the airrace plane is flying smoothly yet roughly overhead of Melbourne's plantation, so high up in the sky it's barely a speck in view even with no cloud cover.
Taki: i felt something.
Melbourne: yeah that was me doing a few loop-de-loops.
Taki: no in my belly. not hunger pangs. not turbulence, either.
Melbourne: but is this the dream or the real thing?
Taki: don't you remember?
Melbourne: i thought you would for the both of us. i'm the one in need of coaching.
Taki: we're in bed together. must be. at the estate. under your covers which smell of a new breed of witchhazel. i remember now. me getting up and placing my toe on that cold ground. i have a white negligee on, frothy and fluttering in the no-wind. i raise my arms up and look at you. and i say:
Taki: right inbetween the uprights.
Taki: i make the football field-goal shape with my arms framing my face and through my chest area. that's what the raising of the arms is. it's like a bigger version of the tiny one children do at the dinner table with their fingers when there's chicken fingers. i tell you to flick the grape like a football kickoff right into my mouth. i want to be treated like Queen Sheba but i'm a tomboy, too.
Melbourne: and that's why i love you. nothing better than a chick who loves sports.
Taki: but not watersports...
at the outside table, Kanye West gets up, pushes back his chair ironclad like his alibi, without saying a word, jumps the hedges and leaves the plantation...
the other guests call out to him KANYE! KANYE! but he doesn't respond. he wears a red Phillies hat forwards and Neo long draping leather black coat and black shades.
in Kanye's seat now, without anyone noticing, Leonardo da Vinci take his place at the table. Leo got a haircut, his beard is an inch shorter though he keeps his graywhite locks in the back which blend in nicely with the bluehair-color folds of his robe.
da Vinci: he goes by Ye now, that's why he didn't respond. it's a very Biblical name, Ye. like you oldentimes. he speaks for all of us now. do you have any questions for me?
Mueller: EVERYTHING.
da Vinci: it's an honor coming from you, i will consider it an inquest. you want the code to the safe?
joining us all at the table this late afternoon are guests three: Maria Butina with a tiny dolphin in her glass, Reality Winner, and Soda Popinski downing his own bottle. the two ladies nurse their clear cups.
Reality Winner: i have the greatest name of all time, seeing as i come from Russia.
a chain links Maria's leg to Robert Mueller's leg and vice-versa through cuffs underneath the table no one sees. she stays quiet as a mouse from the Eastern Orthodox church.
Laertus: *speaking through the tiny screen of Mueller's prepared pear watch* please speak, Maria. you know your redhead made me think back to all the redheads i've admired through the ages. i really have a great deal of estimation for Jennifer Garner. i've never been too keen up on her for her acting, she's pretty MOTR, but she is a gorgeous human being with lips. do you know anyone else in Hollywood who would help their ex through his drinking like that? especially when Ben-dude is shtuping the latest brahmin bullette coquette Playboy bunny who undoubtedly hides contraband in her bushy backtail. this man will always be her childrens' father, i love her perspective, here's to reasonable ravisihing redheads i respect! brava approbation! go ahead and raise your glasses with me, in unison, it's okay, i heard Ben's problem wasn't vodka...
Ben Affleck: i lifted weights.
Ben's girlfriend wears a Neo coat spraypainted to look like Melania's jacket.
one of Soda Popinski's eyes has a red ring around it and a spark flashes from its iris.
Soda: that ain't sodawater you know. you know you Americans really are gullible. you realize that WAAAAAAAAAY back in the '80s, Mike Tyson had already turned. when that game was on fire and the only thing on the block, and you saw me swigging a bottle of swill, that was obviously vodka, not soda, Nintendo was bound not to tell kids that. my name comes from Popov vodka, not caffeine-free coke. the minute you slid me into your railroad slot and turned on your grey machine, i had already infiltrated all of America's systems and grids for a generation. I, yes ME, I was the ORIGINAL Russian spy! hacking right in front of your eyes!
Mike Pence rushes through the Old West cowboy saloon swinging-doors to the Hearing to break the tie. he is flustered and sweating but it doesn't show on his brow it shows on his tie. he wheels with him the polygraph machine with a rat's-nest of wires in his hand.
Pence: i'm here. unfortunately the drones don't seem to be working for this particular inquest so i'm gonna have to conduct the polygraph test myself. don't worry we are gonna plow right through!
