Shot-Through-The-Guts had been shot through the guts.
"Tsk tsk," said Portly Pantaloons, packing his pipe.
"Serves him right!" growled Razormouth, having done it.
"Might...die..." gasped Shot-Through-The-Guts.
"Tsk tsk," scolded Portly Pantaloons, with his habitual air of mild disapproval.
"He woulda stole my teeth with a monkey wrench!" complained Razormouth, who hated the dentist's smock that Shot-Through-The-Guts liked to wear.
"It's worn ironically," groaned Shot-Through-The Guts, as a crimson stain spread across his dentist's smock.
"I think it's vulgar!" cried Mrs. Portly Pantaloons indignantly.
Razormouth said nothing, but clicked his teeth together menacingly.
"Where will you go," inquired Portly Pantaloons, gesturing with his pipe, "if you, eh, pass on, as it were?"
"Straight to hell!" interjected Razormouth, dancing from foot to foot.
At that moment, a host of beautiful angels wearing pure white dentist's smocks floated down and tenderly collected Shot-Through-The-Guts, then returned to the clouds.
"Not from this neighborhood I daresay," complained Portly Pantaloons, stamping his cane importantly. "Probably came in on the bus line."
"Dentist's smocks!" bellowed Razormouth, his little eyes widening. "I shoulda plugged 'em! I shoulda....I..."
"There there," cooed Mrs. Portly Pantaloons distractedly. Turning to her husband, she asked, "What bus line, dear? They seemed to appear out of the sky."
Portly Pantaloons, grunted, mumbled something that seemed very definite in his sonorous baritone, and pretended great interest in a bird across the way. Mrs. Portly Pantaloons was still talking, and Razormouth was still blubbering, but by then, Portly Pantaloons' mind was far away, calculating ways to manufacture more monkey wrenches, more dentist's smocks, and more shooters-through-the-guts, at the least cost, with the widest distribution, and at the highest profit.
The bird, whose name was Captain Poopybird, lifted its tail feathers, pooped, and sang.
___________
This is utterly brilliant Shay! I do think Portly Pantaloons needs a good old wedgie, but my favorite here is Captain Poopybird! He knows the score indeed! Story telling at its finest my friend!!
ReplyDeleteMy favourite is Captain Poopybird, too. Smiles. You do know how to spin a tale, beyond anything most people could ever imagine. This one is so entertaining!
ReplyDeleteWow. You managed to write something even weirder than me. That's hard to do! Chapeau!
ReplyDeleteBravo. Bravo!
ReplyDeleteStay safe and creative
Much💛love
One hesitates to ask -- where do ironic angels take one?
ReplyDeleteThe charactets and progression hete are twisty and clever, Shay. It's a univetse of chaos, with self-appointed agents of order who see through a dark lens their own images. I especially like "It's worn ironically," and the fluttery but on point interjections of Mrs. Portly. You manage to put humor, menace and incongruity into the same room and create a window into the insanity that surrounds us. Sharp and smart work.
ReplyDeleteThat's quite the cast of characters you've created.
ReplyDeleteLove the strangeness of it working its way through reality. Captain Poopybird made the right move. lol Oh, your mind is so creative.
ReplyDeleteExpertly crafted allegory.
ReplyDeleteStanding O! This is Fire! The names and the story are compelling.
ReplyDeleteEncore, sequel ???? she meekly requests .... meekly so as not to interrupt genius?
ReplyDeleteWhat a cast of characters you have drawn. Outstanding, Shay.
ReplyDeletei know there is a moral to this story, but screw the forest, i'm all about the trees. i agree with the others, i really enjoy your story-poems, always fun, always brilliant. enjoyed all these poems today Shay.
ReplyDelete