DR. FROMM:  Ralph, your separation issues, in part, stem from your father walking out on the family when you were six… but mainly because… you’re a barnacle.

RALPH:  I disagree, what are you talking about?

DR: FROMM:  You’re in denial, Ralph.

RALPH:  I’m in your office, Dr. Fromm.

DR. FROMM:  What?  I know you’re in my office.  Why did you say that?

RALPH:  I’m in your office Dr. Fromm- I said that.

DR. FROMM:  I know, that’s why I’m asking you why did you say you were in my office?

RALPH:  Because I am, Dr. Fromm.  I mean- you are Dr. Fromm, and I am in your office.

DR. FROMM:  Never mind, let’s move on.

RALPH:  I think not.

DR. FROMM:  I think we should move on.

RALPH:  No.

DR. FROMM:  Ralph, we need to let this go.

RALPH:  I can’t.

DR. FROMM:  You see, Ralph… it’s the barnacle in you.

RALPH:  I disagree.

DR. FROMM:  You’re in denial!

RALPH:  I’m in your office!

DR. FROMM:  You can’t let anything go, Ralph.  That is the reason why all of your exes have filed restraining orders against you.

RALPH:  Annnnd they were all unwarranted!

DR. FROMM:  I’ve read the reports, Ralph.

RALPH:  Yeah… annnd?

DR. FROMM:  After your last girlfriend broke up with you… you attached yourself to the side of her mobile home for six months.

RALPH: Seven months, but that wasn’t me… that was a bee hive.

DR. FROMM:  It was you.  And then when the girlfriend before that broke up with you… you attached yourself to the top of her SUV for nine months.

RALPH:  Ten months, but that wasn’t me… that was the muffler.

DR. FROMM:  It was you, Ralph.  You!

RALPH:  It was the catalytic converter!

Ralph settles back in his chair, resigned.

DR. FROMM:  Shall I continue?

RALPH:  No… I get it now.  I have to learn to let go.  I have to learn to let… go.

DR. FROMM:  Yessssss, Ralph… yes.  I think you’ve made a real break through this session.

RALPH:  Yes, Dr. Fromm, I feel like a great weight has been lifted off of me.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Dr. Fromm looks at his watch.

DR. FROMM:  Well… times up.  I’ll see you next week.

RALPH:  I’m not leaving.

 

THEND

 

 

PENGUIN #1: ( ominously ) Okay, from now on… we’re in charge of the air conditioning, understand?

RANDY:  Ohhhh, okay…. that’s why you guys tied me up.

PENGUIN #2:  Yeah, bitch!

RANDY:  Wow, you arctic creatures really go to the extremes to get what you want, don’t you?  And that one back there has a really foul mouth on him.

PENGUIN #1:  First of all, we’re not from the arctic.  I’m from Alaska and my partner is from Minnesota.

RANDY:  Is that right?

PENGUIN #2:  That’s right, bitch!

RANDY:  Again with the foul mouth.

PENGUIN #2:  No pun intended, but I am a water…  fowl… type bird so hence, the fowl mouth.  Get it?

RANDY:  Not really, because technically waterfowl would only include birds like ducks, geese, swans, and sometimes grebes and coots.  Penguins not included.

PENGUIN #2: Whatever… nobody likes a pun killer.

RANDY:  To the contrary, I think people hold pun killers in high regard, because they help reduce the misery that puns inflict on humanity during the course of social gatherings.

PENGUIN#1:  ( to Randy ) Whatever, man!  So we’re clear on the air conditioning situation, right?

RANDY:  Yeah, yeah, I go it.  You guys are in charge of the AC- got it.

PENGUIN #2:  ( to Randy )  And don’t forget it, fool!   I’m from Minnesota and I’ll fuck you up.

RANDY:  Okay… okay.

PENGUIN #2: And… I’m a proud member of the Prince fan club, so don’t even think about saying anything disparaging about his music!

RANDY:  I had no intentions of saying anything negative about Prince or his music.

PENGUINS #2:  … Or his films!

 

They all pause for a second and then look at each other blankly.