Ford: do not say that again, Frankenstein. i am polite so i won't use the word i want to but let's just say you are rude. we built this city, you know, we built all the cars in the country. your voice chimes in my head and the cellular lining of my stomach area disgusts with puke.
Pence: *checks his pad* okay first question, is lodestar the strangest vocab word you've ever used in polite conversation?
Kavanaugh: *pounding the table and his chest* i've never even seen that word before, i don't know its location or the blueprint schematics! look, there is only one thing which will make this painful experience for me worth it: i want that new calendar! the new Putin calendar. don't get any ideas, media! it's not just the beefcake shirtless buff weightlifting stuff in there, there's pictures of Putin holding a kitten, showing his softer side.
we find President Bump eluding the view of the flying drones overhead getting his rumpity rump squeezed into the hole of a beachshack of piles by the angry ocean. the waves are high though there is no overcast weather. it's a very tight room of stone in there but he nestles nicely next to Mark Judge with no room for hands and feet cos of the fire bristling with licks of orange singing off both their freckles.
Bump: i'd warm my hands by the fire but i can't move my hands. brusk day we're having. the weather is not cooperating. so i liked your friend, Bart the Brat, in the golden Simpsons tradition, we fought for the misunderstood delinquent. i like a man who can cry and show his emotions. can you kindly point me in the direction of the zoo? not Washington. not the game. the boring non-dynamic board game. apparently i was told to do my research on hippos. i suggested a Wonder Woman con but my boss pointed otherwise with a pointed comment. they are hungry hungry for McDonald's like me.
Mark Judge: you like my French beret? please don't talk to me without your lawyer. i'm taking the same medicine pills as Rachel Maddow.
Bump: Rudy has flown the coop. whatcha working on there?
Mark Judge: my comic book. it's about this dude named Batman...
Bump: *eyes open* oooooh, it's my first biography of me for my library!
Bump has so much time on his hands he's able to stay there in the shack with Mark for weeks and weeks. he's able to finish reading every single one of the large stack of pile of comic books in Mark's collection.
Bump: which is weird for me cos i don't normally read. i've been that bored throughout this process.
Bump turns Mark's head around and discovers it was MUELLER all along this whole time!
Bump: Robert Bob! what are you doing here?!!
Mueller: well, since i have all this free time now.......................btw my acting has improved markedly through the years, you must grant me that in court. is this your first spy?
Bump: no i got a redhead. we all get redheaded eventually. look, Bob, don't put the cuffs on me! i swear i've changed! for the better! i was always a good little boy. i hung out with mother mostly, mother always told me not to mention i had a father, let him do his thing in the shadows, behind the scenes.
Mueller: as punishment i'm forcing you to read this New York Times article!
Bump: i knew i hated reading! you put this in back of the comic-book cover didn't you!? no, i'm melting, it's like a mirror, MY EYES MY EYES. okay, okay, i give, i'll show you. that i matter. this is what i should have done from the start of my presidency: INFRASTRUCTURE! bring the country together, heehee. literally through roads. i'll do it this time, i'll build things on my own! i'll repave all the country roads and smooth over new lanes and upright all the bridges again, make them all covered bridges like Colonial Williamsburg. there'll be so much construction all across this land people will get sick of it and complain!
Mueller: i'll let you have a head start. cos i love the hunt. the more dangerous the better.
Bump scampers away and into a ditch in the road.
Bump: now see this here is what i mean. hey, roller, what are you doing?
the Domino's Pizza guy in hardhat driving the cement roller comes to a complete stop but the roller keeps rolling. the roller pins Bump to the grey ground like a dough-roller.
Bump: stop. with my big hand, i'm taking over this operation, mobbing it from under you. all the roads are now presidential property, my responsibility to fix, i'll pour out all the cement till there's none left. I, ME, will plug up all the portholes in this country and I'll take all the credit and the free pizza you have! i'm gonna have that pizza party with me sitting on my throne from my childhood if it kills me! now who's in charge? uh, WAS in charge.
the men, all in mustaches, point to Tres Leches in an orange hardhat giving a rousing speech to the man gathered, the highway troops.
