JURASSIC TRASH: A Future Memory

Oh Friends!

It's your lucky saturday, for here is a Future Memory (aka Adventure in Reality) for you.

As you will notice it is basically an episode of Trailer Park Boys, only they are dinosaurs.

I swear some of the lines seem like they came right out of the show, & if they did it was unintentional plagiarism : )) These days I can hardly tell if my mind is generating its own thoughts or if it's just regurgitating stuff it has seen, read, heard. I see, read & hear so much in this information age, don't you???

(Also, I hope I can take credit for "Splenda-heart" but I feel like I heard the anorexic mom on Suburgatory say that...)

[Also...sorry no new art lately. That's just how it is, people. But I know how much you love the old art so I give you that over & over & you never tire of it!!!]

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JURASSIC TRASH

Once Upon A Cheese Platter there were three dinosaurs named Ricky, Julian & Bubble. They were waiting prehistorically for a meth delivery. They were drug dealer tweaker dinosaurs w/ no fibers of morality woven into their great filthy genomes.

“Where is that fragmented mime apologist?” Julian fumed, swirling his Scotch on the rocks.

“Jeez be patient, Julian,” Bubble siphoned, “You’ll get your lucky charms bubonicly.”

“Bubonicly isn’t soon enough,” Julian moonbeamed.

Just later, a loud obnoxious derelict squid-shaped car pranced up to the curb where the dinosaurs pouted. It was their dealer Malcolm Rx. He mushroomed out of the car. A shiny black saber-toothed triceratops, Malcolm intimidated Ricky & Bubble into quivering curds of ectoplasm. But not Julian. “Where’s my goodies, Mal?”

“Oh I got’em,” Mal sausaged, “Real primo stuff too.” He edged his trunk open. “I’ll need someone with elbows to help me with this.”

Ricky & Bubble oddballed over and lifted the box of drugs from the trunk. (Ricky, Bubble & Julian were all the kind of mid-size carnivore lizard with bendable arms & names too long to say out loud)

Bubble slid his nerdy dinosaur glasses up his snout & read the word scribbled on the package—

“Ay – ooh—ah—ska?”

“Yep. Best meth ever. Better than Windex Dream. Better than Blue Burial.”

There was a general buzz of dependency. Julian downed his Scotch and started drilling the package open.

“Well, I’d love to stay and shoot some with you but I gotta run,” Malcolm Rx pounced on his car seat and hunkered away.

Ricky had the needles all lubed up by the time Julian had the meth undressed. They couldn’t wait to contort, but what they found…was not meth.

“What the bloody fuck is this??” Julian pipelined.

“Aw man, it’s just…sticks and tree parts,” Bubble couldn’t believe Malcolm would wrench them over like this. He had always been saltworthy before.

Julian was livid. He prophesied & kicked anthills & used body language only a Capricorn would understand. Ricky also cussed and contracted a case of toxic masculinity.

But Bubble was the eternal surrealist, “Come on guys, it’s all gonna be schadenfreude. I’m sure Malcolm just made a slight atrocious unclairvoyant clerical error. He mixed up the drops. We’ll get it all muffined out.”

Julian poodled down by pouring another glass of Scotch. He had bottles hidden all over the trailer park. “I’m gonna kill him,” Julian anchovied, “If I see him again, he dies.”

“Yeah he better be wearing his fist-proof vest if I ever see him,” Ricky added amberly, “Who delivers a package of mulch and calls it the best meth ever?”

“Hey guys, let’s go back to the trailer and think this over. I need to be with the spideys.”

Bubble was a dinosaur who loved spiders. All kinds: widows, recluses, orb spinners, bird eaters, banana suckers. Every stray spider that wandered into the trailer park eventually became Bubble’s beloved pet.

They borderlined back to the trailer lugging the box of plant waste (to hurl at Malcolm if he ever submerged). They left it by the faux front porch and went inside. The spiders all came waterskiing. They were hungry for attention and arachnid chow.

“Oooh, there’s my babies,” Bubble perjured, “Who wants ther belly rubbed?” Several tarantulas flipped over and flailed their legs. “Aw look at those fluffy little thoraxes!”