RANDY:  Okay, okay, can we just get past all this, because at this point it’s just…  water under the Graffiti Bridge.

Penguin #1 shakes his head in disgust and then sighs.

PENGUIN #2:  ( to Randy )  That was terrible.

RANDY:  Or water…  under the Cherry Moon.

PENGUIN #2:  Stop, please stop!

RANDY:  Who’s the pun killer now?

 

THEND!

SHERM, the dust mite, has been in a coma for several weeks.

Finally, one day, his big toes begin to wiggle, signalling the beginning of the recovery process.  From left to right, his big toes are TODD and MAXINE.

 

TODD:  Yo, Maxine, what is happening, girl?

MAXINE:  Nothing much.  Did you get a call from the central nervous system too?

SHERM:  ( thinking )  Hey, what’s this? Am I really about to come out of this comatose thing?

TODD:  ( to Maxine ) Yeah… but honestly, I had a hard time making out what they were trying to say.  The connection was totally bad.

MAXINE:  I had the same issue. Who’s your service provider?

TODD:  AT&T.

SHERM:  ( thinking )  I’m screwed.

MAXINE: Shit, that explains it.

TODD:  What’s wrong with AT&T?

MAXINE:  Nothing… if you what to talk to your knee cap… or your ankle.  Any distance beyond that, you’re gonna be dropping calls like a bitch.  You might want to switch to a better service provider.

TODD:  Like who?

MAXINE:  Like two tin cans with a lonnng-ass string attached, or like…

SHERM:  ( thinking ) … or like putting a note on a pigeon’s foot.

TODD:  I don’t think that would work because pigeons don’t have feet.

MAXINE:  What, who said anything about pigeons?  Where’d that come from?

SHERM: ( thinking)  It came from headquarters , dammit!

TODD:  I don’t know.  Maybe another dropped call.

MAXINE:  You get my point.

TODD:  Noted.

TODD:  Well, who’s your service provider?

MAXINE:  That’s not important.  What are we gonna do about the message?

SHERM: ( thinking ) I’m not above referring to myself in the third person, so you’re gonna get this fool back up on his feet.  That was the message!

TODD:  Well… I guess we just keep wiggling until the other toes join in, and then the foot starts moving and then the leg, and so on.

MAXINE:  Okay, that sound like a plan.

TODD:  Wait… did you hear that?

A MUFFLED COMMUNICATION is heard like a bad train station announcement.

MAXINE:  What was that?

TODD:  That was definitely another message from head quarters.

MAXINE:  Yeah, but what did it say?

SHERM:  ( thinking )  Get the fool up on his feet!  Get the fool up on his feet!

TODD:  I have no fucking idea.

MAXINE:  ( listens closely ) Wait… I think it’s saying…

SHERM:  ( thinking ) Yeah, she’s got it!

MAXINE:  ( nodding positively  ) It’s saying…

SHERM:  C’mon Maxine, bring it home, girl!  Bring me home, girl!

MAXINE:  It’s saying…  Beef jerky is good meat.

SHERM:  ( thinking ) Not what head quarters is saying.

TODD:  Beef jerky is good meat?  You sure?  I mean, I love beef jerky… but I thought it said… Get the fool up on his feet.

SHERM:  ( thinking )  Yeah, that’s it, that’s the right answer!

MAXINE:  Not even close!  Who’s communication service provider are you gonna trust, your’s or mine?

TODD:  Well, who’s your provider?

MAXINE:  Two empty tin cans and a long-ass string!

TOOD:  What kind of cans?

MAXINE:  One tuna fish and the other corn.

TODD:  Well, that sound pretty balanced, so I guess you’re right.

MAXINE:  One thousand percent, without a doubt!

SHERM:  ( thinking )  I am now officially one thousand percent screwed in coma purgatory.

TODD:  It make sense, because beef jerky is good meat.

 

THEND  ( Part 4 of 4 )

 

 

 

 

DUSTMITE IN A COMA (3)

From left to right, we have MW, BENTO, and INDIGO.   On the table before them is Sherm, a dustmite.  Sherm is in a coma.

INDIGO:  So this is the bug that’s in a coma.  He looks like he’s sleeping.  Does he snore?

