Wednesday, August 20, 2008


By the time everything smelled like peanut butter, The floors had begun to buckle and slide, slowly, into the wet pit of pureed gerbils. For several minutes nothing but bats and hyenas shuffled into the room. There wasn't too much to do; since roughly noon, the footprints tracked from the spilled corn meal collected across the walls like a yellow-speckled mural. The ceiling, now riddled with socks, plastic Sporks, and Baseball Cards, waved and shifted with the weight of the twelve rhinos pacing above. Six of the nineteen doors that lined three of the eleven walls opened and closed in unison as batch after batch of electric clowns spilled forth from an entirely separate dimension. So, in the middle of the room, slightly askew to center, stood Jennifer. She was pretty, plain in a neighborly sort of way, and as platinum blond as one could be without having a main of stark white hair. She wore her New York Knicks tank top, though not a fan of basketball, and a pair of Cargo shorts that looked as though they were a size or so too small. Her feet were freezing atop the frigid marble floors, but she realized that her Nike shoes were untied. Having discovered a bucket of live baboons right next to her on the right and a squeaking, splintering box of angry Yard Gnomes to her left, she was remiss as to which she'd have to lug the forty miles to the opposite wall. Sighing with complete ineptitude, Jennifer adjusted her fisherman's waders, tucked her plaid lumberjack's coat into her corduroys, and began the mountainous, arid expanse of world in front of her. She'd chosen the box.