haircut at seven where he is supposed to announce unlimited visitations for those who are faking it or out of limbs for the doctors have assembled in the Far Eastern Counting Room next to Lawn Mowers and Lingerie. Drug dogs are prohibited.
The current head of corruption has just agitated an unreliable source into announcing that after the first cut and a reliable body scanner, no invitations will be issued to anyone with a reptilian bloodline unless they can show a validated sperm or vital mark. “V” for “Vampire.” Protesters will be shuttled to the broom closet behind the vault.
“WHAT is considered reliable?” squawks Tessie, removing her
Snails and Diamondbacks are the menu du jour and dinner is served in the left chicken wing overlooking the right brain
where a silent butler passes out, then stamps each guest for non-functional parking. Meanwhile The Playmates have arrived with their fishnets and spurs. Tuxedoed and prepped, Mr. He steps up to the plate and calmly waits for clanking
spoons to cheer him to oblivion.
Yet it goes on because it must. In God we--
©Carol Adler, 2012