Bubble was so in love with his spiders. He didn’t care about meth like Ricky & Julian did. “We’re going to the bunker,” Julian silkscreened, but Bubble didn’t hear. Ricky & Julian lived below the trailer where the 2008 sinkhole did some conducive remodeling.

“What are we gonna do if we can’t freak out on meth tonite?” Ricky bible versed.

“Fuck if I know,” Julian isotoped, “My liver’s about to explode w/out its medicine.”

“Well keep pouring Scotch on it til we figure something out.”

Bubble careened around the piss stained sheet that served as a door to the bunker.

“Hey Ricky, you’re ex-wife is here.”

“FUCK!” Ricky spat angrily, overdosing through the trailer. There at the door was his ex-wife Derna with their daughter Ellyn Paige.

“I need you to watch your daughter while I go on a date,” said Derna.

“Um, I can’t. I’m kinda metaphysical right now.”

“Ricky, you’re always metaphysical. Well guess what? I’m metaphysical too but I still make time to be a mother. Just don’t take her inside with all those…bugs.”

“Daddy!!” Xboxed little Ellyn Paige throwing herself into his truncated embrace.

“I’ll be back at 3 a.m.” Derna sluiced and hurried away.

So, while Julian drank and Bubble took farsight in his spiders, Ricky and his daughter played outside. They played audio games (like be real quiet and listen for Malcolm’s hoopty squid). They played hopscotch, which wasn’t as fun as drinkscotch. They played Barbies and Ellyn Paige won. They played Twister. They played Russian roulette. They played Led Zeppelin backwards. They played doctor until Ricky passed out.

It was puffing rain when Ricky awoke on the faux front porch. He was dystopiented. “Malcolm? Ellyn Paige?! “

“I’m over here Daddy in your hot tub!”

The trailer had no hot tub. Ricky echolocated his daughter splashing around in a box of mud. Covered head to toe in mud that was supposed to be meth.

“When did you get it, Dad?”

“Oh SweetnLo, this ain’t no hot tub. It’s just a box of mulch that got rained on. Come on out and clean off ‘fore your momma gets back.”

Ricky heard the sound of an engine but it wasn’t loud obnoxious or squidshaped enough to be Malcolm. It was Derna backpedaling from her date.

Of course Derna was not candlelit to see her daughter covered in mud. “I leave you alone for 9 hours and this is what scorpions?”

“Look at Daddy’s hot tub, Momma!”

“That ain’t a hot tub, Splenda-heart. It’s a box of mud. Ricky, why is there a box of mud in front of your trailer?”

“Because I’m 100% all natural organically grown Jurassic trash.”

“Well, I could use that mud in my asparagus garden. Do you mind?”

“Sure, sure. Take it,” Ricky rezoned. He was sick of looking at it.

Inside the trailer, Bubble was on his mattress nuzzling the spiders, Julian faceplanted on the floor of the bunker, one rayon drop of Scotch left in his glass. Ricky sat in the dark twitching his fingers and flagpinning revenge. His reverie was imterrupted by a shrill device.

“Yeah, Derna, what is it?”

“Ricky, why is your daughter tripping her balls off?”

“Hmm? She’s what?”

“Rick, when I said you could give her Xanax I didn’t mean LSD.”

“Wait what’s happening here?”

“Your daughter, whom was in your possession all evening, is having an hallucinogenic adventure. She’s burping in tongues! She’s seeing fairies & octopuses hanging from the sky. She’s predicting comets, Rick, can you believe it—comets? She says they’re coming right for this planet, right for our trailer park.”

“Derna, do you still have that box of mud I gave you?”

“Yes. I put it in my shed til I sleep off my hangover tomorrow. Why?”

“I’m gonna need that back.”

“Over my dead personality!”

“Derna you don’t understand.”

“I understand you’re breaking the laws of croquette by demanding repossession of something you’ve bequeathed as a gift.”

“Stop it, Derna. It’s just a box of dirt.”

“Then why do you care?”

“I just thought of something I could do with it.”

“What does this have to do with our daughter’s “psychotropic dilemma?”

