The Land of the Cheddar Monster Vivisectionists

-Look at me, Mr. Madero -Kris slapped the dummy across the cheek-, ¿how many fingers am I holding up?

-One -Mr. Madero said-, and fuck you too. ¿Do you just like fucking with dummies’s heads?

-¿And what is your favorite claw hammer?

-The Stanley 51-944 Antivibe 20-Ounce Rip Claw Hammer.

-¿When did you realize that you were sexually active?

-¡Such a question to ask a dummy! Sure. ¡Ha, ha! Well, one night I saw Palmolive slumped over in her dummy case and her blouse was open just a little...

Kris sat frozen in horror, Mr. Madero sitting on his knee, leering at a remembered carnal image that Kris was trying to forget.

Mr. Madero hadn’t taken a crap in two days. Nothing would work to incite the mysteries. Kris started him on a diet of sea salt and cow licks. But the salt only made him horny.

At this point, Kris was for having Mr. Madero’s tonsils taken out via frontal lobotomy, but then all he’d be able to do would be to drool.

And he’d never be able to pronounce “bees” or “emmis” without somebody’s labia moving. The worst part would be when the inevitable sound of silence gave way to the lighting of random fires.

“I’m getting really confused. ¿Who’s doing Mr. Madero’s voice and who’s doing mine?” -Kris thought allergenically-. I doubt that anyone in this house is doing my voice. But, when the words are flying and there’s comedy everywhere, ¿who can tell?”

-I’m gonna say something new, Mr. Madero -He said-. I spy with my little eye...

-¡Treble! ¡Treble! ¡And more treble! I can’t hear you -Hissed the non-refundable dummy, with ringing in each of his five senses.

Before he could pull the wax from all of Mr. Madero’s senses, Lindy walked in carrying the sins of an alien world into the house. Kris watched, trying to figure out why his sister had such an acerbic wit but such a dull world view. She thought that cowboys were swell, boys were monkeys without tails and a smile was all the emotion she needed.

-¿Why are you such an unmitigated putz? -Lindy asked as Kris pondered.

He was about to respond, but Lindy cut him off.

-Mrs. Petrie is having a party for Amy -She said in barber tones-. And she works for Channel 3. ¿You sabe? The TV station and I think that I’m good enough to get on that show “Talent Basket”. It’s been running all week.

-¡You’re shittin’ me! -It’s still too hard to tell who’s talking when Kris opens his mouth.

Lindy decided to show some emotion and smiled.

¡Palmolive and I are going to be on television! -She was griping and smiling-. ¿Don’t you think that’s fabulous?

The only images that came to Kris’s mind were images of the Queen Mother at a baseball game and his sister on a torture rack. And in the space it took to formulate those images, Lindy was talking again.

-¡I have the one thing all contestants must have - a mom! -Lindy declared-. ¡Mommy! ¡Mommy! -And her siege in their personal spaces ended.

Kris could hear the gears of the escalator grinding below.

-¡Aaaaaarg! -Kris didn’t know how to ¡aaaaaarg! and exhale and contract rabies at the same time.

-¿Why is everyone so hepped-up for Lindy to succeed? -Kris’s - or whoever’s - voice had the volume on LOUD-. I’m going to be the announcer at some jackass concert, in front of at least 100 of the city’s poor people... And... she’s... ¡going to be on television! ¡I am so much better than her! I’m going to be a Digital Watch Repair major.

In his favor, he could pour some more Noxema® into Mr. Madero’s head and sing songs to him until he fell asleep.

The dummy’s head was being held on by a crayon. In other words, it wasn’t sitting right with Mr. Madero.

-Oh -Kris hissed the hiss of the poor, downtrodden composer.

Mr. Madero made a bolt for the pies but his head fell off and he couldn’t make it to the cuspidor.

Kris made it to the dummy and rolled him up like a knapsack.

-Yeah, yeah, Mr. Madero -Kris said suavely and suspiciously-. ¿What did you have in mind? ¿Huh? Discipline. That’s what I have in mind.

The dummy continued hallucinating Fiji Mermaids in string bikinis. The sun had been pinned to the sky and wasn’t setting any time soon, but Madero’s eyes were frozen to it like two implacable french fries.

The night was leaning toward quiet. There were no screaming babies at brisses. And the dummies on the windowsill weren’t moving. The light from the moon filtered out any dentists in the vicinity, projecting large images of cavities and color tv’s into the sky, more than any mere dentist could handle.

Lindy was asleep from the tranquilizers. She had made some sweet moola this afternoon, but the Feds would soon be onto her. It would be a rude and vicious scene with desperate hissing from everyone concerned.

-¿Wha’? -She lifted her head in a daze that was both human and humid and humorous.

And everything moved around the perimeter of this obscurity.

It seemed to be all over, except for the pissing.

-¡Hey! -She was so sure she had been disrespected-. ¿Who’s pissing?

The silhouette said it was Mr. Madero, penis in hand, raining down around the perimeter of obscurity. Even money said he was pissing on Mrs. Powell’s hat collection.

-I am -But it wasn’t Madero’s voice.

-¿Kris?

-Yup. I’m fucking desperate. I have to take a gargantuan piss -Kris was so sure he had closed the door-. I’m going to piss all over the kitchen looking for a glass of water.

Desperate was the penultimate word. With her head walking on an alcoholic-lined path covered with almonds, Lindy heard the pissing like it was on the escalator next to her.

When the pissing noises stopped, Lindy closed her eyes and poured ammonia over her head.

A second later, she heard the screams of horror that must’ve been someone nailing Kris to the oak tree.