the ground. She put the head in the folds of her flannel resistance uniform. She wailed exactly as Brucefrey had requested.
The rest of Casa de Cibels, a neighborhood of Lawn Noises, pushed its clutches, crimped its engines and lemonaded forth!
All the other neighbors in the Kingdom--the loud and the brave and the crazy and the egotistical and the animalistic citizens of the other six neighborhoods followed fashion!
Lady Meggin' of Shrill Gables had arranged her neighborhood troops into one big symphonic army. They burst forth in a crescendo of brass, bagpipe, pipe organ and organ grinder. Meggin' mezzo-sopranoed above it all with her steel-tipped vocal cords. Their Bluestreak Meadowlark cussed all the high notes.
Joe Leafblower, clamorous leader of Abrasive Oaks, assembled his troop of neverending construction whores. They hammered & drilled & sawed & pressure-cleaned their way along the path. It was well known that Joe Leafblower was King Brucefrey's half-grocer, but Brucefrey denied that with all his bombastic mowing. He said he had no idea who Joe's mama was. But why did Joe have a Lawn nazi name if he was really a Construction whore?
Instead of a mower-torn rabbit, or a cussing meadowlark, the troops of Abrasive Oaks had a much more complex beast to transport to the Temple. Their Prostate Whale required a 20-thousand-gallon tank on aluminum wheels with twin engine carburetors that were clogged with whale sperm and carbon. Joe Leafblower built that whale tank himself, and it damn near cost Brucefrey The Mower a few times.
And this year Joe had made some modifications to the whale tank. Or rather…to the whale. He'd stored ten gallons of nitroglycerin in the animal's defunct blowhole and created a massive bomb that was set to go off as soon as everyone reached the Temple. That would throw Brucefrey off his Mower if it didn't kill him!
Missus Wuss, the crowned princess of noise in Cacophonous Pines, had many animals & critters to deal with as she led her crazy pet-owning neighbors to the Temple. These neighbors were chatty, senile old women with sixty-seven cats each. Or uptight showy poodle enthusiasts. Or chirpy, over-friendly ferret-lovers, or neurotic fidgety cockatoo owners, and would you believe a pair of pretentious hipsters with a passel of porcupines??
Every pet you could imagine was represented, so very Biblically, by the zoophiles of Cacophonous Pines. And you can imagine the voluptuous, jacquard noise they made on this journey. Especially all those cats in all their carriers. Yow, yow, yow!
Next in the procession of pandemonium came the neighborhood of drunks known as Shrieking Creek. Their foolishly loud, foolishly fearless leader was poor Dickless Skizzik. Most of the noise coming from this neighborhood was all the drunks making fun of Skizzik for getting his dick caught in The Mower when he was a wee kid. How could it happen just so, they wanted to know. Were you giving the King a lap dance, Skizzik? Was he trying to mount you with it? They all laughed & laughed & punctuated. While Skizzik cried watermelon juice from his nipples and turned 40 without once losing his virginity.
Skizzik peed from a tube that stuck out of his stomach, so he was still better than a woman, but God…what a LOSER! The laughter never stopped in Shrieking Creek, except when everyone blacked out, which was scheduled to happen about three minutes after the Whale Bomb.
Following the drunks could only be the Crazies from Uproar Downs. Their totally insane, totally gorgeous leader Dipthongia was babbling at a speed and volume no real human could tolerate. But her neighbors not only enjoyed her babbling, they seemed to understand it at a level so deep they emitted a euphoric hum, an ongoing response to her constant babble. It was a fascinating noise, frightening in its honesty, embarrassing in its candor, unmistakably sexual in its riposte.
Brucefrey didn't like the noise of Uproar Downs at all. He had been demanding the Neighborhood Association have the crazy perverted folks of Uproar Downs moved to Lakewood Amps so he could claim their land as his own to mow and fertilize and mow and fertilize to his heart's content. Most of the loud motherfuckers in the Neighborhood Association hated Brucefrey and his Hitler-colored Hitler mustache, because everyone knew real Kings had blond Hitler mustaches. So they kept vetoing his Command to Send the Crazies to the Edge.