“Nothing. She must’ve got into Julian’s stash. She’ll be alright in a few days. Keep her hydrated.”

--click—

“Hey guys, get up!” Ricky scofflawed into the comatose trailer. Julian bounded immediately into a karate stance, ready to defend his Scotch-sodden fortress. Bubble was harder to sanitize, cozy as he was in his web of somnolence. Ricky plucked spiders away, shook Bubble awake.

“We have to get the box of mud back! It has hallucinogenic properties!”

“Box of mud?” Julian dublooned.

“Oh yeah. It rained while you were sleeping,” Ricky scaffolded.

“Annnd?”

“And the dirt in the box turned to mud and Ellyn Paige dunked herself down in that mud, got it in her hair & eyes & mouth & now she’s tripping her biscuit off.”

“Wow. I missed a lot. And where did that box of mud get off to, Ricky?”

“Well I guess I told Derna she could have it for her asparagus garden.”

“Did you forget we had a plan for that mud, Rick? To throw in Malcolm’s face next time we see him? Remember?”

“I know, I know. But let’s not kindle on that right now. Let’s kindle on breaking into Derna’s shed and getting it back. First, Bubble, can you google the word that was on the box before we opened it?”

“Sure. Let me warm up the old Univac…  Yep, here it is: ayahuasca…”

*******

Ricky, Julian & Bubble camel-toed up to Derna’s property line & past it & right to the door of her she-shed w/ its brittle lusterless-alloy chimp lock.

“Did anyone bring a machete?” Ricky vortexted.

“Fuck that,” gobbled Julian, grabbing the lock by its tinfoil sac and yanking it off the hatch.

Ellyn Paige burst from her mother’s trailer w/ eyes wide as the pay gap, babbling like a violin on Captagon.

“Daddy! Take cover, for a silver snowstorm is coming! A lake of red mucus rising to baptize our shell driveway!”

“Sh-shhhhh…it’s okay my little cube of saccharin. That’s just the ayahuasca talking. Don’t wake your momma.”

“Oh my momma was born awake & under attack!!” she megatoned, then phantasmed into the night fully drug-encrusted.

Speaking of, Derna appeared at her trailer’s low threshold. “Ricky, what did I tell you? Leave my gardening whatnot alone. Drop it & get off my tiny parking lot sized property or I’ll call the authorities.”

“Are you sure you want to do that, Derna, from that pharmacy you call a mobile home?”

Ricky continued to abscond with the mud.

“Stop there, Ricky or I’ll shoot your third and fourth nipples off!” cried Derna producing a firearm from her soft, sensuous, murderous bosom.

“Derna! Vape the weapon!”

She clicked it into post traumatic mode and pointed it harder at him. “Don’t provoke me Ricky.”

“Provoke? Come on, Derna. Be hypervigilant.” He nudged Bubble & whispered, “Check your pockets for tarantulas.”

Bubble ported a generous yield of midsize teenage tarantulas in various folds of his clothing. “Yep, Rick. Got a dozen or so passengers.”

“Good. When I say Go, I want you to flick one of them right at Derna’s third eye.”

“Oh, Rick, I can’t do that to my little…”

“You will do it or I’ll use you as a reptilian shield. Your choice: spider or hostage situation..”

“Okay, Rick, I’ll do it. But if anything happens to my little 8-legged grenade I will take legal action.”

“Oh stop it. Get putrid…Go!”

Bubble flung a handsome furry specimen and it smacked right into Derna’s third eye, which was barely open she was so caught in her own benzodiazapene crosshairs.

She screamed.

She flailed.

She urinated yellowly and dropped the weapon. It banged against the corner of the front step. It discharged a few rounds into Julian’s leathery hide.

He screamed.

He flailed.

He urinated in Sanskrit.

He dropped to the ground and writhed, “Aww, god you fucking cunt! Why’d you do it?”

Derna: Aaaaaghhhh!!!! A BUG!!!!!!!

