The Land of the Cheddar Monster Vivisectionists - Chapter 19 read by Don, Jennie, Max and Wendy

Mr. Madero was partying and then he emitted a horrible sound, especially for a dummy of his species. In the middle of this obscurity was an escalator and in the middle of the escalator was a malicious, middle-aged Mr. Madero.

“Well, ¡fuck me! -Kris thought and pointed his pair of shoulders at the disastrous dummy-. I’m going to set that little fucker on fire and then I’m going to pull out the teeth he has left with a telepathetic toaster.”

-¡You! ¡You are just impossible! -Kris was so sure she could easily kill the little dummy that she sat right down and cried.

The dummy paraded around the emotional neophyte, trying to get a rise out of her. But Kris was already crying like her back had been set on fire by the doleful doppelganger of Sun Ra.

Treating Kris like she was a Farsi-speaking zafu sandwich, the diabolic dummy subjected her to a din of noise guaranteed to piss her off.

-But... ¡You’re a dummy! -She protested.

This got a rise out of Madero.

-Your mom’s a dummy -He replied with a profound grunt, or at least a grunt as profound as a grunt can be. It actually sounded more like an enormous rabid dog.

-¡You will not walk all over me! -Kris tried to be stoic, but her voice sounded store-bought.

The doll went back to chiding her with a low, horrible wail.

-¡You are not alive! -Kris exclaimed.

-¡Suck my dick! ¡Yes I am! -The dummy was vociferous, if nothing else.

Kris couldn’t feel her hands.

-¿¡Why don’t you suck my dick?! -Kris said and then realized that her voice had changed-. I mean, ¿¡why don’t you fucking sod off?!

-¡I’m not going to sod off! ¡And you had a pencil dick! -The doll screamed and his scream echoed in Kris’s head until the tears started raining down her cheeks.

The topic of her penis hadn’t come up in recent chapters and Kris fidgeted with her shirt at the mention of it. The air suddenly became coarse, carcinogenic and cantilevered. And now she was crying, unable to breathe and she couldn’t see her hands.

¿What series of events could possibly be cruder?

Maybe it was that time Kris had been so crudely transformed into a girl.

-¡Suck my dick! -The dummy repeated-. ¡Or throw me a porn mag and a towel! -And Madero was back to treating her like a Farsi-speaking zafu-meatball sandwich.

-¡No! -Kris was damned if she was going to put anyone’s dick in her mouth just because she was now a girl-. ¡Now you march your bad self back to the armoire, young man!

This sassy dummy was one carjacking away from a serious ass-kicking delivered by the pint-sized pumps of the nouveau-lady, Kris.

-You can’t make me, asshole.

-¿You know what?, you’re right -Kris decided to try another tactic-. You’re absolutely right. I can’t make you, Mr. Madero. I’m only a little girl and you’re... Oh yeah, you’re a tiny, wooden, dickless puppet... ¡I’m going to fucking tear you apart! -Kris had declared class war on the petit bourgeois cat’s-paw, and she jumped on him and they went rolling through the hallway, trying to kick each other in the crotch.

But the obscurity stepped in, rendering Mr. Madero invisible, but not incomprehensible:

-¡Suck my dick! -The dummy ordered-. ¡Or give me a hand-job! ¡Something, so I don’t have my eyes where my clavicles used to be!

Kris spat into the palm of her hand.

-¡Suck my dick! -His voice was getting less rugged and more “pip-pip” and “cheerio”-. Now I am the man. And you’re the little girl. Now this is my house. And you... you’ll have to pick up after me.

This was getting incredibly fucked-up.

Kris was ready to set fire to anything.

She got on the escalator, rolled up her sleeves and rolled up her panties (which had been in a bunch).

-¡Suck me! -The dummy ordered. He sure had a one-track mind. Even his eyes were salivating and his clavicles were where his eyes used to be.

There was an incredible flash of fire. It echoed down the escalator and down Madero’s pants and then punched Kris in the back of the stomach.

-¡Oooof! -Kris said, catching her sinuses as they flew through the air.

The dummy do-badder approved of this moment into his collection of Liberace records. Now that he had the burden of being a man, he was treating life much as he treated Kris: like a Farsi-speaking zafu sandwich, barred from boarding the escalator.

But Kris had a pie in her hand before Mr. Madero could hiss or blow out his Zen candles.

And the Zen candles were still burning when the pie hit Madero’s face, Kris laughing like a sour diode on nitrous oxide. What separated management from the proles was certainly the fury with which they could toss pies from escalators.

-¡Oooof!