Tres Leches: men, and the one chick who likes sports, you are all heroes and hoes to me! this construction project is a project of the heart, a job well done that exceeds a job, it's more of a project. you took these empty barren grey streets and made them sing again! it was such a LONG project that i stopped counting the days. it ruined the summer to ensure that the winter the roads would be driveable again. take a step back and pat yourselves on the back the New England Swayze way! i mean this was a GARGANTUAN task! you took rubble literal rubble, and stoned it into fucking roads! and complicated rat's-nests of wiring for double-streetsigns and sexy poles and diagonal divisions for all the new diamond streetlamps and posts with purpose cameras. like one wrong wire and the whole thing explodes. you did this while all those fucking citizens were driving over your work! i commend your fighting spirit and courageous valor. i bet you never thought when you went to traffic school you'd end up here! this ain't no math test, this is a man test!
Bump: huh. all of these workers have brown skin.
Tres Leches: from working long hours in the sun, senor.
and with that, Tres Leches disappears from his makeshift dais addressing the street soldiers on a pile of crumpled black asphalt. a shovel remains in his wake and stead, half-smoothing over a tub of grey liquid concrete.
Bump: so as always it rests on my broad '80s-padded shoulders to finish the job. i liked your initial displays of masculinity, i agree with that expression of its definition, it's very SVU season-premiere and definitive.
Bump waves his little finger and all the potholes in America instantly get paved-over. the yellow from the yellow-dotted lines of the lanes reflect off his mustache.
Bump: see? i was worth it. good deeds, Christmastime nears. and now for the important part. who should i invite to my pizza party? i got this ridonkulous pile of greasy, nonrecyclable pizza boxes here. China's gonna be so mad when they receive all this trash that could have been recyclables!
Laertus from the wrath of Mueller's watch: what kind of country do we want to be?
Bump: not now, kid. let's see, the golfers started a fight with each other, that's finally very Bumpian, invite them. i love it when boring bros brawl.
The Mooch: they're standing up to you manly and not taking your calls.
Bump: huh too bad, i need to be more strategic in my insults. the baseball players are busy, the basketball players hate me, that just leaves the football players.
the two Bills, Nye and Gates: Colin Kaep is available...
Bump: *big smile* HI TIGER!!! you like pizza? pineapple, right?
Tiger Woods: oh. um. hi.
Tiger is followed by a sea of humanity behind him, still in a tight formation even after leaving the grounds of the golf course. a couple of those streetlights were a gamble to cross.
Geoffrey Owens: Tiger, man, not cool. i was up for that role of Moses you got. that should have been MY Moses on CBS, my jones! i mean i grew out this beard just for that to catch all the bread crumbs. if Falstaff fell through in parentheses.
Tiger: i got my jones back. the Moses (malone) magic mojo. i'm no longer just a black dude, my brother.
Tiger rips off his red shirt to show how much he's weightlifted in the interim to a gasping crowd and places the shirt inbetween the middle dividing line of the sea of people, slowly cresting the two sides apart.
Tiger: LET MY WAITRESSES GO!
Tiger takes out the red Batphone from out of his front pants-pocket and calls up friend Federer.
Federer: how does it feel, friend? after all this time. i haven't had that feeling of winning in a while, you're closer to it. i've lost that winnin' feelin'...that lovin' feelin'...
Tiger: is that a fondue fork in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?
Roger: i can't see you, we're on a coiled landline. i'm still having fun, though. all that construction and asphalt paving-over hit us, too. at the Laver Cup. did you see how beautiful and different those grey-colored courts were? too gorgeous-looking to play on. i was happy to beat up on the ass of Kyrgios again, that seems to be the only thing i'm good at now.
Tiger: look Geoffrey, i gave you a ride to Nawlins, i'm done with you.
Geoffrey: i still gots toys. what about what happened in the Ryder Cup?
Tiger: i don't care about that, i'm a dynamic human being. this is the i-generation, the individualism-generation, and i talk like a robot. that's just Europe, who cares about Europe? ain't that right, exactly Mr. Bump?
Bump has long since disappeared.
on the Titanic, Laertus and Dirg are in separate hotel rooms directly above and below one another on separate decks. this is making for a most fraught relationship.
Laertus: *on the phone* this is silly. want me to come down? say you love me.
Dirg: you stay right there. up here, where i can see you.
Laertus: we can't see each other, these are coiled landlines. they're so cool, huh? love the dusty-green color. so Titanic and antique.
Dirg: so that's the problem with an accusation, he will be stained with this forever even if it's completely untrue.