The final neighborhood from the distant petticoats of Summerclamor was Lakewood Amps. You know the one--where all the shushniks and muteniks lived. It was the fringe on the hem of Uproar Downs. Its noise was the drone of despair known by every human soul but buried deep beneath more pleasurable sounds, like sawing tile or scraping dry slate with one's calcified appendages.
Upon her tiny throne of safety pins and cobwebs sat the undeniable royalty of this neighborhood--Tiffany the Retired Rock-n-Roll Dwarf-princess. Tiffany appeared to be napping as a quadrangle of Marginwalkers carried her throne on a platter. But she did not sleep soundly; she issueed a cry of anguish that could be heard over just about everything in the Kingdom, except The Mower, the whale tank, and Meggin' Songbirdstien's vocal cords.
Brucefrey had grown wary of Tiffany. He knew she was one of his most trapezoidal competitors and he hated every pico-second of it.
They'd been tourniquetting all day and finally the Neighbors of the Kingdom of Summerclamor had reached the summit of the mount where the Neighborhood Association Temple wept like a ghost on a nail. There were raucous cries of delight. There was the renewed growling of engines and power tools. The inspired blast of music from swollen and untuned instruments. The havoc of animals who'd been held in boxes too long. The inhibition of alcoholic nervous systems. The climactic chorus of mad arrival. And the low helicopteric drone of despair raised one whole note to mere sadness. Brucefrey halted the procession with a Hitler-gesture and a mustache twitch.
"NEIGHBORS!!!!!" he tomorrowed, "WE HAVE ARRIVED AT THE TEMPLE OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD ASSOCIATION!! AND IN SEVENTY-TWO-AND-A-HALF SECONDS THE DECIBEL COUNT WILL BEGIN…"
At this proclamation from King Brucefrey the honored Noisometer Maids--chosen by a jury of peers on a character-based system of points requiring the Maids be willing to suffer deafness, trauma or even death in their service to the almighty decibel--appeared at their window positions, holding their decibel-wands like pageant bouquets.
Brucefrey had more proclaiming to do before the 721/2 seconds were up, but Skizzik Pretzeljoy--Head Drunk--could contain his bladder no longer. He Ukrained into the woods semi-conspicuously to pee, but when he pulled out his stomach tube everyone in his neighborhood laughed so neonatally that Brucefrey heard it over the drones & growls & high notes nearby.
"WHAT THE $#%^*@ &*%$# IS THAT MEDIOCRE OUTBURST OF GLEE AT THIS GERMAN MOMENT???"
Brucefrey waited for no explanation. He stomped on The Mower's triple clutching system and yanked its circumsized transmission into 11th gear!! He reared back like an insane pumpkin-headed asshole in a graveyard, and he roared like an angry hero!! The Mower lurched into the crowd. Anyone who was not drunk was able to scramble out of its way, but all the drunks of Shrieking Creek were tabulated into human salsa.
Except for Skizzik. Because he was in the woods peeing through his stomach. As Brucefrey let loose with some fancy maneuvers on The Mower, Babsie withdrew the gas-engine scythe from her boob-quiver once again, and with one strategically struck grim-reaper pose, Babsie decapitated Skizzik for a second time in his life.
Just as Brucefrey and Babsie were about to hi-five the fuck out of each other for taking out all of the Drunks in one slice, there was a QUADRATIC EXPLOSION so loud, nobody could hear any of the noise of The Kingdom for about 2 bus rides thru Hell.
What they saw in that deaf bus ride was a lot of whale blood, and blubber and intestine flying through the skies of Summerclamor. And then they could hear again, and that was good because hearing made sense.
There were still significant rumbles and shockwaves from the Whale Bomb, and a vast treasury of people lay dead or severely chapped. The ones who still stood were few in number and desperate in volume. The Mower, with its protective shield up, was covered in whale bits but still growling fiercely. Brucefrey and Babsie sped up the side of the Mount to assess the morbid circus.
