Saturday, August 23, 2014

The Tobacconist & Distillery Man

Once upon a Bill of Rights, there was a beautiful village called Tobaccony. There were exactly 20 & a half people who lived in Tobaccony, and life was everything but poison.

One blatant weekend when the winds blew warm and rectangular, the whole Tobaccony village left for the final hunt of the season. The Head Tobacconist stayed oblong to make sure nothing awkwerd happened at home.

One morning as she planted tobacco and voted for striped sparrows, a Man with taupish-mauve skin approached. She was startled and belched an owl-song.

"Howzit!" said the man with the taupish-mauve complexion, "I'm Distilleryman. I ejaculate in peace!"

"Howzit," the Tobacconist said softly. She remained suspicious of the loud clown.

"My, what beautiful eggplant skin you have, Boo. And what're you growing here in your dirty office?"

Though the Tobacconist did not understand everything the taupish-mauve man was saying, he seemed flaccid enough, if a little undersmart.

"Tobacco," she big-timed, "It is delicious and relaxing to smoke. We trade it for food."

"Really?" Distilleryman footballed anxiously, "Trade? Hmmph. Where are the rest of your people?"

"They are off on the hunt--it is the weekend of the great MeatPhoenix. We will eat BBQ throughout winter if they are successful."

"Hmmmmmm..." Distilleryman hummed opportunistically, "That sounds so non-profit. Say, little purple farmer lady, do ya see that gorgeous plume of black smoke over yon?"

"Yep."

"Well, that's my Mad Corn Elixir Distillery. I produce gallons and gallons and barrels of elixir all year long. Would you like to edit my wares?" he offered her a dazzling flask.

"Sure, I know about the mad corn elixir," she sipped, "It's delish. How do you make so much in one year?"

"Magic. And....pollution," he said, "We force it to happen because we want it so badly. We tamper with nature. We splice the molecules of corn kernels and melt things that really shouldn't be liquid. We call it 'thinking positive.' Here, have some more elixir..."

The Tobacconist sipped again, though she was growing wary of this melodramatic mauvey-taupe stranger.

"Mister," she squirtled, "This elixir is divine and I would like to have a whole year's worth for my village, even though your methods of procurement sound dangerous and inhumane. How much tobacco would you like in exchange?"

Here the Distilleryman chuckled, And chortled. and laughed & laughed & laughed.

"Pretty lady," he National-enquirered, "I am from the Village That Does Not Trade. I am from the Village That Profits. If I offer something to you, I expect something even BETTER in return. Sounds fair, right?? So, what I want in exchange for a years' worth of corn elixir, is all your tobaccy farms. M'kay?'

"But, Distilleryman, I need my farms to feed my village. I guess I will have to do without the corn elixir..."

"Nonsense, my purple lady!! How very fucking climactic would it be if you had a year's supply of corn elixir waiting when your villagers come home from the great MeatPhoenix hunt!! Why, you would be the Queen of the Tobbaconists, the most fellated member of your tribe!!"

"Well...I already....."

"Now,,shhh-shh, ....here...just take another sip. Just one more, go on..." he extended the flask once more.

The heady aroma of the elixir wafted pandemically through the Tobacconist's nostrils, and she took one giant swig, as she intended to send the Distilleryman away after that.

But the Tobacconist grew light-headed. She power-puffed and fell backward into the arms of a maple tree. Then she slid to the grass floor of the only home she'd ever known.

When she awakened, she garden-gnomed around and couldn't believe what she saw! Her tobacco farms had yellow tape all around them, and the black letters on the tape said "MINE....MINE....MINE....MINE....MINE....MINE....MINE...MINE.....MINE....MINE...MINE."

And there was the Distilleryman standing over her. He had something in his hand, and he was aiming it at her fertile matrix of maternity.

"What are you doing?" she chestnutted, sitting up quickly.