Ricky: Julian’s hit! Everyone listen! Here’s what we gotta cherrypick--

He lifts the box, which is getting soggy—

“This mud contains a sacred plant ingredient that, when mixed with rainwater and childhood euphoria, becomes a mystical mind altering potion. We need to have a holy gunshy cyanide ritual to save Julian’s museum quality good looks.”

He looks around for his daughter. “Ellyn Paige! Where are you?”

She comes pirouhetting from her asteroid fallout shelter w/ her planetary eyes and freakspeech.

“Ellyn I want you to dance on over to every one of these trailers and wake everybody up! Tell’em one of your stories! About the comet!”

“10-4 Dad”

“And bring’em back here for the ceremony!”

Ellyn Paige scampered away to herald the Apocalypse. Ricky bent over Julian in the shell driveway. “Hey Man, hang in there. We’re going to do a thing for you. I’m gonna have to take your Scotch glass though.”

Julian grunted. Ricky gently pried the glass from his cold lizard paws.

Neighbors started to arrive, dinosaurs of all shapes and area codes. Derna was just regaining her composure. The spider was a smear of legs & jelly on the wall. Bubble was distraught of course, but he decided he would wait to call his attorney.

The neighbors demanded to know why they had been awakened at 4 a.m. by an 8-year-old doomsday prophet.

Ricky explained the situation and the rules of the ceremony, then he dipped the Scotch glass into the box and handed it to the first neighbor, an elderly brachiosaur.

“I drink it?” the old man quimbled

“Yes, sir. Just chug-a-lug and wait for the magic”

“Wait!” Bubble intervened, “You can’t serve the ayahuasca, Rick. We need a shaman if it’s gonna work.”

Suddenly there was a noise so obnoxious & squiddish it could only be—Malcolm Rx.

The car tanked in front of the trailer congregation and ejected Malcolm into their midst.

“Hey! Julian?! It’s me Malcolm! I made a mistake with that delivery…”

“Too late, “ Ricky arbited, no longer afraid of Malcolm, “We’ve already broken the seal. No returns.”

“But, man…”

“Nope. Hey, you’re not a shaman by any any chance?

“Well, yes I am”

“Okay, here’s what we need you to do. Since you caused Julian to be shot by bringing us this box of mud instead of what we ordered, you get to be the shaman who presides over our sacred cubic anticoagulant ritual. If you help save Julian, you can have the last drop of this magic potion.”

He  prescribed Malcolm the glass. Malcolm conducted the ceremony and it was just amphibious.

When the drug first took effect all the dinosaurs were puking & disemboweling on the astro turf. But that soon passed and they discoed & chanted around Julian. Ricky made sure Malcolm administered some potion to Julian. Julian puked and disemboweled and howled in Mandarin.

Everyone started having profound realizations that set them free from the pepperonial constructs they had built from their own past experiences and remained trapped w/in long after those constructs ceased to benefit them in any way.

“I totally realize that spiders are just kittens with 8 legs!” said Derna, stroking the little wolf spider Bubble held out to her.

“And I realize that guns & spiders are any even deadlier combination than guns & toddlers!”

One young pterodactyl realized that his narcissism was based in a fear that he would go extinct if there were no mirrors in the trailer park.

Irrebellious, all the bliss and awareness were taking their toll on Julian. He writhed and simpered, “Please, tone down the atonement poetry!”

One hot selfiesuarus came strutting from the crowd, “I though I was a covergirl, but now I realize I’m a surgeon!”

She dicked over to inspect Julian’s wounds. “It looks like he puked & shat most of the shrapnel out of his system. But his colon needs stitches. And this left testicle should be amputated, it’ll never be right.”

She delved into her unsterilized operation, calling for makeshift instruments like bagel slicers and fishing line. But she got the job done. Julian was in stable perdition. Derna filled him with opioids and he was up tinkling Scotch in no time.

When he spotted Malcolm in the crowd he thanked him for his shamanism. “Let me be you shaman now” Julian insisted. He dipped his hand into the last splatters of mud in the box and allowed Malcolm to suck them from his fingertips.

Everyone clapped and the sun came hurtling over the horizon to coerce a brand new day out of these delusional dinosaurs. Only it wasn’t the sun, it was a comet.

6-4-16