Laertus: sometimes there is just one incident. eh, don't be so sore and looking for revenge. this is just for the Merrick Garland thing. we're even now, we're square.
Dirg: yes we are squares. he was loud and obnoxious but it wasn't his fault, Bill O'Reilly cut his mic. so did you FINALLY finish The Last Jedi with commentary?
Laertus: why yes! i managed to squeeze it in! okay, here's my takeaway, the one scene which will leave a shiny shint impression on my hippocampus forever. i watched it on campus but the mark is indelible.
Dirg: Wideboy? i've been inspired to lift weights to achieve that look.
Laertus: Kylo Ren has Rey down on her knees with his lightsaber. across that Lynchian red room is a sniveling sneering Snoke. he tells Kylo to twist the lightknife and finish the job on poor precious pretty Rey's head. this is how that scene should have gone: Snoke says you cannot turn the boy, you cannot enter his mind, his is a destiny he took on long before he was born, to be completed at this very moment, this very juncture in space time, his destiny will be fulsome and fulfilled, when he takes the next step and kills what's been tempting him, KILLS the block in his head!!!
and then Kylo merely mumbles mmm-hmmm in agreement with a slight nod of his head and downcast eyes. and then Kylo lifts his finger and maneuvers the lightsaber across the way next to Snoke's throne to slice him in exactly mathematical division in half before he slumps over like a sack of unwanted potatoes funnily and puppetly as a reference to Adventure Time i guess.
see it's the same scene only with Kylo's nod and mmm-hmmm. and Rey concludes with a line about needing to bathe in the Light and just needing to bathe in general which makes the male and female fans happy as he remains shirtless.
Dirg: and then Luke Null enters the room swinging his unwieldy yellow lightsaber drunkenly and shouting at Kylo the SNL host "I NEVER HAD A CHANCE!!!" trying to kill Kylo with a lemon slice and Melissa Villasenor in her Owen Wilson voice to funny the serious mood and Chris Redd in a red hat come out and take Null by the arms and calm him down and drag him away. Adam's all, "dude, this is just cosplay, no real murder, think of it as the Venture Bros.." and Chris is all, "i'll take him, i know Luke the best and the most here, we came up together on some sort of comedy circuit in some city, i'll talk him down, he just wanted to be a Skywalker."
Laertus: why must you always interrupt a vulnerable moment with your Null noise? you're afraid of emotion.
Dirg: i'm a survivor.
Laertus: what?
Laertus decides in the moment to come downstairs on the sweeping staircase. Laertus flunks out the rest of his finals and that semester in order to take a semester off to be with his friend.
below, the crones are having a last meal. before the Titanic departs again on the open seas.
Doryce: i knew the pain of the Titanic for you, love. you were a small child then and thought your burgeoning powers caused the ship to sink, your baby hands swirled right when they should have swirled left you thought and harbored. there is no safe harbor for baby guilt. so i got us two tickets and with MY burgeoning magic---i'd been practicing---resurrected the Grand Ol' Ladyboat from the bottom of the ocean with no help from James Cameron and refurbished her anew as if she had her first paintjob. all the gilds are there in all the mirrors. no one is dead, none of the passengers anyway, the manifest is manifest, everyone's just swallowed up in their feathers and buttons and maybe some are still in steerage. the wallpaper returns to being its original gloriously tacky.
Gladyce: i thought it was I breathing on YOU while YOU slept as a small'n in that small cabin room, but it was actually YOU breathing on ME lullabying me the child to sleep. before i ever met you, knew your name! that's the sign that we were meant to be together! when we complete each others' dreams.
the two fly up and hug each other upside-down.
Doryce: now just relax. the Titanic will sail forth and never crash and burn and sink and not float. i didn't have enough money for the both of us so i thought i'd have to stow away in the smokestacks pipes funnels of the ship. those funnels make me funny. i wasn't gonna let ANYTHING stand in the way of your peace of mind. bon voyage to our long journey together!
Gladyce: i got you a going-away gift. this bottle of Yuban INSTANT coffee grounds that looks like a pancake-syrup bottle. we need to fix that Indonesian volcano, those poor folk have been through enough. Jill was asleep at the switch again, one glass of wine in her and she's quoting urbandictionary on MSNBC. she is so proud of her pet project Mahomes, calls him her Black Brady. nobody was looking at Mahomes while she worked on him. this is what happens when you stop drinking awhile.
at the MSNBC Studios, Mueller dressed in a Santa outfit and white cotton beard drags a heavy bulky tan-brown rutger potato sack across the showroom floor into the lights. Katy Tur and Gordon Chang are there together dressed in black.
