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!!!]
**************
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
