The Apologue of the Apoplectic Raconteur
Playing the mandoline with a radish, while revealing the illusionary properties of the federal reserve to secret service agents creates an obstreperous ambiance, which in turn alarms the piles of rubber-band-wrapped, paper money kept clandestine behind forged expressionist paintings, bought by the ignorance of business men. The paintings hang crooked over an unsterilized operating table, where the late doctor Kevorkian, being fitted for a loosely tailored stem cell skin suit, overhears the key phrase “communist alligators 4 Isis Christ “, causing him to end the procedure abruptly, buttoning up a long sleeve imitation mustard colored Hawaiian shirt in order to conceal Recrementitious organs constructed from vinyl hot dog skins. The phrase simultaneously drained all cellphones of 48% battery life, killing 35% of the phones inside the building.
The man in the Kevorkian skin suit Approaches furtively before militating his presence by
Lightning a Cuban cigar rolled with a mixture of black tar heroin & coca leaves as he orates a dissertation of excoriating sophistry
“All these broken windows have invoked demonic vices within the confines of this fluorescent lit room…” the words fade into monotony as he proceeds to captiously pontificate tangential blather, citing the names of the 26 most influential celebrity representatives of the south side of Chicago in reverse chronological order, beginning with chief keef, followed by Kanye west, appending Oprah as an honorable mention before unveiling “shoeless” joe Jackson as Chi-town’s historical public enemy number one,
“employees capitalizing on their own merits without the recorded verbal consent of their owners, conflicts with the new euphemistic liberties of American citizens, who need to follow proper patent laws & copyright regulations.”
The speedball infested cigarillo burned into a roach as the fallacious apologue ended abruptly, interrupted by the ringtone of a phone call from an anonymous number with a congratulatory automated proclamation:
“You may already have won the rights to download all unclassified government documents in pdf format, including while not limited to;
Insufficient funds as determined by your bank statements. To reveal the amount of currency not available please submit a convenience fee of approximately three dollars …”
The message gets distorted as a raccoon-looking-virtual rodent with bloodshot eyes runs across the cutting board, sieging
Full access to my google account, contracting all of my debts through the collection agency which had recently purchased them. The debts included automobile payments never made on a vehicle currently owned by an independently managed junk yard, which is being guarded by an oversized hybrid turkey possessing dinosaur teeth, which he used to feast on the organs of the previous inhabitants, a pack of wild pit bulls.
Predetermined factors cause my nicotine cravings to take full effect. Leaving the confines of my work station i exit uniVerse A & enter into uniVerse B, lighting a Newport while simultaneously inhaling a peanut butter & banana sandwich, only to be interrupted by another coworker,
“Elvis Presley’s favorite sandwich was peanut butter & banana,” the candidate for early retirement misinformed me.
(The second portion of the conversation concludes at a local plastic manufacturing plant a decade prior ).
“Actually the overweight Memphis junky ate peanut butter, banana & bacon sandwiches. often with honey,” I stated,Trying to sublimate the dialogue rather unsuccessfully as I begin bloviating about the arcane history of peanut butter instead, beginning with the Aztecs, concluding with the annual Jiff sandwich competition juxtaposed against the “Uncle Tom” work of George Washington Carver, before realizing the apoplectic nature of my demeanor, causing me to light another cigarette, committing the only form of assisted suicide permitted in the commonwealth.
Satiating my nicotine craving I Watch smoke spiraling into fractals, which contain various images of Aztec architects chewing coca leaves while performing math at accelerated rates, all of which inspires me to misanthropically March into the office, turning in my written notice of resignation, effective precisely 2.7 years from the date of signature, citing the pursuit of designing sculptural stairways for the 7-eleven corporation as my reason. Afterwards I simply
Return to the line in uniVerse A, where
I promptly return an unlabeled 6th pan of thin sliced radishes to a shelf located in a walk-in cooler box in order for the cut produce to be held at a chilled temperature for less than 48hrs, a time of significance to federal bureaucrats, whose primary job function is “looking out for the best interest of the American people “, while collecting exorbitant salaries along the way.
Upon my immediate return to my scheduled station:
“Mind your P’s &Q’s “my supervisor informs with the hubris of a grammar nazi, offering no further explanation as to the significance of the phrase.
“I’m writing in the metric system, so Pints & quarts do not apply in this scenario,” I state,
while sketching rudimentary blue prints of a stairway resembling an oversized shopping cart, tipped onto its side, complete with handrails made from the aluminum cans of energy drinks.
“The thing about grammar nazis is that they’re almost like regular nazis, arbitrarily enforcing a compartmentalization of esoteric rules and regulations, except regular nazis wear suits,” I conclude.
“People respect suits for sacrificing their individuality,” the stem cell suit super boss disclosed, while exhaling smoke rings from the last cinders of a Cuban leaf wrapped speed ball.
Inevitably darkness settled.
Cicadas communicate a harmonious concordance, telling the saga of a fungi lead zombie apocalypse unfolding during our present existence amidst the ending days of summer, while neighborhood kids start fires on the sidewalk along residential streets located behind commercial shopping centers, reassuring the local community that youthful imagination still exists.