Mueller: MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! why all the glum faces and the black dress? you should be wearing the plaid clothes you wear when you drink egg nog!
out bumbles and stumbles from the sack a bummed bruised Bump. the bright lights hit his eyes but he can't cover them with his hands.
there's a drone-camera closeup of Mueller as he opens his mouth and shows his yellow teeth. one of his teeth jingles.
at The Weather Channel, Goody Paul is wishing a tearful adieu to a crying Maria LaRosa in front of the drone-camera. he holds her shoulder shovedly and dips his drippy nose into her blouse breasts. she wears a gold chain which gleams through the fabric. there is not a dry eye in the house nor a glint in his eye:
Goody: we're i mean I'M gonna miss you so much, Maria, you were a true scooby-doo professional on-tv-on-air-personality meterorologist, you did it right! btw Pumpkin-Spice-Spaghetti Cantore sends his love. you weren't like the other witches which inhabit this set! but you went out on your own terms, which is nice and hardly happens. something was tugging at you to spend more time with your kids. don't worry, that feeling won't be regret later on down the road and line when you're 150. i wanted to add to your kid collection but it wasn't to be. this ain't goodbye, it's just such a shame! goodbye my darling, goodbye my love, goodbye my would-be husband-kept-in-the-dark hotel-lover, fucking only when we both predicted shadows that night, nobody on Earth will now know what the weather is cos no one will care anymore cos nobody will watch The Weather Channel no mo!
at that moment, a stray thunderstorm (which is a tricky thing to define) showers the newly-asphalted black roads of America and undoes them all again into a watery mess of small stones.
Taki: honey, do a couple more loop-de-loops in the plane to loosen the baby out. envision it. see all the Formula 1s lined up at the starting line, you can't se the checkered flag, only the immense sound of all the engines rumbling tearing ramping up at once, there is no sound your eardrums are shot, enough to only see silently the sidelined streetlamp go from yellow to yellow to green. that sound is the sound of death, rubber transitioning back to its origin volcano.
Taki's stomach goes from 0 to 60 in a hurry, her belly grows from 0 months to 9 months in 5 seconds.
Taki: i'm late. i mean it's late. it's dark out. will you catch the baby when it comes, not let it slide over the railing of the plane? i trust you.
Melbourne reaches out his hand in the bolted back carriage while keeping no hands on the steering wheel which Taki still wheels. the loop-de-loops loop, which buzz off any remaining hair Melbourne ever had on his bald head, revealing a glinting with cloud cover yellow circle lapband permanent tattoo all the way around over his temples above his cut ears. the baby has a Boston birth which is any birth that is a revolution. he is born in the sky in a plane. and he's not a baby. he is a fully-grown boy of Mexican descent having about 11 or 12 or so years. the boy is Tres Leches. and her watery grey placenta greases the skids of the plane wheels. Tres buries his head in Taki's bosom and says softly:
Tres Leches: i did what I had to to stay. in this specific space. you two are my country. i love you mommy. i'm legal!
Taki: what the fuck!!? thank you, my man, you've given me the greatest gift. you've given me something to write about. i can't keep living, keep continuing, without a mystery.
Melbourne: this is a devils triangle of sorts, the Bermuda Triangle. you can see the edges of it from my house.
Taki: so what was with all the lifesize dolls?
Melbourne: i was practicing on them till i found the one, you.
Taki: and your previous sports psychologist. Vicky Benzing, right? i figured that one out with her therapy notes.
Melbourne: close. your sister Madame Pons transformed into Vicky Benzing. your sister really has those morphing spells down pat already.
they try to kiss but Tres Leches's head gets in the way.
****************************************EPILOGUE
Senator Flake is troubled and gets up sweating from the blue linen of his bed, his wife sound asleep hanging with one frazzled hair by the other sideedge and his children downstairs and upstairs with cools on their faces. an oil portrait of Joseph Ducreux hangs above the hot marital bed in Arizona. Flake takes the in-house elevator downstairs to the kitchen icebox for some warm milk and then he makes that disarming smile with his Frankenstein head he always does whenever he talks about anything. like The Munsters. then back up the large lift, he settles back down to sleep in the bed.
