Cosmic Vomit

-¡Help me! Help me!

I only had two pleas in me.

-¡Ahoy, Al! -I could hear Colin’s grating voice scream-. ¡Ahhh-hoyyy!

I wanted to get away from the monster, but not if I had to listen to Colin’s fat ass. I’d 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 didn’t know which to choose.

-You know which one to choose -Colin said-. Choose the man with the plan. ¿What are you waiting for? ¿What? ¿Has God told you I suck?

-I... I don’t know what to do -I said, signing my own death certificate.

-¡Don’t sign that! -Colin insisted, and I dropped the pen-. You don’t know where it’s been.

¿I don’t know where it’s 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 didn’t have any eyes.

And all of this without any garnishing.

-Look, Colin, ¡no eyes! -The creature said cynically-. And now I’m going to break his back.

But the creature’s fangs didn’t know where to look.

Then it looked behind me.

-¡Arrf! -I barked.

-¡Oh, my Christ! ¡I don’t believe it! ¡You can bark! -Colin said.

-¿What? ¿Huh? -I prayed someone would put a gun to Colin’s head.

-I’ve become Gordi. I’ve become Gordi, and I still don’t have any fucking fangs -I said and looked down-. And, oh, fuck... ¡I’m neutered!

This sucks worse than polio and this sucks worse than being Jimmy Connors. I’m stupid Gordi, I’m in a state of shock, monsters have taken over the neighborhood, they’ve taken my brain as gourmet food, I’m neutered, and still the worst thing is, I’m stupid Gordi.

Every thought I had came back to the fact that I was now Gordi. I didn’t miss my brain. I suppose I didn’t use it very much anyway.

While I’d been contemplating my fate, Colin had been killing the monster.

-¡You the man, Colin! I don’t have my fangs, I’ve 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, I’m going to kick your ass.

-¿What? -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-. I’m going to hell.

-Gordi was my savior -I heard my self say-. If it hadn’t been for that poor excuse for a mascot, Chester, Gordi would still be here, and I wouldn’t be inside his wooly dog suit, trying to get out.

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:

-¡Fuck me!

-¿What? ¿What are you going on about? -I asked.

-¿What is the capital of Brazil? -He asked me.

-Uruguay -I responded, without thinking.

-¡Fantastic! -Colin said, surrendering-. ¿What 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.