"INCHOATE COMPLICATIONS" is an exceedingly special fast fiction based on this blast of painted fun by Mr Hooper.
So put away all of those little red and green pills which are shaped as miniature busts of Timothy Leary, Aldous Huxley and all the other great drug takers of the world and enjoy...
It all began and ended within the bright, golden reflection of a dream. Sam Struthers had gone to bed on several Winter Ales and one and a half buckets of fried chicken drumsticks, breasts and legs, boosting his normal intake of daily calories by just one hundred or so, and he fell to sleep like a man falling off a cliff; he moaned and groaned until his mind splattered into unconsciousness.
On the other side, he found himself wandering through the darkened house of his childhood with drum sticks sticking out of his Lone Ranger pajama bottoms. He stood at the threshold of his parents room and peering in he saw two tombstones where the bed had once been. A fresh mound of earth stretched out from the stones which bore information not only about the lives of Sam's parents but also a thorough menu of chicken and fry combos at Lucky's Famous Fried Chicken.
Sam glided down the hallway on weightless feet sneaking glances into other bedrooms which also offered glimpses of similar indoor burials, places of rest which replaced nothing but the family members' deluxe king-sized beds, dirt entombments which did nothing to hide the king-sized girth of the Struthers.
At the end of the hall, Sam slipped at the top of the stairs on a Lone Ranger action figure who'd been doing battle with robots. (As a child Sam would take breaks from eating to play out this battle again and again.) They all stumbled and rolled around each other down the 34 steps which stretched out to hundreds until they all came tumbling down onto the sidewalk across the street from the dreamer's favorite restaurant.
The Lone Ranger, robots and owner of the fast food restaurant stood shimmering in the light of day in a conspiracy to keep Sam out; (an unconscious plea for sanity.)
And he woke up with his heart pounding.
I'm never going to eat another drumstick again, he swore to the bright light of the morning and thereupon hit the snooze button.
Five minutes later, he awoke and he pulled himself out of bed to make a greasy breakfast with no memory of his dream or life changing resolution.
Burp.
So put away all of those little red and green pills which are shaped as miniature busts of Timothy Leary, Aldous Huxley and all the other great drug takers of the world and enjoy...
INCHOATE COMPLICATIONS
It all began and ended within the bright, golden reflection of a dream. Sam Struthers had gone to bed on several Winter Ales and one and a half buckets of fried chicken drumsticks, breasts and legs, boosting his normal intake of daily calories by just one hundred or so, and he fell to sleep like a man falling off a cliff; he moaned and groaned until his mind splattered into unconsciousness.
On the other side, he found himself wandering through the darkened house of his childhood with drum sticks sticking out of his Lone Ranger pajama bottoms. He stood at the threshold of his parents room and peering in he saw two tombstones where the bed had once been. A fresh mound of earth stretched out from the stones which bore information not only about the lives of Sam's parents but also a thorough menu of chicken and fry combos at Lucky's Famous Fried Chicken.
Sam glided down the hallway on weightless feet sneaking glances into other bedrooms which also offered glimpses of similar indoor burials, places of rest which replaced nothing but the family members' deluxe king-sized beds, dirt entombments which did nothing to hide the king-sized girth of the Struthers.
At the end of the hall, Sam slipped at the top of the stairs on a Lone Ranger action figure who'd been doing battle with robots. (As a child Sam would take breaks from eating to play out this battle again and again.) They all stumbled and rolled around each other down the 34 steps which stretched out to hundreds until they all came tumbling down onto the sidewalk across the street from the dreamer's favorite restaurant.
The Lone Ranger, robots and owner of the fast food restaurant stood shimmering in the light of day in a conspiracy to keep Sam out; (an unconscious plea for sanity.)
And he woke up with his heart pounding.
I'm never going to eat another drumstick again, he swore to the bright light of the morning and thereupon hit the snooze button.
Five minutes later, he awoke and he pulled himself out of bed to make a greasy breakfast with no memory of his dream or life changing resolution.
Burp.
posted by kevin spenst at 6:53 PM
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