January 12, 2006

Oprah-Barbera

A Million Little Meeces
By Mr. Jinks

James Frey stinksI wake to the tweeting of birds and the feeling of something warm dripping down my snout. I lift my paw to feel my face. My bowtie is askew, my whiskers are bent, and my eyes are X's. The X's are as black as my Heart and my Soul. I open my eyes and I look around and I'm on the Floor of the House and there's no one near me. I look at my fur and my fur is covered in a colorful Mixture of snot, blood, vomit, cheese crumbs, and plaster. The plaster is from the wall and the wall has a Hole in it and the Hole is in the shape of Me.
The meeces appear in the Doorway.
What's wrong, daddy-o? You takin' a nap?
Why'd you stop chasin' us? That lil' ol' wall get in your way?
They laugh.
Fuck you. I hate you. I hate you to motherfucking Pieces.
I can't stand it. I start to cry.
Softly.
I cry and I cry until the tears won't come anymore and still I cry and the music cues up and the Credits roll and I realize I have to do this again next Week and the Week after that and the Week after that and at a certain point blackness comes and it's time for Yogi.

Posted by Jim Treacher at January 12, 2006 03:33 AM