| The phillips-head
screwdriver was left out in the rain. The next day, its glossy silver coating
had rusted to a stale, almost ungodly shade of brown. Biopsy, the town idiot,
stumbled across the absurd tool and pondered of its importance. In his world,
these things just didn't exist. "Tool indeed!", Biopsy scoffed,
"Hmmpphhh". With that, Biopsy kicked the abomination across the
yard with a staggering gallup. "Try living over there for a while,
tool. See how you like them apples". Biopsy bellowed through his crooked,
yellow teeth. To live for the moment was an unconscious motto with Biopsy,
although he wasn't aware or this. He was a simpleton, living off the government's
cheese under the 'Too Dim to Work Act' of 1954. As a result, he had no motivation,
no drive to relate to the real world as normal people do. Instead, he filled
his life with whipped cream and pornography. His life, it seemed, has twisted
and evolved into a lizard with threee skulls, one skull being his desire
to capture the essence of what Nostrodamus meant when he said that the world
is a baloon filled with poopies. Perhaps Nastrodamus didn't say this at
all. Could it be that Biopsy made it up? This was Biopsy's second skull.
He had difficulty ciphering what was real and what were lies. Thus, his
third skull was deceit. Many in his society would dare to take advantage
of this dim-witted jackal. On occasion, he would walk around on town with
his index finger nestled snugly in the uppermost portion of his buttockal
crack. Once home, he would remove the finger and sniff the treasures in
had brung for the day. A fresh odor of feces was his companion, and he brought
it with him wherever he might roam. Plinkleton Woodchief lived across the
valley from Biopsy. He was a wise man, intent on peering into his neighbor's
bedrooms late at night. Though they would be unaware of this at the time,
the morning brought nostril imprints on the outside of their windows, a
tell-tale sign that Mr. Woodchief has spent some uncertain amount of time
outside of their humble abodes. One night, Plinkleton decided to pay a visit
to Biopsy's adobe hut, unprepared for the consequences that would soon ensue.
It seemed that Biopsy was wrestling with reality at the time, and mistakenly
thought Plinkleton was a werewolf. Before he could blink, Biopsy stabbed
Plinkleton twenty-three times in the skull, relieving him of his existence
on this fairground known as Earth. Aware of his error, Biopsy plunged to
the ground, intent on administering CPR on his dead neighbor. He inhaled
deeply and pressed his gummy lips against Plinkerton's only he re-swallowed
the oxygen he had meant to deliver, causing his lungs to explode. The phillips-head
screwdriver chuckled warmly to itself, and all was quiet in the valley that
night. |