SHERM:  ( thinking ) I assure you, lady, I do not snore.  I once did snore as a child, because I suffered from sleep apnea, which required use of a CPAP machine, and intermittent stroking of feathers cross my ears, during my slumber.   However, I out grew that condition with the help of hypnosis… and the elimination of chunky peanut butter sandwiches from my diet.

MW:  No, he doesn’t snore, however, from time to time a whistling sound does emanate from his nose the resembles the chorus from Bennie And The Jets.

BENTO: ( singing ) “She’s got electric boots… a Mohair suit…”

SHERM:  ( thinking )  Stop singing.  What the hell is a Mohair suit exactly? Sounds itchy.

INDIGO: Wait a minute… I think I know this little dude.

MW:  What, how could you possibly know this dust mite?

INDIGO:  No, I mean I think I recognize his big-ass feet.

SHERM: ( thinking ) Oh shit… I think the broad is on to me.

BENTO:  How so?

INDIGO:  Last month, I found foot prints in my miniature bonsai garden.     ( looks closer at Sherm’s feet )  And his feet seem to match those foot prints exactly.

SHERM:  ( thinking )  I knew I should have put on my Jordans before I went through that damn garden.

MW:  Wait a minute, you can’t –

INDIGO:  I know my foot prints, MW, it was him!  This little motherfucker killed my bonsai tree!

SHERM:  ( thinking ) What?  Noooo, that bonsai tree was alive when I left it.  This is a set up.  Somebody’s trying to frame Sherm.

MW:  Well, even if this is the same dust mite, how did he kill your bonsai tree?

INDIGO:  He urinated on it.  The ammonia in the urine killed my bonsai tree.

SHERM:  ( thinking ) I did no such thing.  All I did was… to bask under the shade of that bonsai… whilst simultaneously smoking the most corruptable weed I’ve ever experienced in my life.  I saw things that day you wouldn’t believe.  Unbridled peace throughout the entire world.  Democrats and Republicans working together for the good of the people.  And a million billy goats peeing into a fountain of love and… ( rethinks ) Okay, maybe I did kill that bonsai tree.

INDIGO:  I want justice for my bonsai.

BENTO:  C’mon, Indigo, aren’t you taking this a thing a little too far?

INDIGO:  You guys don’t understand.  That bonsai tree brought a sense of balance and peace into my life that was beyond comprehension.  When it died, I lost my sense of balance and inner peace.  Justice is required… or I’ll never be the same again.

MW:  What are you talking about, Indigo?

BENTO:  ( to Indigo ) Are you talking about taking a wiz on this dust mite?

MW: If so, I’m gonna start calling you R. Kelly.

INDIGO:  My bonsai deserves justice.

MW:  I get it, Indigo, but your justice will have to wait.  This dust mite happens to be in a coma, and whatever justice you inflict on him, he wouldn’t even feel right now.  So… what would even be the point?

INDIGO ( considers ) Yeah, you’re right.  Okay, I’ll wait until after he comes out of this coma and then… justice for my bonsai will be had.

MW: Okay, fair enough.

SHERM: ( thinking )  Yikes, I’m screwed if I never come out of this coma, and I’m even more screwed if I do come out of this coma.  I wonder if there is a place in-between the two realities where I can find solace. ( considers ) What about Amsterdam?

 

THEND ( Part 3 )

 

 

 

 

 

DUSTMITE IN A COMA  ( 2 )

After being struck in the head by a ceiling fan blade, Sherm, the dustmite, fell and landed on a futon.  And thanks to the miracle of modern micro-medicine, Sherm is alive and well… not well, but not dead.   He’s in a coma.

Sherm: ( thinking ) Oh my God, I’ve got the worst headache of all time.  It feels worse than that time I did ten shots of Tanqueray and shrimp veins!!  Oh my God, did I just use two exclamation points in my previous sentence?  Even the fucking exclamation points hurt.  Oh my God, did I just use an F- bomb in my previous sentence?   Even F- bombs hurt.  Come to think of it… using the Lord’s name in vain is like the Four Horsemen Of The Apocalypse stampeding through my cerebral cortex!  Oh my – stop with the exclamation points already.

