Carly Botanical I

Carly Botanical slid down a silly slide into her bathroom and spoke amazing words into a telephone she found there. “These delectables are enormous,” she said to her friend on the other side. “Death,” said her friend, hovering nearby, “Is my friend now.” “Stay off!” said Carly who had no time for being anyone’s second fiddle.

The wind howled and a moonlit cow stuck its head through the window of the second story bathroom. “How do you dooooo?” the cow said. Carly howled. “This is not your bathroom, cow.” The cow wept large welling teardrops that splatter against the tiled floor. “Waaaah.” Plop. “Wheeehawah.” Plop. “Enough,” said Carly. “Tell me your story.”

“Six weeks ago I was on a cattle car heading up to the international science academy for an award for my years of research into the bottom of buckets filled with corn syrup, when the train stopped and I was led off by people in uniform.”

“Nazi’s!” said Carly.

“They were angry and black and each wore a silver medallion over one eye. Half over the left eye and half over their right.”

“Pirates of the silver coin!”


“What were they doing heisting a train robbery? That’s outside their cannon.”

“They told me. Listen, Carly.” “Okay, I’ll listen.” “The pirates berated me for being a cow. They said, ‘What a cow.’ Called me ‘burger to be’ and slapped my ass with the butts off their peg-legs.”

“Oh no.” “Oh yes. The pirates were cruel and slapped me all the way from the train to their landing strip. There they loaded me into an airplane and flew me to their boat. On the boat they did terrible things, Carly. I can’t tell you anymore about that. I’m not the same cow I used to be.”

“I don’t think we’ve ever met,” said Carly. She was rubbing a bar of soap along one of her long legs, a cleaning behavior she’d seen in a movie. “We haven’t,” said the cow. “You know my name is Carly, though?” “Everyone knows your name. Slut.” Carly slid into the bathwater and down into the drain and further down till she was in the final circle of hell. There, the devil said to her, “You really should take better care of your reputation.” “I don’t wanna!” “Very well,” said the Devil, “But you will end up here with me.” “Does your cock glow red in the dark?”

Carly was back in her bathroom. The Devil was gone. The cow was gone. Even the bathwater was gone. “What was I doing to myself?” she wondered. The bar of soap was nearly used up and the skin on her leg was caked. Stepping out of the bathroom in the nude, Carly approached the kitchen blender and put some minnows from a tin in the refrigerator in with some peanut butter. The sunlight laughed happily, came in through the front door, put it’s hat on the hat stand, and kissed her cheek. “Haha, sunlight,” she said. The sunlight came in hard and fucked her over the sink. She turned on the blender and blended her fish for three minutes.

“Smells like fish,” the sunlight said. Carly laughed. Outside, several pigs were wandering in a line past the window. Wiping the tears from her eyes, Carly worried out loud, “They’re on their way to my flower bulbs.” The pigs paused at her white picket fence. “No no no!,” she thought. The pigs conferred. Then the big brown one pushed wide her gate and sniffed into her yard. “My bulbs!” She thought. The sunlight was still inside of her, and all Carly could do was blend loudly at the pigs. The big pig approached her windowsill and nuzzled it’s snout into the damp earth below the window.

The flower bulbs screamed as they were nestled out of the ground and silenced forever. Carly wept bitterly. She closed her eyes and imaged large flowers. Purple petals and exploding seed pods of enormous girth filled her imagination while sunlight came inside and splashed across her cheeks. Her tits hung out exposed in the window like a French girl, and the neighbor’s husband, walking their dog slowed as he past.

In the house across the way, someone else watched the situation closely. Moldova was an old woman, nearing 70 and she watched what her son in law was doing, while walking his dog, through her oversized sailors bronze telescope. “Dastardly,” she rumbled. The cat on the couch yawned and looked at the woman, who’s oversized buttocks wobbled back and forth as she bent forward to look into the telescope.

“This is much too much for your delicate eyes to witness,” Moldova scolded to her cat. Usually she shared her sight seeing with the animal. “Not today. Let’s turn to the chalkboard.” The woman swayed over to the other side of the sitting room and turned the cat’s attention to the board for a presentation.

