I have licorice guts. Seemingly endless balls of fire, balls of fortune telling. The osprey float. Warm coffee in the desert. 112 degrees out there today. I had to take an ice bath in a crystal tub. The doorbell rings, incessantly, at the most inappropriate time. Everyone wants to talk to the wonder man. The ringing changes to hard knocking. I hear, “Hello. Mr. Goldenfear!”
I’m very anti-social and impatient and this person at the door is really driving me bonks. I reluctantly get out of the tub and put on my luxurious navy-blue robe. I go to the door and yank it open. “What do you want!?”
The man there tips his fedora and smiles. “Name’s George Tulane. I’m with the Daily Times newspaper and I’d like to do an interview.”
“The Daily Times? I despise that rag. Please go away.” I start to close the door, but George Tulane sticks his foot out to block it. “Please Mr. Goldenfear. I won’t take too much of your time. The world wants to hear your story.”
“There was a dark menace over the supper club… and then the log splitter came to life, and soon there was a grand clustering of devils in the ballroom.”
“I’m afraid that doesn’t make sense.”
“You wanted a story? That’s your story… Senselessness. My senses are all screwed up, but not as badly as my emotions or mental state.”
“But, what exactly happened at the supper club?”
“Here you go… Senseless murder.”
“But what did you see?”
“I already told you. A dark menacing, a log splitter, the devils.”
“What about the log splitter?”
The devils put the heads of the patrons in it and split them open.”
“That’s horrible.”
“Of course it’s horrible. Violence and death are very horrible things.”
“What did you do?”
“I hadn’t finished my veal cutlet yet and so I was upset about that. I hesitated at first, but then I swung into action. I took out my Walther PP7 and shot at them.”
“Like James Bond?”
“Exactly like James Bond, minus the gratuitous sex with half-clothed cave women.”
The reporter scribbled feverishly. “Tell me more, Mr. Goldenfear.”
“I saw the evil bodies drop and the others scattered through veranda doors of glass and crystal. I called out to those bastards: ‘Someday, you’ll get what you deserve! In the end, we all get what we deserve.’”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Of course I do. Just like the Ministry of Bigotry and Hate. They’ll all get theirs in the end.”
“Do you have any hobbies, Mr. Goldenfear?”
“Hobbies? Well, I like to make my own candles. I believe in lighting my own path… But I don’t understand why you’re writing this article anyways. Nobody gives a damn about anything I do.”
“Because you’re a hero. Everyone loves a hero.”
“For about five minutes they do… Would you care for a bologna sandwich.”
“Oh. God no. Do you realize what bologna is?”
“Enlighten me.”
“It’s all the leftover bits and pieces of meat and whatever. They sweep up the killing floor and put all the gunk in a big metal barrel and mix it up. Then they squeeze it out into a circular shape and package it up and people actually eat it. Makes me want to spew.”
“So you like a good organic orgy?”
“Sir?”
“Never mind. That flew over your head like a flying saucer, like a piece of bologna.”
And now we must leave this place in order to come back around again…
The reporter named George Tulane sat in his car smoking a cigarette and looking at the odd home of one Mr. Goldenfear. “What a nut,” he said aloud to no one but himself. “I’ll just fill in the voids of this story with my imagination. The idiots in this town will never know the difference.” He didn’t care that it was unethical.
He cracked open a beer and took a long drink. He spoke Catalan. “Osca.” Which he believed meant good, but he had no actual proof or real understanding. His life was a mess.
George Tulane started his car and drove off. He was expected back at the office for a meeting but decided to get drunk instead. He went to the local grocery store and bought high-gravity beer. He took it out to his car, rolled down the windows, turned the radio up, and began to drink.
Soon, the parking lot all around him became a warm graveyard…
My new book is now available for purchase: The Apocalypse Pipe. Available in both e-book and print editions! Thanks for reading and supporting independent writers.
cereal after sex 
Your thoughts?