We PULL BACK and can see MW and BENTO observing Sherm.

BENTO:  What’s up with the little bug?

MW:  It’s a dust mite and it’s in a coma.

BENTO:  Okay, that explains that stupid look on his face.

SHERM:  Stupid?  Your mom’s stupid.  Your mom’s soooo stupid, she thought a Pap smear was when somebody said something bad about her dad.   Your mom’s sooo stupid she thought D- Day was when report cards came out.  Hey, I could go all day with this…

MW:  So, they did a brain scan and the results were quite interesting.

BENTO:  Like what?

MW:  Well, there was the expected impairment of the reticular activation system… but, the scan also revealed four horsemen galloping across his cerebral cortex.

BENTO:  Yes, interesting.  We should try some type of smelling salt to revive the patient.

MW:  Well, they’ve already tried smelling salt with no reaction.

BENTO:  What about using a pair of your socks?

MW:  ( chuckles ) Tried that, didn’t help.  So we ran a pair of your grandmother’s bloomers across his nose, but that seemed to put the patient into an even deeper coma! 

SHERM:  ( thinking ) That would undoubtedly kill me.  And hey, easy with the exclamation points, buddy.

BENTO:  What’s going on with his antennae?  He appears to be suffering from some form of antennae atrophy.

SHERM:  ( thinking ) What’s with all the antennae atrophy talk?  Do something about it.  My antennae used to be the talk of the fucking town. Oh, there I go with the F- bomb again. Yikes.

 

MW:  Yeah, the lack of stimuli has caused his antennae to atrophy about twenty percent.

BENTO:  Maybe if we can put some aluminium foil on his antennae he will have better reception to the outside world.

MW:  Tried that yesterday, but reruns of Family Matters started playing through the microwave.

BENTO:  That’s not good.

MW:  Yeah, imagine having to hear Urkel’s voice every time you want to heat up a frozen pizza.

SHERM:  ( thinking ). Imagine having to hear your voice every time you wanted to jump off a fucking cliff.  Oh, boy, the F- bomb again?  Oh, the pain, please make it stop.

BENTO:  Right.  Well… his vitals seem stable.  What’s in the IV?

MW:  I’ve been giving him a steady diet of dead skin cells, pet dander, blended with two shots of expresso, and some crushed up jelly beans.

BENTO:  Well… that seems to be all we can do for this little guy at the moment.  What say we head over to the spot and grab a drink?

MW:  Sounds good.

BENTO:   For some strange reason, I’ve got a taste for a Tanqueray and shrimp vein cocktail.

THEND

               Sherm, a local dustmite with an Icarus complex, is struck in the head by a ceiling fan blade.     

 

 

 

Now Sherm lays unconscious on an extra firm, overly starched futon.  Several minutes later, the rustling flurry of emergency personnel can be heard attending to him in the background.  DR. QUINTON JAMES and DR. ANNA BELLE can now be heard OFF SCREEN through Sherm’s brain, which has now officially slid into a coma-like state.

DR. BELLE: Sooooo… what do you think, Dr. James?

DR. JAMES:  About what?

DR. BELLE:  About this critter-like insect here.  What is it exactly?

SHERM: ( comatose thinking )   Well… obviously I’m a dustmite.

DR. JAMES:  Well, obviously it’s a…  actually I have no natural selection, genus, phylum, fucking  idea what this thing is.

SHERM:  ( thinking ) Dustmite… dustmite.

DR.  BELLE:  Could it be a… dustmite?

SHERM:  ( thinking )  It could, it could.

DR. JAMES:  I don’t think so.  Dustmites aren’t usually this ugly.

SHERM:  ( thinking ) What?  I came in fourth place in the Mr. Dustbowl pageant… twice.

DR.  BELLE:  Noted, Dr. James… but how can the ugliness factor be considered when the critter is face planted into the fabric of the futon?

DR. JAMES:  Futon? I think this particular type of furnishing would be classified more correctly as a couch, don’t you think?

DR. BELLE:  No, this is definitely a futon.   I have one in my guest room.  My Uncle Robby, the former pirate, sleeps on it when he visits us from upstate New York.

