Daft Draft
By Mark Moore Arcata 2-15-2002
Wadeth has more creativity in her little finger than Jennifer has in her little finger. This is true because of a fluke. I know this to be true because I have seen them both finger painting. Apparently, because Wa lost her other nine fingers in a rare and freakish finger painting accident, all her finger creativity is now concentrated in her remaining little finger. For this reason, Jen’s little finger cannot measure up. From this transfiguration, Wa learned also to focus the sensory perception of her taste buds to her little finger, making it a powerful little finger indeed. What kind of dangerous finger painting results in dismemberment? This much I can tell you: they don’t do it in kindergarten.
Wadeth, who is known in the animal kingdom as the Pookie Little, went into the bookstore and walked briskly to the sales counter, because she knew what she wanted and she was potently goal-oriented, unlike these feeble-willed browsers and dilly-dalliers that you see flipping pages of books entitled “How to Think For Yourself.” The Klurk looked at her eyes with her eyes and said, “Welcome to Books 4 U. How can I help you to help yourself?”
With hope and determination Wa asked the Klurk, “Do you sell nunchucks?”
“No, this is a bookstore.”
“Yes, but I thought you might have the box set which includes the instructional book,” placing facial and tonal emphasis on the last word.
“I don’t believe such a thing exists! What a terrible idea, selling weapons with instruction manuals. No wonder there is so much violence in the schools!”
“Oh it exists, alrighty then, I can confidently assure you, because I just saw an ad for it a minute ago on P.V., and rushed here to get the set. I want to learn how to twirl the nunchuku!” Wa continued, and her face became increasingly animated and she nearly attained the vocal level of a shoutasaur.
“You mean T.V.”
“No, P.V., just as I said.”
“What is P.V.?”
“Pelvic Vision! Elvis Christ!” The Pookie Little looked quizzical and frustrated. “You must not have a P.V. set, huh?” Wadeth hooked her little finger under the front edge of her shirt and lifted it up, revealing a very fine P.V. set, which was built nicely into her pelvis, and designed to come on when the shirt is lifted. When the P.V. screen flashed on, the Klurk recoiled slightly in astonishment.
There was an image displayed on the P.V. of a martini glass, having as its stem the elongated head of a green African person. There was a skulpchur of the earth sitting atop the head, and there was a vessel, a cone-shaped glass for holding the liquid part of the martini as well as the solid part, and this was balanced atop the sphere. The green African was speaking.
“This handsome set of nunchuks is now available in a handsome gift set including an instruction manual with the likeness of the Krunkst embroidered on the cover. Anybody can certainly get one at any bookstore, and it is a clever cocktail party entertainment favor, even if you abhor violence.”
As the green African spoke, the Klurk noticed that inside the martini vessel was a tiny ninja whirling a fine little set of nunchuks. But each time the ninja lunged the nunchuks downward they would splash martini in his eyes, and he would get irritated and kick and splash in the big drink, causing some of the martini to spill over the side and run down over the earth and over the fro of the green African, who extended his tongue to catch some of the libation as he chanted the script of the P.V. commercial. And so the green man was increasingly intoxicated and beginning to garble his speech, “flus furbuslus shriffy bedubuz zhosi issuuuuuuuh…”
The Pookie Little looked up at the Klurk to seek affirmation that the advertisement had clearly indicated that nunchuks were commonly available at bookstores. However, at that instant the green man shouted in pain because the little ninja accidentally struck the rim of the glass, causing a crack to develop and spread down through the stem of the glass and split the earth in half. A miniature blinding light emanated from the crack in the earth and a figurine emerged from within the fake glass planet. Was it another tiny ninja? Maybe. Appearances can be deceiving; and it is hard to tell from looking at a figurine whether or not it possesses ninja skills.
The figurine was in a seated position but not seated upon a seat, and meanwhile sitting in the cross-legged configuration of Buddha replicas. That is to say, the “sulking position” of the enlightened just prior to enlightenment. Wa recognized the figurine immediately and sentimentally as the previously exploded mr. Data. “It’s mr. Data,” Exclaimed Wadeth.
“That looks like an olive,” replied the Klurk.
Mr. Data extended one non blown-up arm toward the Pookie Little, who noticed that mr. Data had only a singular little fingular. Data pointed at her with his little finger, and his little finger was arched slightly in the polite pointing manner of southern Californians, and he said, “You see, I was not killed in the explosion. I am right here in the fake planet on the green african’s head beneath the animated ninja martini swizzle stick, inside your P.V., and you can talk to me anytime you like. The Pookie Little smiled with contentment upon learning that an old friend long thought diselectric was alive and well inside her P.V.
She let her shirt fall over the P.V. screen and looked up at the Klurk. “Now, please show me where the nunchukas are located.”
“I am not aware that we have any nunchukas.” The Klurk said with authority, but her skin uniform began to shrink immediately, and now Wadeth was pissy.
Wadeth hooked her little finger around the edge of her sleeve and lifted it up, revealing a portable blood pressure meter. She pressed the start button and the little machine vibrated and the arm band began to inflate. This was the deluxe model, which induces in the user an orspasm while the test results are tabulated. Wa began to orspasm with vocal actuation, “Oooooh. Aaaaaaah! Yeeeeeeessssssss. Ohhhhhhh Yesssssssss.” And this was an elaborate multi-tasking tactic designed to help the user reduce stress in real world scenarios. It appeared to be working: “eeeeeeeee yaaaaaaah oooooooooooh ohhhhhhhh…”
A line of customers originally intending to purchase half-craved books had reformed into a circle around the drama unfolding at the counter. They were staring in wide-eyed amazement at the spectacle, when Wadeth’s orspasm tapered off and she read the meter, which indicated that her pressure was improved. She glanced at her fellow customers and asked in a mellow tone, “would you like to get it on with my blood pressure unit?”
Just then a loud squeak arose from Wadeth’s pants. Then again, this time the distinct whooping sound unique to the hoola monkey.
“What was that?” shouted the Klurk, as she dropped back against the gift wrapping counter behind her.
“Oh. I have two monkeys in my pants. The blood pressure machine always wakes them up.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Ok, said Wadeth. I will leave.” Wadeth then took one deep breath. It took her 12 minutes to fully inhale it. Then she faced away from the door and blew the store out from around herself, at which point she was alone in the vacant blithery nebulousness, with only her monkeys and the people in her P.V., and she felt very sad because it seemed that she would never obtain her nunchuks.
At that punctured juncture, a gurgling sound emerged from a nearby pond of watermelon juice. The Pookie Little crept closer to the pond, which was a fountain with an ornately carved glass design around its edges. There were watermelon seeds scattered everywhere else but there, and wa inserted her little finger into one of the preaching slots so that it could absorb some gospel while she studied the gurgling. Then apparently a voice arose from the center of the bubbling and gurgling, but it was hard to understand. “gubugrugleburb olebrogbregurbular ituribluburutumy you seek.” Wa leaned over the pool of juice and said, “eh?”
She could see a fuzzy dome rising out of the watermelon juice. Then a face with a big goofy smile, then a body. This time when the watermelon guru said his chant, it was easier to understand. “I have what you seek!”
“Do you have my nunchucks, watermelon man?” Wadeth asked with enthusiasm. But Watermelon man wrinkled his brow and adopted the look of consternation which is the prelude to saying No when yes is yearned for. He held up the box tucked under his arm and read the label. “Human fingers. