Saturday, July 3, 2010

Chapter 1: If John Doesn't Call

If John doesn’t call, or write, or text

I’ll die.

I’ll die an extremely painful, incongruous death.

My death will be non sequitur.

I always knew it would be

Here’s how it will be if John doesn’t call.

First, tears will drip down my face.

The tears will pour straight down and turn into streams.

Their trajectories will tumefy and become heavy.

Their swathe, that bulging tumefaction will cause their marriage,

A most imprudent one.

A rushed one, a do please tell one, a stitched up one, a rapid one, -one with a shotgun

Controversial, yes, but far from surreptitious, for, I knew about it all along.

And their disgusting aqueous progeny will become a heavy gushing river

The river will threaten to drown me, but not before it turns to acid.

Impudent child!

Yes, the brat river of tears will become a river of acid.

I’ll burn in a river of acid if John doesn’t call.

But maybe not. Perhaps instead, my vagina will grow.

Perhaps a frog will protrude from my vagina.

It will not be a birth, for I will mother no one: human, amphibian or otherwise.

It will be a strange, unnatural growth.

The head will grow first.

Yes, indeed. Guilelessly I’m telling you that the head of a giant green slimy frog will protrude from the inside of my labia.

It will bubble and blossom forth and its eyes will swell up and glower at me.

Mr. Frog.

He’ll laugh at me

If John doesn’t call.

He’ll sing a sad, sad song and say, “you silly girl. You knew it all along after all.”

At least I won’t have any problems with bugs.

And he will be right after all. I knew it all along.

Here’s how it will be between us

If John doesn’t call.

A flea will flit by.

The frog will mind the flea.

A fly will buzz by.

The frog will mind the fly.

Then a trench mortar shell will explode

And we will both die in non sequitur fashion

If John doesn’t call.

I knew it all along.

I knew this would happen all along

My dear John

All along.

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