The Land of the Cheddar Monster Vivisectionists

The girls quickly poured quicklime over Mr. Madero and then, just as quickly, poured picante sauce over the gigantic dog. With paws extended, the colossal canine teetered on two paws, smelled the herbs, the vinaigrette and the mojo and fell over backwards, dead as a showroom dummy.

Now they had a lot of explaining to do and a disposal problem. The giant dog was already starting to smell like a huge, decaying dog mannequin. As they contemplated these predicaments, Barky-the-real scooted out from under the monstrous mannequin.

Lindy and Kris roared with a laughter that sounded like the burning fuselage of a 747.

-¡Hey! ¡He’s going out to into the street where that giant steamroller is! -Lindy held a personal grudge against the local steamroller operator.

-¡Hey! -The steamroller operator shouted-. ¡Get out of the way! ¡I’m trying to steamroll a dog!

Fortunately, Lindy and Kris had broughten pies filled with extra salt that had been intended for Mr. Madero.

They reached the steamroller. They readied their pies. But first, the sky blue chant of insanity:

-¡Free Barky! -They lifted their pies and slammed them into the steamroller guy’s face as he bore down on the pesky pooch.

-¡I’m free! -Mr. Madero screamed-. ¡They’re out of pies! I knew that freaky little dog would be my ticket out of this Roberto Benigni salad bar. ¡Now, I’m the head lesbian!

-¡Hey, Madero! -Kris said, sensing a showdown of mannequin proportions-. ¡Suck my dick!

The miniscule mannequin was not only touched in the head, he was touched by this sudden outburst of insanity from the girls. And he was physically touched when the two girls ran up and vise-locked their arms around his head and then sent out for lunch. It was as if the Contras had decided to persecute dummies instead of nuns and babies.

But Mr. Madero vaulted from their grip like Nadia Comaneci from the sawhorse.

Meanwhile, the steamroller operator was still steamrolling along, wiping pie from his eyes and cursing the girls’s names and parental heritages:

-¡Sons of fucking dogs! ¡When I get this pie out of my eyes, I’m gonna...!

But he didn’t see the otter in front of him that was as plain as the pie on his face.

-¡I’m free! -Mr. Madero shouted-. ¡I’m as free as Harpo Marx! ¡I’m gonna...!

¡SPLAT! ¡SPLAT!

The driver also didn’t see Mr. Madero and his newfound freedom.

The gigantic, black roller crushed the unsuspecting otter and the diabolical dummy like two, small, crushable things, making Mr. Madero part of the asphalt - and, as a bonus, otter stew.

You could still hear Mr. Madero’s strident screams sullying the street from beneath the pavement.

-Yuh foostarts backle edder iman.

He didn’t even come up for air, and that was the beginning of the real end for Mr. Madero.

The planet, in the meantime, began mourning the death of the otter.

There was a strange, dead-dog smell in the air. It was rude and unnecessary and the sparse air that was still available to breathe was forming a union.

Barky barked the bark of a dog that was somehow still alive. He walked on top of Mr. Madero’s flattened pavement face and then lifted his leg, urinating on the doomed dummy.

-Burfy boo bloffing muff -Mr. Madero’s last words were leaking out-. Muffa fuckuh fofo...

Lindy and Kris were disconcerted about it, but they kissed each other full on the lips.

They were ecstatic, but then the dead-dog smell seemed to have an unforeseen effect on them:

-¡Pwawguh! ¡You fucking slipped in your tongue! -Lindy outedly declared.

Kris was having none of these Sapphotic, incestuous insinuations:

-¡Pwawguh! ¡You’ve fucking been drinking Jim Beam!

Lindy actually heaved all over the pavement, and, of course, all over a dead and rapidly decaying dummy.

Barky started licking it up.

The planet and God were celebrating the life of an otter.

The steamroller driver wiped the last vestiges of pie and salt from his face where a pair of vulgar vixens had once slammed it. He was a listless man, with small hands, brazen muscles and pie all over his shirt. His face was red from rubbing it and he carried himself like he had bought too many potatoes at the supermarket and was having a hard time carrying them.

-¡¿A kid?! -He Todd Solondz’d-. ¿Did I just crush a kid and an otter?