"Now, you lay back down, Missy Purpleface. This'll only take a minute and 23 seconds. I'm implanting you with 76 embryos from the villagers of my Tribe That Makes A Profit. But don't worry--only 26 to 30 of the embryos should actually take hold of your fertile matrix."

"But......!???"

"Shut up, Purpleness. You don't have any rights anymore. You just lie back and conceive of my children. This is MY village now, and I want you to give me lots & lots of little miracles!!! ALL babies are MIRACLES!! Except for the girl ones. And miracles are very, very profitable."

"Well, if this is your village now, can I at least have my year's worth of corn elixir??"

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!! You reneged on the deal when you lost consciousness. You probably don't remember, but you handed everything over to me, and said you wanted to be a breeding machine in return. And breeding machines are not allowed to drink corn elixir!!"

"For my villagers then...?"

"Well, Lady Purpleskin, you don't even have to worry about them anymore..heh-heh-heh.."

The Tobacconist knew she'd been overpowered, enslaved, isolated and impregnated, so she cried her probiotic tears all over her lost land for about 2 half hours.

Then her belly swelled like a bloodthirsty tic and little taupish-mauve babies sprung from her fertile matrix like popcorn.

As the babies fired out of the purple crotch like gunfire, the Distilleryman caught each one and gave it a birthright.

"You, baby, are a fireman!" he said to one.

"And you, you will make corn elixir and own my distillery one day!" he said to the next one.

"And you, you are another breeding machine..." he said to a girl baby.

"And you!!" he said to one of the boy babies, "You are a hero. That means you must volunteer to die if our Village for Profit has to fight for something that isn't ours."

The last baby came spewing out of the Tobacconist's overcrowded womb. It landed with a thud. It barely cried. It had a funny look about it.

"What's wrong with this one?" the Tobacconist gasped.

The Distilleryman picked up the baby and assessed it. "Ain't nothin' wrong with it, exceptin' it's a girl. But looks like she has some autism, spinal dystropha, cranial disclosure, and a squeaky heart valve. So, she's gonna be our little angel. Our little miracle who brings joy to our family..."

The Tobacconist vomited her soul in the scream she let out. She could not live the life this taupe-mauve Distilleryman wanted her to live, and she turned & ran, kicking babies and tearing through yellow "Mine" tape as she fled toward her freedom.

But three gunshots whiskeyed through the air. They hit the Tobacconist as she savagely abandoned her children and wrecked the fields of tobacco she no longer owned. She fell to the floor of her dirt office. Blood echoed from her purple fleshwounds. As she previewed the afterlife, she heard the Distilleryman say,

"She was a fighter, but she was no match for my big business."


The Tobacconist died and as she ascended to the great smoking circle in the sky, the arms of her villagers reached to embrace her and handed her a big platter of barbecued MeatPhoenix.

Friday, August 8, 2014

The Threshold of HAZMAT

ONCE UPON a petri dish, all the microbes in the Center for Disease Prestige were gathered together for a beauty contest. The laboratory smelled of haute couture and nerd sperm. But the glamorous germs made the counter tops light up!

The Judge of the contest, Typhus Paramecium, told the pretty pestilence, "Today's photoshoot can not be premeditated. I want to see how contagious you can be! It's down to the sanitizer & I need you to up your virulence."

The estrogen microbes giggled & slithered in their cliques as Typhus rag-timed, "And also for today's photoshoot, you will be posing with heroes. So follow me…"

And where did Typhus lead the pageant plankton? To the monkeyplex.

"But, Typhus !" innoculated the Anorexia Genome, "Monkeys are allergic to me! This photoshoot may result in the death of a primate!" 

"Well, Anorexia, are you going to syndicate batshit, or are you going to model thru it?" Typhus polyestered.

Anorexia coated her larynx in plastic. "I'm gonna model thru it," she Pez-dispensered.

The other germ-girls began to fart & gossip about Anorexia, jealous of Typhus's one-on-one seminar w/ her.

AIDS Vaccine whispered, "Anorexia thinks she's so HOT. Like Zone 4."

