Cosmic Vomit by Don Cheney A multi-media project by Max Cheney Chapter 18 read by Jeremy
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-°Help me! Help me!
I only had two pleas in me.
-°Ahoy, Al! -I could hear Colinís grating voice scream-. °Ahhh-hoyyy!
I wanted to get away from the monster, but not if I had to listen to Colinís fat ass. Iíd rather be encased in a jar on some monster mantelpiece.
This is what life had come down to: being a tumbler for monster soup, or being subjected to Colin.
I didnít know which to choose.
-You know which one to choose -Colin said-. Choose the man with the plan. ŅWhat are you waiting for? ŅWhat? ŅHas God told you I suck?
-I... I donít know what to do -I said, signing my own death certificate.
-°Donít sign that! -Colin insisted, and I dropped the pen-. You donít know where itís been.
ŅI donít know where itís been? Now I really wanted to be monster fodder. I wanted to march like a tamale marionette to my tamale marionette death.
All I could see was my brains disappearing. But no tomatoes and no parsley. This was all I could see, because now I didnít have any eyes.
And all of this without any garnishing.
-Look, Colin, °no eyes! -The creature said cynically-. And now Iím going to break his back.
But the creatureís fangs didnít know where to look.
Then it looked behind me.
-°Arrf! -I barked.
-°Oh, my Christ! °I donít believe it! °You can bark! -Colin said.
-ŅWhat? ŅHuh? -I prayed someone would put a gun to Colinís head.
-Iíve become Gordi. Iíve become Gordi, and I still donít have any fucking fangs -I said and looked down-. And, oh, fuck... °Iím neutered!
This sucks worse than polio and this sucks worse than being Jimmy Connors. Iím stupid Gordi, Iím in a state of shock, monsters have taken over the neighborhood, theyíve taken my brain as gourmet food, Iím neutered, and still the worst thing is, Iím stupid Gordi.
Every thought I had came back to the fact that I was now Gordi. I didnít miss my brain. I suppose I didnít use it very much anyway.
While Iíd been contemplating my fate, Colin had been killing the monster.
-°You the man, Colin! I donít have my fangs, Iíve turned into a stupid dog, but at least that goddamn creature is dead.
-Yeah, yeah, yeah -Colin was still a paragon of conversational skills, always quoting the Beatles.
-Um, Colin, come here a second. I want to tell you something -This was my big chance-. If I get my brains back, Iím going to kick your ass.
-ŅWhat? -Colin asked, like the somnambulant zombie we all loved.
-We have what librarians have -Yeah, the charred remains of fangs-. We have heaven and earth and everything in between.
-Nice point -Colin opined-. Iím going to hell.
-Gordi was my savior -I heard my self say-. If it hadnít been for that poor excuse for a mascot,
, Gordi would still be here, and I wouldnít be inside his wooly dog suit, trying to get out. Chester
I was so pissed about my fangs that I almost forgot how much I hated Colin and his punk-ass. Those fangs had been custom-made for me in Hell and then applied to my gums with tape in my ceramics class. After I had eaten with them once, I knew that they would stay on in almost any situation.
This profound thought came to me as I stood in the garden, wearing only my doggy pants and my bathrobe.
Colin and I were beginning to understand the living hell we were in when he said:
-ŅWhat? ŅWhat are you going on about? -I asked.
-ŅWhat is the capital of
? -He asked me. Brazil
-I responded, without thinking. Uruguay
-°Fantastic! -Colin said, surrendering-. ŅWhat dog could even guess wrongly like that?
We were meeting up all right, meeting up in the hell-on-earth cube steak capital of the world.
We were the salt of the earth, except the salt had dried up, and we had become lithesome and weary.
And when it came down to it, we were all creatures of the fangs.
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