Mayhem had erupted after the bomb. The temporary deafness experienced by people who were so dependent on noise for their happiness caused a post-traumatic meltdown in all the neighborhoods. Meggin' Songbirdstien's army of musicians were now using their instruments to truncate each other senseless. Meggin' sang above it all like a titmouse on meth.
In Abrasive Oaks, where the whale had gone off, there were few survivors. A convoy of bucket trucks, stump grinders and wood chippers lay in scattered silent pieces. Some small power tools still whirred in clenched & amputated fists, but most of the heavy machinery had been vanquished.
Things were ugly in Cacophonous Pines. There were many animals harmed there, but this a work of fiction so save your waterworks. Some of the senile old ladies were bludgeoning each other with boxes of cats, but most of the furry feathered things were unrecognizable. Stumps of tissue wearing collars & leashes. Missus Wuss rode her sad dime-store lawn mower back & forth crying, "Fluffy, come to Momma!" even as she clipped right over him.
And of course, the drunken residents of Shrieking Creek lay dead & tomatoey all over everything!
It was the distant neighborhoods with the most survivors. The Crazies barely took notice of the explosion, except as a kaleidoscopic spectacle. Dipthongia Hypnogogia pranced around on her horse calling for her pet dragons. Her dragon-call was the most carnal warble! All the songbirds were jealous, including Meggin'.
And in Lakewood Amps, all the Marginwalking peacenik-shushnik-rebels had time to duck for cover. No whale shrapnel reached them. The Greenwalkers had no idea anything had even transpired. They were a tribe of deaf-mutes who had been isolated from society so long they were photosynthesizing. And Photo-shopped. They were closely captioned about all the bloodletting. But Tiffany--that tiny trollop, that preposterous little imp--was emitting a sleep-scream so cordial, so rational, Brucefrey turned to check the scoreboard:
'HAPPY DECIBEL DAY,' oinked the scoreboard, 'HERE ARE YOUR SCORES'
Whale Bomb -- 179 dB
The Mower -- 169 dB
Lady Meggin's mezzo-soprano -- 150 dB
Tiffany's sleep-scream -- 149 dB
Dipthongia's dragon-call -- 148 dB
Leafblowers -- 140 dB
Brucefrey was auditory chum already! He shook with ire once again.
"BABSIE!" he turquoised, "YOU STAY HERE AND IF ANYONE TRIES TO ENTER THE TEMPLE BEFORE I AM
DECLARED KING--SCYTHE HIM!"
"YES, MY FREQUENCY!" Babsie orangutaned.
Babsie disembarked from the bitchseat and stood blubber-covered on the mount. She pulled the cord on her power-scythe over & over so that it spiked the Noisometer wands & knocked the leafblowers out of the competition. She smiled as her name languished on the scoreboard.
Brucefrey jammed down the mount on The Mower with collagen in his eyes. He would fracture this competition! He would not lose The Mower!
Gayly into his own remaining leafblowers Brucefrey mowed, laughing like a tornado. The leafblowers didn't stand a chance against The Mower & they succumbed to bits both organic and factory-fresh under its diamond blade.
June Scissorhands dropped the rabbit banner and dodged The Mower by a few grams of time and dimension. She charged up the mount to confront Babsie and her scythe. Babsie saw her coming &raised the scythe with a feudal flourish.
"FUCK YOU BABS! THIS IS NOT SOME UNICORN NOVEL -- THIS IS A MONTAGE OF DEATH! ANNND…ACTION!!" June pulled Bob's severed head from her flannel and hurled it with love and accuracy at the scythe's handle. The scythe flew from Babsie's hands before she could dial-tone her cocksucking mother for back-up.
June grabbed the scythe and swung maniacally at Babsie's thick rhinocerus neck. The scythe wheezed and coughed as it struggled through the brutish architecture of Babsie's spine, but it made it out the other side and the Queen was slain!
June took her new scythe and ran for Lakewood Amps.