“Here,” she slapped the chalk down and sketched out a diagram. “My son in law, first of all here is represented by this apple because he’s a fruit. This here, this snake is the French girl who he lusts after. This is my daughter, the perfect flower. Here’s you, my little lion.” The cat yawned.

“This is where we hire the Absurd Man. These youth need their foolish lives pumped with chaos. The Absurd Man is an old friend of mine. Used to be more than friends. He and I were lovers all over the place. In Paris. In the red arm chair. In the McDonalds bathroom over the sink. He was a fine mustachioed man. He must be called. He’ll put a start to some nonsense or another. That’ll keep this orderly romantic affair from normalizing. Besides, who knows what else might happen when the Absurd Man comes to town.” The sixty-eight year old mother of two laughed.


Donny and the Bird Man I

The blue bird outside blew blues, whistling what it heard on the radio. The music came from the window of a harp player, Donny, who was a thin man in a tight fitting black leather pants with a tuft of beard cut small and artfully precise. Early in the mornings he practiced his harp, blowing blues to recordings of jazz bands and sweating around his living room by the open window.

It was mid August and the birds were out, and in numbers. Sometimes they screamed in territorial agony at the man’s harp playing. The man of course did not imagine he was the source of the bird’s frustrations. “Birds will be birds,” he muttered, each time a redbird or bluejay slammed into his window screen, cawing and beating it’s wings before shitting on his windowsill and flying off. “Birds will be birds.”

It was on the third Tuesday of the month of August, that full bodied man, dressed in a pigeon suit flew into Donny’s screen door, smashing through the glass of the open window and landing, bloody and screaming on Donny’s living room floor.

“Fucking heck!” The man shouted, “What a bird!”

Taking pity on the bird man, Donny found an old cardboard box that had come with his washing machine and filled it with kitty litter and put the bird man into the box to pant and bleed.

“What a mess,” said Donny. He blew a sad prolonged note on his harmonica. The mop was nowhere to be found. Downstairs, Donny knocked on his neighbor’s door. Eyes peered through the crack appeared in the doorway and gave Donny a nine million mile stare. “What do you want?” “A mop?” Steam rose from the pupils. “You slop.” “It was a bird man.” “The same bird man that it always is? Is he with you?” “No this one is different. It’s got a man’s face.” “I don’t believe you but you need a mop or you wouldn’t be here.” The woman shut the door crack and came back minutes later with a tall full handled mop carved out of the trunk of a young elm tree, with long heavy knotted ropes along the bottom attached by an iron band.

“Thank you,” said Donny. “It is a powerful mop.” “I’ve a powerful mess.” “Yes you do.”

On the way up the stairs, Donny threw himself to the floor. “This is too much,” he muttered. “There’s a man dressed like a bird in my room, fat and leaking blood in a box I filled with kitty litter. It’s too much.” Donny lay prone. Softly he got up and walked the rest of the stairs to his room. He opened the door to find the bird man watching television and bleeding on his couch.

“That’s not where I left you.” “Fuck off. I moved. What are you going to do about it?” “Get back in the box.” “Mop up the mess I left you.” Donny looked at his hardwood floor. Beside the blood, the bird man had taken a large grey pool of shit on his hardwood. “I …” Donny grew concerned about the stains.

The bird man flipped through channels. “This is garbage. Do you believe in humanity and the world of today?” “It’s progress.” “It’s moral decay. The ant people should wipe you out. ” “What?” “The ant people.” “Are they people dressed in ant suits?” “Don’t play fucking with me.” “What?”

The bird man rose off the couch and spread his arms and slapped Donny on both sides of the head. “What the hell?” “You do not speak to me like that. I am not a person in a bird suit.” “You are!” The bird man slapped Donny again. “You are my rightful property. I have invaded your home. I have taken your wealth. I will desecrate your face until you are unrecognizable to your own mother. Do you understand?”

Donny ran to the door. The bird man followed. Donny still held the mop and held it out between the bird man and himself. “Take this!” Donny thrusted. The bird man caught the mop in his meaty flesh colored hand and punched Donny in the gut.