-No -Kris told him-. Well, yes and no. You crushed an otter and my ventriloquist dummy.

He seemed relieved. His red face had turned white but now it was red again. He let out a sonorous and suspicious sigh.

-Oh, my God -He Christian’d-. Oh, my God. I thought it was an otter. ¿What am I going to do? -And he looked skyward-. Planets, please forgive me.

He exhaled again. This time it was profound, sonorous... and a little bit spicy. In fact, his breath reeked of Captain Morgan and Sir Walter Raleigh. The girls were a little concerned for their safety, but the small-handed, muscular misfit was more mollifier than molester. He took out his teeth, wiped them on his pants and put them back in before incoherenting:

-I’m sole solly -He said and then adjusted his teeth-, sorry. I love Jacques Cousteau, ¿and that alligator guy? He’s the bomb. I wouldn’t hurt a sand flea, let alone a sea otter-. He didn’t know when to shut up.

-¡Don’t be such a preoccupied dupe! -Kris said into a megaphone.

-Yeah. Word. Don’t be such a preoccupied rube -Lindy sass’d and then, in a robotic voice-: This is a recording.

Barky started barking at the dummy smeared onto the pavement underneath his urine.

The man just shook his head and said:

-¡What a life! My parents sure created their version of a putz. I really thought that I was a macho kinda guy, but look at me. I think I’ve pissed my self.

-No. That was our dog -Kris assured him.

-¡Fucking dogs! -The man suddenly brightened-. ¿You know what the only good dog is? ¡A dead dog! ¡Or a pit bull! I need a drink and a dame -The man spat onto the urine-soaked, pavement-plastered, plasticine puppet.

Lindy intuitively knew to step the fuck away from guys like this.

-I think I’ll go... ummm... ¡walk the dog!

The man sensed scared sister.

-¿How much did that mutt cost?

-We bought him as a bastard lab experiment gone bad -Kris told him.

The man understood this line of dialog and spat on the ground again.

-Get three coffins ready -He said Clint Eastwoodly.

-¿Huh? -Kris said.

-Nothing.

He was about to shave his head, but decided to philosophize instead.

-That dog is what the proletariat calls a luxury item -He told them-. And I eat luxury items for breakfast.

-¡We had waffles on the George Foreman®! -Kris said, a little too enthusiastically.

-Hey -The man said, looking suddenly reflective-, ¿he won’t come back to life, ¿will he? ¿The dummy? You know, ¿like a sequel?

-No -Kris said quickly-. No way. He’s from the Land of the Cheddar Monster Vivisectionists, too. So, no way.

-I’ve been to the Land of the Cheddar Monster Vivisectionists, too. I had my second grade teacher dissected and stuffed.

The girls cut off the chit-chat immediately and ran home, dragging Barky behind them.

“Man, I won’t drink Sangria® the rest of my life”, Kris thought. “I may be a simpleton, but I’m an alive simpleton.”

They rested as their feet moved them toward their home and through the front door, followed by Barky.

-¡Ooof! -Lindy said, removing her ruby red labia ring-. That was pinching.

They dragged their dog into the kitchen, unconscious. Then they set him on fire because they couldn’t find the light switch.

While Barky burned, the two reflected on their day.

-My dogs are killing me -Kris said insensitively, as she pulled off her shoes-. I swear to Allah, I’m not going postal, ¡I’m going Columbine Boy!

-Me too -Lindy said, escalating the violence already in the air as their escalator arrived.

They got on the escalator and counted the number of open windows from the front door to their room. They had bamboozled their way out of the darkness and into the light...

-¡Oh, no! -Kris cried out, interrupting the narrative flow-. ¡I lost count of the fucking open windows!

-¡Fuck it! -Lindy said philosophically-. Let’s get to bed.

The last window to count was their own open window, but they didn’t know what number it was. This freaked-out Kris more than she could allow herself to believe.

She was about to go back and start the count over when she saw Palmolive sitting by the open window.

-¡Hey, lesbians! ¿Ya made Madero part of the Information Super Highway, huh? -The dummy said in a grunion-like, guttural tone-. ¿Wouldn’t Al Gore be proud? But, hey, it’s all good now. ¡I thought you’d never get rid of that sanctimonious little fuck!