DR. JAMES: Oh, the uncle with the stutter?  The one who takes ten minutes to say Arrgh?

DR. BELLE:  Yeah, but it’s more like ( pirate voice ) Arrrrr… Arrr …. Arrrr…  Arrrr… Aaa…. Arr…

DR. JAMES: I got it.

DR.  BELLE:  …. Arrr …Arrr … Arrr….  Arrrrrrrr… Arrgh! 

SHERM:  ( thinking )  Where walking the plank becomes a life sentence.

DR.  JAMES: Let’s focus.

DR. BELLE:  Right.

DR. JAMES: This is very perplexing.

SHERM: ( thinking ) Only for an idiot.

DR. BELLE:  Perhaps was should call in someone with more expertise in this area of study.

SHERM: ( thinking )  Yes, yes, please!

DR: JAMES:   You mean like an interior decorator?  Nah, I’m telling you this is a couch.

DR. BELLE:  Not that.

DR. JAMES:  Oh, well maybe a speech pathologist with a background in swashbuckling might help, but…

DR. BELLE:  Not about that either!  I’m talking about this critter.  We don’t even know what it is.

DR. JAMES:  I’m not sure… ( thinks ) but perhaps this critter maybe some kind of down trodden, emaciated roach with antennae envy issues.

SHERM:  ( thinking )  Not a roach, not a roach, and my antennae game is fire!

DR: BELLE:  Perhaps we should call in a team that specializes in unusual types of critters.

DR. JAMES:  Mmmm… perhaps you’re right.

Dr. Belle and Dr. James look at Sherm and then at each other.

DR. BELLE:  Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

DR.  JAMES:  Yes!!!   If you’re thinking about playing nineteen holes of golf tomorrow afternoon with an emphasis on the nineteenth hole!

DR.  BELLE:  No, I was thinking we call down to WormHole Square and see if we can get MW and his team up here to help us figure this critter situation out.

SHERM:  ( thinking )  I’m fucking doomed.

DR.  JAMES:  ( thinks ) Hmmmmmm… ( disappointed ) no golf?

DR. BELLE:  No golf?

DR. JAMES:  ( relents )  Fine.  ( whispers to self, touches couch)   Couch!

SHERM: ( thinking )  It’s a futon, idiot!  Hmmmmm… actually, I think someone has farted into this futon recently.  I’m getting the faint whiff of strawberry Poptarts and organic cranberry juice residuals.  This can’t be good for my current condition.   Although, the smelling salt effect might have some benefit.  Wait… is it effect or affect in this case.   Don’t know… damn.  Will somebody please turn me over.  For the love of God, will somebody turn me the fuck over?!

 

THEND  ( PART 1 )

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sorry, but we’re feeling a bit under the weather this week, so this week’s content will not be posted until May 20th.   Sorry for the delay and thanks for reading!!

Best Regards,

MW

WE’RE IN THE OFFICE OF DR. LAMONT TRIGGS, PSYCHIARIST.  Seated across from Dr. Triggs is Ian, an Iota.  The session begins now.

DR. TRIGGS:  So… Ian, I see you’ve decided to go against my advice and go ahead a get the body enlargement procedure.

Ian:  Yup, sure did.

DR. TRIGGS: Well… how to you feel?

IAN:  Honestly… not good.

DR. TRIGGS:   Elaborate.

IAN:  Well… like I was saying before… I thought that if I were bigger… people would start caring about me.

DR. TRIGGS:  And have they?

 

IAN:  No, they’re still saying stuff like… I don’t care one iota about this, I don’t care one iota about that…or I don’t care one iota about the other.

DR. TRIGGS:  And as an Iota yourself, how does that make you feel?

IAN:  As always… really small and insignificant… like I don’t even matter.

DR:  TRIGGS:  Yes, and hence, the underlying reason for your body enlargement procedure.  You’re trying to overcompensate for your previously diminutive size.

IAN:  Yes, but like you warned, it really didn’t matter in the long run.  You were right, Dr. Triggs.  I should have listen to you.