Kris became permanently jaded when she saw the pie gyro-sober right into the dummy’s crotch. She closed her eyes, saw the goddamn ghost of God, and immediately repented for the crotchal intrusion. The dummy had forcibly tried to make Kris take Liberation Theology classes on taming the liger and setting things on fire.

-Kris... ¿what the day glow...? -It was the cracked and disinterested voice of Lindy, who had scaled the walls of the house and was climbing through the window.

-¡It’s Mr. Madero! -Kris’s logic was peccable-. ¡He’s alive! -She was going to set something on fire, but she had ditched so many of the Liberation Theology classes that she couldn’t think of how to do it. So she moved like an impudent mole toward her sister.

-Kris... ¿What the José Jiménez is going on? -Lindy was excited-. ¿Did you blow him?

-¡No! -Kris exclaimed-. ¡I didn’t blow him! ¡Puh-leeze, Lindy! Besides, ¿what would Mom and Dad say? ¿Mr. Madero? That’s laughable.

-I don’t know. I’ve seen him looking at you with those wooden, puppy-dog eyes

-Lindy told her, dancing an Irish jig as she sashayed toward her sister-. But, ¡for LeVar Burton’s sake! ¿Have you gone loco?

-¡Listen to me, bitch! -Kris grabbed Lindy by her pulmonary artery-. ¡Touchy-Feely time is OVER! ¡Now find Mom and Dad! ¡I think they’re part of life’s rich pageant!

But Lindy didn’t move a muskrat. She just looked at her sister with the mechanical stare of a Guy Caballero, or an Irene Cara. In other words, ¡an expression of monstrous horror!

¡Let’s go to anteater school, Kris -Lindy piddled-. For the love of Flavor Flav, let’s go to anteater school. Come on, we’ll try reanimating your camel.

-¡But you’re the jackass that killed my camel! -Kris was desperately gritting her teeth-. You have to believe me, Lindy. ¡My camel loved you!

The dummy continued moving around behind them in the dark, kinda like if Irene Cara’s bra was on fire and she was running around at the Copacabana trying to ladle out estuaries.

-Ya know, you’re a real piece of work, Kris. “Oh Lindy, my camel loved you, ¡right up to the moment you slit it’s throat!” -Lindy was heading for the escalator wearing her Ken Caminiti suicide watch, and all the time yammering at Kris-. ¡FUCK your camel, Kris! It only gets one life. One. It died faster than your ventriloquist act... Heh-heh. ¿Get it? That was harsh.

Jaded, but still breathing, Kris needed all of her mind and all of her body to confront her sister. Instead, she gathered all of her lab rats into her hands and started the auction.

But no one was bidding and now the dummy was moving nearer the escalator and both of his hands were flipping the girls the bird of their choice. Gated community or not, this tricky bastard was getting over.

-¡No! ¡No! ¡No! ¡Four times, no! -Lindy was being literal, as the dummy moved laterally away from them.

-¡Will you fucking get Mom and Dad! -Kris said-. ¡A pox on you!

Disconcerted, broken and incredulous, Lindy swallowed her gum and set out on the escalator to find her parents and to complain about Kris.

Kris sat down on her long talons and kicked her shoes off into the atmosphere.

This was Mr. Madero’s cue. He spat into Kris’s head and started rubbing the spittle all over her hair and scalp.

Kris’s head felt like it had pegs, shocks... and yet, she didn’t feel lucky. But at least Madero hadn’t pissed on her head and rubbed it in - ¡or worse!

The dummy laughed a quick, judo-chop laugh. He closed his eyes. He didn’t know what to do next.

Rickshawing the crest of the obscurity, which had grown palpable and tremendously creepy, Kris tried to incorporate everything she’d learned in Liberation Theology classes. She rapidly came to the conclusion that a pie saved was a pie earned and that ¡this fucking dummy was going to die more than FOUR deaths! ¡More like, the number of musical instruments the jackass otherwise known as Prince can play: “about a thousand!”

-Mom and Dad... -Kris gritted her teeth as she whispered-, ¿why are you so useless? Just pure uselessness.

The dummy heard her whining and lifted his head to hear more. But all he heard was the kind of fury, comedy and personal violence that you’d hear at a grunion run.

Kris furtively pressed a pie against her head.

-¡Suck my dick! -The dummy grunted malignantly.

Kris thought she was hearing voices.

-¿Mommy? ¿Daddy? ¡You goofy bastards! -She sheepishly bleated.

Immediately, her parents appeared before her like they had just taken the escalator from Nazi-occupied France.

-¡Have a pie! -Kris said and frantically started gathering pies and lab rats.