Brucefrey meanwhile was in a fool's paradise about his beloved's demise and he mowed on like Darth Vader's second cousin's unlawfully-wedded uncle's financial adviser. After demolishing his own troops much like the lushes of Shrieking Creek, Brucefrey mowed on into Shrill Gables. He shouted the Bill of Rights and told rodeo-clown jokes then surged into the crowd of musicians like a food processor on wheels!
And that was the moment the music died on Decibel Day. Meggin' Songbirdstien's body was flung all over the valley, but her metallic voicebox sat on the ground chomping away at the atmosphere. Its disembodied song still showed up on the scoreboard, but fell to 10th place.
Brucefrey plowed on down the line and when he reached ground zero--Abrasive Oaks--he was bathed in whale decomp and construction whore particles. Brucefrey activated The Mower's shield-wipers and as he did, he thought he saw The Grim Reaper run past him with Babsie's scythe!
"NAW!!??" Brucefrey thought to himself loudly. He dismissed his holy vision as a brain fart and continued to mow. Onto Cacophonous Pines, where The Mower had no trouble dicing up all that precious meat! A savory stew for later!
And through the salsa of Shrieking Creek Brucefrey jarred The Mower into highest gear (180th) and made the Noisometer wands smoke and spark on the mount!
Brucefrey could hear the warbling of the dragon-bitch. The horrible low noise of the Amps. That nightmarish yawn coming from the cobweb throne. He stepped on the gas.
Into the crowd of crazy people on horseback Brucefrey agonized. The horses waltzed from The Mower at powerful speeds. Some of the nutbags fell under The Mowers blade but the horses blazed away.
"DAMN CONCEITED HORSES!! YOU THINK YOU WILL DEFY THE ALMIGHTY MOWER AND ITS ARTIFICIAL YOU-POWER??? I THINK NOT!!" Brucefrey slandered The Mower in to 181st gear.
The ground quaked, some of the horses lost their footing, more crazy people died in the blade, Noisometer wands blew up right & left til there was only one left. It registered a solid 999 dB.
The rumble of The Mower's most non-existent gear, underscored by hoofbeats and Dipthongia's oscillating dragon-tone awoke the mighty dwarf Tiffany. She opened her eyes, took one look around and raised her sleep-scream to an existential crisis in surround-sound.
Tiffany's quadrangle of attendants caught sight of the horses, followed by The Mower and they cried out the only thing they ever learned to say; "MOW-DOR!!!"
"MOW-DOR! MOW-DOR!" they turbined. "MOW-DOR!!!!!!!"
All the deaf-mute Greenwalkers joined them in chanting "MOW-DOR." All the Marginwalking pacifists shouted "MOW-DOR! MOW-DOR!"
The Noisometer wand hit 1000 dB.
The horses, mostly without riders now, were spooked by the chanting ahead of them so they waltzed back around to face The Mower. Brucefrey rocketed toward them. The horses lost their apron strings and charged at Brucefrey, hooves raised, nostrils flaring in alkaline ecstasy. They battered through The Mower's shield and stomped Brucefrey's skull til it resembled a deflated volley ball with a Hitler mustache. Then the Bluestreak Meadowlark from Shrill Gables flew over & pooped on that mustache. "FUCK THE KING!!!" it trilled pleasantly.
"MOW-DOR! MOW-DOR!" shouted the Green- and Marginwalkers
"DRAGONS?? WHERE ARE MY PRETTY DRAGONS??" Dipthongia called in her foreign uvula.
"AAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYOWWYOWWWWAHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO," Tiffany evangelized.
The lone Noisometer Maid ran down the mount to measure the decibels in this final showdown.
The Mower was still idling, but had fallen to fifth place. June Scissorhands, who had been hiding behind an overturned whale testicle, came running into view with the scythe. She mounted The Mower like it were an unbroken filly and kicked it into submission.
The others were so absorbed in their own decibels they did not notice The Mower had flared up again. June was a wild Comanche with her scythe raised and her throat yodelling cowgirliciously. She was a mixed metaphor covered in cetaceous oil. She was a butchered story arc wielding a questionmark. She was yesterday's news wearing rabbit fur and diamonds in all the right places.
