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So off I went. My special necktal artery pulsated as
I floated in the air, causing much anxiety to special yet unclassified airline attendants.
"You are Here," announced the man dressed as a pumpkin. "Here in Here we tell no secrets and dress
funny in order to disguise our true identities as egomaniacal business executives. We also eat a lot of Putt Fry
Thai Pai Harrumph. Follow me as I show you Here which is different from There since There to Here is practically
nowhere, man."
I got on top of the pumpkin and rode him for a couple of blocks until in exhaustion he stopped and spat out a mouthful
of seeds. I felt for the man/pumpkin/business executive. I briefly saw his necktal artery throbbing and knew that
he had a heart problem.
"What did you used to do, pumpkin man?"
He/it smiled most inhumanly and said with his pumpkin mouth, "I was a reputable egomaniacal slave driver who
cared most savagely for money, causing my wife, children and dog Schleppo to bury themselves in a hole in the front
yard and barred me entrance until I agreed not to cancel our subscription to Cock-a-doodle-doo and You.
"Then I ate It and my life changed. A little square man in a kitchen in an alley that was a cave handed me
a plate of Putt Fry Thai Pai Harrumph and said, 'Enlightenment will soon be yours as your salivary gland reaches
your medulla oblongata which will tingle your necktal artery causing much joyful throbbing."
I realized that he was speaking gibberish when a strange two-tailed, three-nosed reptile called a mudwonk whizzed
past us and said, "You gibberishers should get a life. Man, are you weird!"
A couple of days later in upper lower Newfoundland I stood in a field of much weirdness. Farmers had discovered
some years before that growing appliances was more profitable than growing vegetables. Looking to the north I saw
this year's TV's, CD/DVD players, computers, printers, digital cameras, Xboxes, PlayStations, and home theater
systems. To the east grew microwaves, blenders, food processors, refrigerators, toasters, coffee makers, stoves
and can openers. I gazed in awe as my heart beat excitedly and my neck artery throbbed majestically.
"Hey, you!"
Marching towards me from the electronics side appeared a short, stubby, gray-bearded band director. He wore a sparkling
pink and black jacket with yellow leather pants with red stripes. On top of his head sat a large, square, white
feathery hat with a live penguin perched on top of it, guiding the band director. Such a noise the penguin made.
"Are you in the band?" asked the penguin. The man beneath the penguin showed no life. An absolute zombie.
"What?"
The penguin stretched out and gave me a most foul look. "I said. Are you in the band?"
It's strange what one experiences when one's heart beats irregularly.
"Do I look as if I'm in the band?"
The penguin leaned over and whispered something into the man's left ear. The band director suddenly struck me over
the head with his baton which didn't feel good since it was made of steel.
"You are an invader!" squawked the penguin. "We the state champion marching band, the screaming
Doorknobs from western Montana in Champagne, Florida, are the royal appliance protectors. Go screaming Doorknobs!"
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