Cinder Ella

 

Cinder Ella was this chick who was doing some minor dealing in the vestibule of her old boyfriend's building when a snitch turned her in and she got sent to juvie.

Freeeak. So bogus.

The 'rents lost it and so when she'd done her stupid community service, they said oh my, oh dear, you really need some discipline here, and gave her like ten thousand chores to do and she was grounded until she's 75 and everybody in the world is dead from a nuclear accident or something. Yippee skippee. 

So anyway, Cinder Ella had no further forks to give, so she opened her bedroom window and had a smoke in between cleaning all the bathrooms and mulching the stupid garden so the rutabagas would grow ten feet tall of whatever it is that rutabagas do. Kill me now, she thought, don't wait for the Marlboros to kick in.

It was at that moment that this leftover hippie woman flew in. I mean, actually flew and perched her grown-ass self in the window frame. "No wayyy," said Cinder Ella, taking a long drag. "Way" said the boomer in the window. "I am your fairy godmother!" Cinder Ella replied, "Well fork me and feed me fish heads." 

Long story short, Cinder Ella's fairy godmother had seen and heard more than enough of the way Cinder Ella was being treated, by both the 'rents and her social influencer sisters. "Easy solutions for combination skin!" So lame. So, this boomer turned a cat figurine into an Uber driver, and a lava lamp into a Lambo, all so that Cinder Ella could attend the Lady Gaga concert that night. "Fuckinay," said Cinder, stubbing out her smoke on the chore list her mother had left on the side table for her. It burst into flames and suddenly there she was, getting out of the Lambo at the venue!

So, the concert was lit, but she lost one of her Doc Martens when it got to be almost midnight and she had to make a run for the Lambo before it turned back into a lava lamp and the driver became a cat figurine again. I mean, she got that thing at Six Flags when she was like, nine, and she'd look like the majorette of the Loser's Day Parade if she didn't get out there in time. So she did, and came hobbling in the door just in time to sneak up to her room and do some cannabis to mellow out. 

Well, fat chance. Ding-dong, some hopeless dweeb desperately in need of a glow-up was standing in the front doorway when she came downstairs to snob, er, say hello to, whoever it was. Holding her lost Doc Marten in his hands, he smiled nervously and asked Cinder Ella and her sisters Madison and Courtney to try it on. Madison couldn't even begin to get her big boats into it, and Courtney's toenail fungus made everybody gag so she just sort of ran up to her room crying. "Oh boo hoo hoo, I'm stinky Courtney, my feet are soooooo gross wahhhh," scoffed Cinder Ella as her sister swept past. 

"Would you like to try it on?" the boy asked, shyly. "As if," said Cinder Ella, grabbing the Doc Marten out of his hands and giving him a shove out the door. "Try Proactiv!" she said to his back as he stumbled away in bewilderment. She shrugged. "I'm really more into girls lately anyway." Walking down the hall and into the garage, knocking over her dad's retardo golf bag as she passed, Cinder Ella grabbed a screwdriver off of his work bench and hotwired the Mazda. "Happy happy to all and to all a good buzz!" she called as she drove away, swerving to avoid some stupid squirrel that did that changing direction thing that squirrels do, and she just about totaled the Mazda and sustained crippling injuries like in a Lifetime movie, except she didn't, and that's the end. Follow me for more dumb fairy tales if you're, like, grounded until eternity and it's completely unfair and you're  so over it or whatever. 

____________________

For What's Going On? -- Unfairy Tales. 

Music: The Sounds Running Out of Turbo

Date With The Reaper

I've got a date with the Reaper.
Oh don't give me that look;
when girls don't call, I'm forced to go
where the fishin' is easy.

I hope he's got a sharp black ride,
silver hub caps and cuff links.
Open the door for me, Spike
cos I'm not the kind of lady who rides in the back
like your other dates do.

You see, I had this dream
that I was walking down the fourth floor hallway
of a fine old hotel.
My hair was red and thick like it used to be,
and the door to four seventeen 
opened easy for me.

April is the cruelest month, so the man said.
One day I found myself alive, and one day I'll find myself dead.
I hope it doesn't rain, but if it does,
then maybe I'll slide out of this life easy,
talking shit right up to that lonesome bell.

I've got a date with the Reaper.
Just like I knew I wouldn't stay married,
I have always known I wouldn't milk it in the nursing home,
planted in front of game shows in the day room
not knowing my own name.

So open the hearse door for me.
Be a gentleman, but if you want to cop a feel as I get in,
why, do what you have to do, Buck.
Where I'm going, I won't be needing the wrappings anyway--
I'll shine just like a new poem
where the words are right and everybody leans in.

April seventeenth I'm gonna die.
So said my dream and the Reaper says "true dat".
I'll slip right through that fourth floor door,
like magic, like anything,
like a good lookin' red-haired rabbit 
Coming up smiling from an old top hat.
_______

I really did dream, a couple of nights ago, that April 17th will be it. Then again, I once dreamed I was making out with Emmylou Harris, so I don't know that these things can be counted on as gospel.