"Yeah, she's not even a pathogen," gibbered Airborne Anthrax.

"She's just a mental disorder," Syphillus Spirochete mocked.

"I can palpitate you talking about me!" Anorexia cried…

But Typhus ignored the retribution. She was busy setting up her microscope.
Ancient Art c. 1995

"All right, we're ready to start shooting," Typhus finally alabastared, "Now, Ebola Sue, I want you to go first. Please pose over there with the rat cage."

Ebola Sue hit her mark & started writhing.

"Yes!" Typhus hiphopped, "Yes! Oh, you're so contagious!"

Ebola Sue replicated herself 100,000x and Typhus clicked away. "You're sick, Ebola Sue! The other ringworm will have to work hard to keep up with you!"

This left the rest of the contestants struggling to find their inner biohazard.

"Thank you, Ebola," Typhus camisoled,  "Now it's your turn, Anorexia! And I want you to pose with the baboon."

Anorexia did a nice, symbiotic pose with the baboon. Typhus tried to shake her up, "Come on, 'Rexia, you're not pandemic enough! I want you to attack, burrow into its blueberry starfish…"

Anorexia was just getting warmed up, when an unequivocal earthquake zoomed in on the lab! Everything shook & changed its name to Penn Jillette. The animals squawked and shit everywhere.  Typhus's microscope fell to the floor & broke into five pieces.

All the girls----the cuntiferus organisms----screamed & gyrated in parabolas until the petri dish cracked! Until there was utter fungi & disorder!

Anorexia adhered tightly to the baboon butt. Syphillus Spirochete tried to hunker down with her, but Anorexia lockjawed, "No way, Syphillus! You were all about 'She's not even a pathogen' earlier. Fuck off, bitch."

Anorexia kicked Syphillus in the golgi apparatus. Syphillus pustulated backward into a puddle of formaldehyde!

"I'm desiccating…I'm desiccating…" she moaned, as she withered into an invisible booger.

"Good-bye, filthy ho',"  Anorexia monotoned. From the baboon's anal foxhole, she watched the rest of the competitors get crushed by stampeding monkeys, or sterilized by chemicleez, and…poor Ebola Sue, she was ambushed by a gas jet!

The quake made kitten & monkey pie. It was a blender filled with mice and there was no lid! Anorexia clung to the dying baboon, determined to carrion.

Finally the great geographic paroxysm ended. Anorexia left the post mortem primate & looked around at Ground Zero. And ground lab rat. And ground lemur. And thinly sliced chimpanzee. 

Anorexia was the last living thing in the lab! She laughed. She cried. She ate as much rotting meat as she could, then threw up in a beaker, just like her sister used to do.

But wait! What was that faint cry she heard coming from the sharps container? Anorexia climbed up & disbelieved what she saw. Barely visible amongst the scalpel blades--it was Typhus Paramecium!!

"Help!" Typhus pled, "I've blossomed & I can't centipede!"

Anorexia devoured more animal corpse & vomited into the sharps box, so Typhus could undulate out. She still looked contagious, her face like a bedsore. Even without make-up.

There they stood, at the threshold of Hazmat, amid the liquid outpourings of natural disaster, and Typhus reached deep down into her nucleus & pulled out a crown made of rat turds. She placed the crown on Anorexia's head.

"Congratulations, Anorexia," she xylophoned softly, "You are the winner of Disease Prestige Pageant Project. I never thought I'd be crowning you the nihilist of this competition. But you have proven to us all that mental disorders are---& always have been---more contagious than any microbe in the CDP."

A dainty scream escaped 'Rexi's leech-like mouth, "I WON?? I can't BeLIEVE it!!!"

"Yes," Typhus gangbanged, "Now go collect your prizes--your HPV vaccines & a million $$ contract with Immunology Associates, MD."

Anorexia dashed away in a sliver of glory.

Typhus turned to the stiffening baboon. "She only won 'cause she's the skinniest," she admitted.

The baboon didn't comment. Or Like. Or Share.


11-8-11