Ducreux steps out of his own fly portrait and lands his feet digging on Flake's stomach and his back-coat flytails on Flake's ticklish nose. Flake doesn't wake up cos he's sound asleep like his wife despite the heavy pawing of the prints left by Ducreux's pennyloafers which have a wood nickel inserted in them. Ducreux smiles like he do and talks with John McCain who's perched at and pinning Flake's feet like a gargoyle.
Ducreux: i was born in the wrong time! i should have been born in the selfie age! it's funny, i always thought the pic of me with the pandiculation would catch on more like sun for followers.
McCain: it's time for Jeffie to pandiculate early!
McCain startles Flake up like a Murphy bed by rousing him with a scary loud noise as McCain makes the Ducreux fingergun-salute with his hand pointed at Flake and one eye open and his tongue sticking out with an Irish yell:
McCain: WHO LOVES YA, BABY!!! PROUD OF YOU, FLAKEY!!!
Flake, once snoring, now bug-eyed: fuck!!!
Laertus: why must you always interrupt a vulnerable moment with your Null noise? you're afraid of emotion.
Dirg: i'm a survivor.
Laertus: what?
Laertus decides in the moment to come downstairs on the sweeping staircase. Laertus flunks out the rest of his finals and that semester in order to take a semester off to be with his friend.
below, the crones are having a last meal. before the Titanic departs again on the open seas.
Doryce: i knew the pain of the Titanic for you, love. you were a small child then and thought your burgeoning powers caused the ship to sink, your baby hands swirled right when they should have swirled left you thought and harbored. there is no safe harbor for baby guilt. so i got us two tickets and with MY burgeoning magic---i'd been practicing---resurrected the Grand Ol' Ladyboat from the bottom of the ocean with no help from James Cameron and refurbished her anew as if she had her first paintjob. all the gilds are there in all the mirrors. no one is dead, none of the passengers anyway, the manifest is manifest, everyone's just swallowed up in their feathers and buttons and maybe some are still in steerage. the wallpaper returns to being its original gloriously tacky.
Gladyce: i thought it was I breathing on YOU while YOU slept as a small'n in that small cabin room, but it was actually YOU breathing on ME lullabying me the child to sleep. before i ever met you, knew your name! that's the sign that we were meant to be together! when we complete each others' dreams.
the two fly up and hug each other upside-down.
Doryce: now just relax. the Titanic will sail forth and never crash and burn and sink and not float. i didn't have enough money for the both of us so i thought i'd have to stow away in the smokestacks pipes funnels of the ship. those funnels make me funny. i wasn't gonna let ANYTHING stand in the way of your peace of mind. bon voyage to our long journey together!
Gladyce: i got you a going-away gift. this bottle of Yuban INSTANT coffee grounds that looks like a pancake-syrup bottle. we need to fix that Indonesian volcano, those poor folk have been through enough. Jill was asleep at the switch again, one glass of wine in her and she's quoting urbandictionary on MSNBC. she is so proud of her pet project Mahomes, calls him her Black Brady. nobody was looking at Mahomes while she worked on him. this is what happens when you stop drinking awhile.
at the MSNBC Studios, Mueller dressed in a Santa outfit and white cotton beard drags a heavy bulky tan-brown rutger potato sack across the showroom floor into the lights. Katy Tur and Gordon Chang are there together dressed in black.
Mueller: MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! why all the glum faces and the black dress? you should be wearing the plaid clothes you wear when you drink egg nog!
out bumbles and stumbles from the sack a bummed bruised Bump. the bright lights hit his eyes but he can't cover them with his hands.
there's a drone-camera closeup of Mueller as he opens his mouth and shows his yellow teeth. one of his teeth jingles.
