The Land of the Cheddar Monster Vivisectionists

With a heart full of latent violence, Lindy set fire to Kris’s camel and put it out faster than a Harken® scandal, averting suicides, and jail sentences in cushy federal prisons, but keeping the quick cash-outs.

The quick flash of flames gave Kris goose bumps all over his ears.

Under the escalator, an obscure ritual was practiced with salt. Salt, some pies, a nude golf pro (to be set on fire) - all of this set apart from the fact that Cuba doesn’t have escalators.

Under the escalator, this obscure practice was the exception to the rule that what comes down must have gone up at some time or other.

-Kris... Kris... ¿How’s it going, buddy? -Lindy said in a voice that said “Hey, I put him out, ¿didn’t I?”

Lindy knew she was asking to be hit over the head with the kitchen door.

¿What was up with all this macabre shit?

Once upon a time, everything was in focus. God counted his cash from high in the heavens, while George W. Bush and his lot counted theirs down below. Snakes slithered, salt was shaken and never was heard a discouraging bird.

The kitchen door that would never stay open without propping it with pie.

And... never was heard a discouraging bird.

-¿What.. what is it that has already passed through this life?

God his self had been through this kitchen door. The devil too.

Also, every frog in the freaking county had been through this door. And every pie-hunting human.

Even jaded Lindy in her Joan Miró hat had been through this door. She looked hard at the pie that had been meted out to prop it open. It was a BIG piece of chocolate grouse pie.

She grabbed a carton of milk and started drinking it while vaulting around the kitchen on a Pogo Stick. The chocolate grouse pie was in danger of getting a milk makeover.

She had left her eyes with Kris before she pogo’d all over the kitchen. This was in the days when she could trust him to get them back. Today she’d sooner trust the Contras with her unborn children.

-Kris, ¿what day is...?

Little by little, the scene unfolded like a folded sandwich. Everything was macabre... That and bad. It brought up that time when Lindy had entrusted her eyes to Kris.

Segue to the horrorible image of Kris, poor fin and pud-puller extraordinaire, running to the bathroom and threatening to flush her eyes down the toilet.

Today, that image usually haunts her when the dentist has his hands poised over her mouth and the sucking and drilling noises are reverberating all around her, threatening to drown out her screams of agony. Last time she went to the dentist she had to drink a whole jug of wine and follow that with half a plate of chocolate grouse pie. Of course, the kitchen door slammed shut, hitting God in the ass on His way out. Lindy had been the only one with balls big enough to pull that off. The fruit of her effort was to stare down the dentist and to kick God in the ass.

-¡Oh! -Lindy exclaimed, waking from her reverie.

Everything seemed horribly bright and imminently replaceable.

¿How come when you wake up, everything is so bright and when you go to sleep everything is such mediocre comedy?

¡The joys of Kris’s fantasies!

There were artists and pill-poppers wearing collars made of cannoli. And everyone was ladling out mescaline in an attempt to ramp-up the comedy to a dramatic crescendo that treated salad like it was an exotic effrontery to the meat industry.

¡Oh, no! -Lindy screamed as her eyes were passed over the commode.

Sitting directly in the middle of all this disorder was Mr. Madero, who was trying to get a leg-up on the chocolate grouse pie. In Mr. Madero’s twisted version of reality, cannoli collars clash with large ferrets wearing orange eyes and bright green rodent feet.