DR. TRIGGS: What you need to understand, Ian, is that you are now permanently part of an idiom that you have no control over.  And you have to accept that reality.

IAN:  An idiom?

DR: TRIGGS:  Yes, and for as long as you live, people are going to vent their frustration, displeasure, anger, and disappointment with expressions that will include you name.  But the most important thing to remember is that… none of this these situations are your fault.   None of this is your fault.

IAN:  You’re right Dr. Triggs, you’re right.  Why should I be an accomplice in someone else’s screwed up feelings or enmity?

DR. TRIGGS:   Exactly.

IAN:   Why should I have to bare the burden of someone else’s abject indifference, or casual and irresponsible use of an idiom?!

DR. TRIGGS:  Exactly. ( scribbles ) So… tell them to take your name out of their mouths.

IAN:  Yeah!

DR. TRIGGS:  No, tell them.

IAN:  Huh?

DR. TRIGGS:  Tell them!

IAN:  Take my name… out of your mouth!

DR. Triggs edges up closer in his seat to Ian.

DR: TRIGGS:  Tell them!

IAN:  Take my name out of your mouth!

DR. TRIGGS:  Again!

IAN:  Take my name out of your mouth!   Take my name out of your mouth!

DR.  TRIGGS:  Yes!

IAN:  Take my name… out of your motherfuckin’ mouth!!

DR. TRIGGS quickly slides back in his chair.

DR. TRIGGS:  Whoa, whoa!

IAN:  Oh, sorry, Dr. Triggs.  I got carried – I felt a breakthrough just now.  For the first time in my life I feel like I… matter.  ( revelation )   I think I’m cured, Dr. Triggs.  I think I’m cured!

DR. TRIGGS: Okay, breakthrough, cured or not, let’s not go all Will Smith up in here.

IAN:  Sorry.

DR. TRIGGS:  Next thing you know, you’ll want to go around smacking people in the face while their hosting the Oscars.  ( pointed )  Do you feel like you want to smack someone in the face while they are hosting the Oscars, Ian?

IAN:  ( thinks )  Not at all.

DR. TRIGGS:  Good… this is a real breakthrough, Ian.  Congratulations!

IAN:  ( thinks ) But… sometimes I do feel like… pulling up on your grandmother, who I understand is bow-legged, and that may be from riding too many horses, or it may be from riding too many men after they’ve dismounted from those horses, I don’t know.   Anyway… after they’ve dismounted from your grandmother, I feel like… and it’s just sometimes, it’s not all the time… mainly at night after the night time emissions are done, I feel like… I feel like slapping your grandmother in the face.

DR. TRIGGS:  ( points to the door ) Get out.

IAN:  So… same time next week?

 

DR. TRIGGS:  Yes.

 

THEND

 

 

 

   BIRD TALK

Up in the clouds, BENTO encounters a BIRD.  Let’s begin.

BIRD:  Hello.

BENTO: ( startled )   Hello… where did you come from?

BIRD:  From an egg… but I’m afraid I’d have to get into the whole chicken or the egg scenario in order to give you my whole history.  And I don’t think you want that, do you?

BENTO:  Probably not.

BIRD:  You’re new around here, aren’t you?

BENTO: You mean to the skies?

BIRD:  Yes, I haven’t seen you up here before.

BENTO:  That’s because, before this very moment, I’ve spent my whole life at ground level with the rest of the terra firma dwellers.  I’m test flying my new jet pack.  It’s going well so far.

BIRD:  Where did you get that thing, Acme?

BENTO:  No, Amazon.

BIRD:  Interesting, I didn’t think the rainforest area sold such devices, what with their surplus amount of precipitation.  Aren’t you concerned about corrosion and rust?

BENTO:  No, not-

BIRD:  You’re cute.  Are you married?  Is there a machinated terrafirma dweller down there who calls you baby in the wee hours of the night?

BENTO:  Huh, what… excuse me.

BIRD:  You’re cute.  You remind me of a cross between Denzel Washington and Robocop’s little brother.

BENTO:   Okaaayyy… thank you?

BIRD:  You’re welcome.  Have you ever been with a sparrow before?