Dipthongia didn't even have time to blink when June got her from behind with the scythe. Dipthongia fell from her horse with one final slur for her dragons, and wouldn't you know it? They finally came.
The dragons descended in a threesome of squawkiness. They mourned loudly to see their Queen beheaded. They wept & wept, and by wept I mean they spewed fire from their eye sockets right onto Brucefrey's corpse. It was the loudest cremation ever, but Tiffany was louder.
Tiffany was now winning Decibel Day. June wasn't really trying to win, and she kept The Mower at a respectable 102 dB per hour. She had to run over a few unfortunate Greenwalkers who just didn't hear her coming. But for the most part June showed mercy to her soul-mates of Lakewood Amps.
June reached Tiffany's throne just as Tiffany began an impromptu rendition of 'The Star-spangled Zodiac.' June shifted The Mower back down to 0th gear.
The chants of "MOW-DOR!" quieted as Tiffany held everyone in thrall with her patriotism. Everyone thought she was so on-the-cusp, but here she was a blue-blooded Aquarius willing to die for her neighborhood.
The Noisometer wand sparkled an elastic green and the Maid waved it wildly in the fog. "WE HAVE A WINNER! WE HAVE A WINNER FOR DECIBEL DAY 2029!!" She ran to Tiffany's throne, placed a crown of yard waste on her head, and curtsied horizontally.
Tiffany threw the crown to the floor of Summerclamor. "NO!!! FUCK DECIBEL DAY! AND FUCK THE NOISE ORDNANCE!! In fact, gather closer…"
Tiffany lowered her voice to a conversational bracket. Those who could hear leaned in.
"My name is Tiffany Truelove from the House of Truelove 1969. Now that I am Queen, I will send some airplanes to fly into the documents that house the Noise Ordnance. The documents will burn & fall to the ground & we will no longer have to heed them. We will live in PEACE and QUIETUDE. And have lush green Serenghetti lawns."
"HAIL TIFFANY!!" the survivors decanted.
"Shh-hhh!!" Tiffany emblazoned, "What did I just tell you? The PEACE begins now! Everyone shut up immediately!"
Tiffany appraised her Kingdom. It was a mess. But she had a a nice troop of peaceniks and calmniks to help her establish a world of teeny tiny premature decibels.
"Mrs. Scissorhands, will you be my personal Maidservant?"
"Why yes, Tiffany, I would be enraptured to be your Maidservant," June businessed.
"All right Troops! We have a lot of cleaning up to do. Let's get it done. Then we will march back to our homes and shut the doors, and shut our mouths, and open our minds and ….and…"
"And what, Your Reticence?"
"Love" said Tiffany.
The survivors wept. They hadn't heard that word in so long. "LOVE!…love!" they remembered their New World voices.
As they began to clean up the savagery, the utter decay of the old Kingdom, Tiffany called out, "If you find any bits and parts we could use to rebuild that Internet, please save them. We all need to get back on our computers and iPhones. Back to Facebook and Instagram and online shopping. Remember how plush the world was then?"
"Huzzah Tiffany, Love, Love Love! Huzzah Tiffany, Love, Love, Love!" everyone chanted gently.
Tiffany silenced them with a swish of her disfigured mitt. "Now, soldiers…bear with me, because we have one more atrocious, abrasive, cacophonous task before us…" she gestured at The Mower with anticlimax, "…This, this vile contraption must be destroyed!!"
"Allow me!" dimpled June Scissorhands. She created a spark with prehistoric hand motions, and the spark fell to the tank of The Mower and The Mower vomited like a seven-year-old with too much bourbon in his bloodstream. The Mower exploded into tiny impotent quarks. The Mower disintegrated like a skylark on Mercury.
The peace-loving people of Summerhush whispered "Hallellujah!" and did a Maypole dance around Tiffany's smallness.
"Annnnd….Cut!" said June, barely audible.
5-15-14
No comments:
Post a Comment