at The Weather Channel, Goody Paul is wishing a tearful adieu to a crying Maria LaRosa in front of the drone-camera. he holds her shoulder shovedly and dips his drippy nose into her blouse breasts. she wears a gold chain which gleams through the fabric. there is not a dry eye in the house nor a glint in his eye:
Goody: we're i mean I'M gonna miss you so much, Maria, you were a true scooby-doo professional on-tv-on-air-personality meterorologist, you did it right! btw Pumpkin-Spice-Spaghetti Cantore sends his love. you weren't like the other witches which inhabit this set! but you went out on your own terms, which is nice and hardly happens. something was tugging at you to spend more time with your kids. don't worry, that feeling won't be regret later on down the road and line when you're 150. i wanted to add to your kid collection but it wasn't to be. this ain't goodbye, it's just such a shame! goodbye my darling, goodbye my love, goodbye my would-be husband-kept-in-the-dark hotel-lover, fucking only when we both predicted shadows that night, nobody on Earth will now know what the weather is cos no one will care anymore cos nobody will watch The Weather Channel no mo!
at that moment, a stray thunderstorm (which is a tricky thing to define) showers the newly-asphalted black roads of America and undoes them all again into a watery mess of small stones.
Taki: honey, do a couple more loop-de-loops in the plane to loosen the baby out. envision it. see all the Formula 1s lined up at the starting line, you can't se the checkered flag, only the immense sound of all the engines rumbling tearing ramping up at once, there is no sound your eardrums are shot, enough to only see silently the sidelined streetlamp go from yellow to yellow to green. that sound is the sound of death, rubber transitioning back to its origin volcano.
Taki's stomach goes from 0 to 60 in a hurry, her belly grows from 0 months to 9 months in 5 seconds.
Taki: i'm late. i mean it's late. it's dark out. will you catch the baby when it comes, not let it slide over the railing of the plane? i trust you.
Melbourne reaches out his hand in the bolted back carriage while keeping no hands on the steering wheel which Taki still wheels. the loop-de-loops loop, which buzz off any remaining hair Melbourne ever had on his bald head, revealing a glinting with cloud cover yellow circle lapband permanent tattoo all the way around over his temples above his cut ears. the baby has a Boston birth which is any birth that is a revolution. he is born in the sky in a plane. and he's not a baby. he is a fully-grown boy of Mexican descent having about 11 or 12 or so years. the boy is Tres Leches. and her watery grey placenta greases the skids of the plane wheels. Tres buries his head in Taki's bosom and says softly:
Tres Leches: i did what I had to to stay. in this specific space. you two are my country. i love you mommy. i'm legal!
Taki: what the fuck!!? thank you, my man, you've given me the greatest gift. you've given me something to write about. i can't keep living, keep continuing, without a mystery.
Melbourne: this is a devils triangle of sorts, the Bermuda Triangle. you can see the edges of it from my house.
Taki: so what was with all the lifesize dolls?
Melbourne: i was practicing on them till i found the one, you.
Taki: and your previous sports psychologist. Vicky Benzing, right? i figured that one out with her therapy notes.
Melbourne: close. your sister Madame Pons transformed into Vicky Benzing. your sister really has those morphing spells down pat already.
they try to kiss but Tres Leches's head gets in the way.
****************************************EPILOGUE
Senator Flake is troubled and gets up sweating from the blue linen of his bed, his wife sound asleep hanging with one frazzled hair by the other sideedge and his children downstairs and upstairs with cools on their faces. an oil portrait of Joseph Ducreux hangs above the hot marital bed in Arizona. Flake takes the in-house elevator downstairs to the kitchen icebox for some warm milk and then he makes that disarming smile with his Frankenstein head he always does whenever he talks about anything. like The Munsters. then back up the large lift, he settles back down to sleep in the bed.
Ducreux steps out of his own fly portrait and lands his feet digging on Flake's stomach and his back-coat flytails on Flake's ticklish nose. Flake doesn't wake up cos he's sound asleep like his wife despite the heavy pawing of the prints left by Ducreux's pennyloafers which have a wood nickel inserted in them. Ducreux smiles like he do and talks with John McCain who's perched at and pinning Flake's feet like a gargoyle.
Ducreux: i was born in the wrong time! i should have been born in the selfie age! it's funny, i always thought the pic of me with the pandiculation would catch on more like sun for followers.
McCain: it's time for Jeffie to pandiculate early!
McCain startles Flake up like a Murphy bed by rousing him with a scary loud noise as McCain makes the Ducreux fingergun-salute with his hand pointed at Flake and one eye open and his tongue sticking out with an Irish yell:
McCain: WHO LOVES YA, BABY!!! PROUD OF YOU, FLAKEY!!!
Flake, once snoring, now bug-eyed: fuck!!!
No comments:
Post a Comment