BENTO:  What do you mean by that… exactly?

BIRD:  You know – like… in a sexual way.

BENTO:  Absolutely not.  That’s beyond my realm of consideration, ma’am.

BIRD:  Really?

BENTO:  Yes… really!

BIRD:  Then why do you keep looking at my breast feathers?

BENTO:  What?!  I did not look at your –

BIRD:  It’s okay, I’ll take it as a compliment.  I know I’m sexy and there’s nothing I can do about it.

BENTO:  Okay, whatever.

BIRD:  Tell you what… if you’re ever near Pine Street and Chester, I live in the tall oak tree with the redneck tire swing on it. You know the one?

BENTO:  I do not.

BIRD:  Stop by if you ever want to cross over to the avian side of the tracks.  But I’m gonna warn you… once you go sparrow, I’m gonna own your arrow.  You feel me?

BENTO:  No, no, and hell no!

BIRD:  Well, think about it.  And maybe I’ll show you who came first… the sparrow or the egg.

BENTO:  I’m out!

Bento ZOOMS away from the strange bird into the stratosphere.

 

THEND

 

 

  Total Eclipse Of The Eyes ( Part 2 )

MW, COURTNEY, BENTO, and ZERACODY sit, pondering the news that fish eggs have been laid in Courtney’s eyes.

BENTO:  You okay, Courtney?  You don’t look so good.

MW:  Yeah, your left eye is twitching and bubbling like crazy.

ZERACODY:  Could be allergies.

BENTO:  Courtney, are your eyes allergic to fish eggs?

COURTNEY:  Not to my knowledge.  I mean – prior to now, the only thing my eyes have had a reaction to is… paprika, wet sand, and smoke from a toaster hosting burnt focaccia bread.

MW:  Oh, burnt focaccia bread is the ultimate eye irritant!  Who are you telling?!

BENTO:  Wet sand in the eyes is no picnic either.

ZERACODY:  Which is ironic, because you’re most likely to encounter wet sand whilst on a picnic.

MW:  But nobody goes on a picnic if it’s raining.

MW, Bento, and Zeracody continue contemplating eye irritants while Courtney’s left eye continues to twitch and bubble.  And then…

MW: Now a twenty pound bass has got to be the ultimate eye irritant!

BENTO:  I think you’re in trouble, Courtney!

COURTNEY:  You’re right, I don’t have a fishing license.

BENTO:  No, I mean…

ZERACODY:  It seems to me that the long term implications of Courtney’s contemporary predicament have been lost in the moment.

MW:  What do you mean?

ZERACODY:  Well… right now Courtney’s got a rather sizeable bass protruding from his left eye.

BENTO:  Right… and it’s flapping around like one of those blow up advertisement character balloons in front of a used car dealership.

MW: And… frankly I’m in no mood to buy a used car after seeing something like this… or anything else for that matter?

BENTO:  What about a can of tuna?

MW:  Well, maybe a can of tuna.   But beware of the mercury consumption!

ZERACODY:  Which clearly you two have had too much of.

BENTO:  And your point, Zeracody?

ZERACODY:  My point… ( gestures to Courtney ).  Well… is Courtney destined to live the rest of his life as a pirate, or cyclops, or some other type of monocled fool?  That’s the question we need to be asking right now.

COURTNEY:  ( distressfully ) No, what we need to be asking…  ugh… ugh…. is how much is the fine for fishing without a license… which I do not have.  I thought I made that clear.  Are you guys even listening to me?!

BENTO:  Yeah, Bro, we’re listening.

Suddenly the bass disengages from Courtney’s left eye, flops along the grass, and jumps into a nearby stream.   Courtney calmly sits back on the bench, blinks his left eye rapidly, then takes a long, deep breath.

COURTNEY:  Oh my God, that’s a relief!

BENTO:  Yeah, no more bass in the eye.

COURTNEY:  No more fishing fines.

ZERACODY:  Let this be a lesson to you, Courtney.  Never look at a solar eclipse without eye protection.

COURTNEY:  Right. ( thinks )  You know… I heard somewhere that wrapping condoms around your glasses makes for excellent eye protection.

THEND