"Oh yes!" chimed in Tom Jones, who was seated on a zebra striped settee, "I even brought my hero pants! They're the ones I wear to wash my car when nobody is looking."
"Glorious!" sang Bowie who was pouring a steamy, hot pink beverage from a, Bo thought, somewhat phallic decanter into three goblets that looked like noses. "I'm sure they are groovy to the five hundredth degree, but alas, my little piglets, that is why you are here."
He glided to the weary travelers, goblets in hand, as if he were on wheels. Bo took a sip from the cup he was handed and immediately fell into a spasm of cosmic euphoria. He quickly glanced over at Tom who had chugged the beverage faster than the little engine that could and had consequently leapt to his feet and was in the throws of performing a rather risque Irish jig.
"Duckies," said Bowie, who had assumed the lotus position and was floating around the room, avoiding Tom's flying legs, "I have given you my elixir of groove. It is a sad, sad beast of a pretty boy that I'm about to share with you and I want you in tip top spirits"
"Zip-a-dee-do-dah zip-a-de-ay, my oh my what a wonderful day..." howled Tom.
"You see... hahahaha!!! See... hahaha!!! Get it? See? No? Oh, well, you'll get it in a moment. Maybe not. I forgot you were punaphobes... anyway... see this eyes so blue? One of the mysteries of the world, my left eye is. People have analyzed it, come up with theories, lost sleep, gone insane, someone once tried to smother me with my own bed because of it... now that's what I call eye-nemosity. No? Well then... my point is that the truth is much grimmer, much more dastardly and horrible than the world could possibly comprehend. But my dear little pickle bottom, you and yippy skippy over there have proven to me that more than capable of heavy du'y business... I've been watching you in my crystal ball... I've seen your journey thus far and I know in my heart that you are the only ones capable of giving me what I most desire."
Bo, grinning like a drunken maniac from the elixir of groove began to speak in a cheery voice, "Ziggy, old buddy, old pal! What do you want us to do? Just say the word, mate, and we'll be there in a twinkle!"
Bowie grinned and floated closer to Bo. "I want you to bring me my eye back, Bo. The goblins stole it and replaced it with the orb you see before you. It has been the woe of my life, this eye... it was custom made to make clothes invisible to the beholder."
Bo choked on his beverage, his face turning a bright shade of red. He was unsure if this was because of the fiery liquid racing down his windpipe; the fact that David Bowie could and was seeing him in his full, porky, glory; or out of despair that the mystical emperor of glam could not admire and complement him on his exotic pairing of metallic purple go go boots with polka dotted felt bodysuit.
"Yes," said Bowie, sadly, "It was taken from the custom-made-body-part-workshop of Howard Stern."
17 comments:
I'm very much enjoying the image of someone being smothered with their own bed.
Then read "The Tell-tale Heart" by Poe... it's all about Bowie.
I'm sure I read that in school, therefore I am too lazy to read now. Think about it, I haven't.
Well The Story IS the only thing you'll ever need to read, so I think you're pretty well covered. Anyway, your brain has already turned into a spongy, wild chinchilla and begun to ooze it's bodily fluids into your bloodstream. It's a natural side effect of reading this material. Pretty soon you will be physically incapable of reading anything else, so no worries.
Is it Nico's turn to go?
I've gotta be honest - I'm just not enjoying writing this as much as I did before. The last few parts that I wrote felt more like an assignment I had to complete than something fun to do. I'm also going to be having A LOT less free time soon, because husband is going to have to go back to work, and when that happens, it's going to be a struggle just to write for my blog.
After my computer blew up and I got my hard drive back, I did plan to come back to The Story, but every time I think about it now, it sort of makes me feel overwhelmed.
I don't know how everyone else feels about writing it, but I think I'm done.
I am up for writing more if anyone else is. Otherwise, if we decide to end it, I vote that whoever wants to should write an ending. Or if Darryl and Hammersmark (Nico, you can do this too, but don't feel obligated to) want, we could each write a different ending... it just seems kind of pointless to just drop this after all this time without a conclusion.
I think it's a good idea to have an ending if the others don't want to continue. I'll send an e-mail to Darryl to make sure he sees this.
sweet jesus
Was there more to that?
That's right Darryl, we should all be praying. Nico has initiated judgement day a year early.
And to think, some people have actually accused me of being a procrastinator!
Are we gonna sort this puppy out or what?
It looks like no one is volunteering. Unless "sweet jesus" has some sort of alternate meaning I'm not aware of.
I AM THINKING OKAY
i am simply not confident that i have the time anymore; i do love writing it though. I do have to echo the sentiment that it is getting difficult to write - the story's absurd absurdity almost seems to have been it's own undoing. I can barely even figure out where the plot is headed anymore.
if we're writing one ending, I nominate mwb because her writing is the most delicious and amazing.
Will do, my scrumptious non-hubby. I shall have it up before you can say, "9438uhnjmdzdlnbhsu093wjhut[8w5jginefugdbhvndsf[iuoidghkjnhdfpiug[0eqrpijghvnhfvbushfdoijngkhfugbioierj;kgtnruigonfjvhfbgdfssdfihaopre348975y9734yt9347tyfhurenvfby4iu5toiqhtrp9843ugheirugohfpigbhkdfgsghndkjfwith cherries on top"
That's pretty fast.
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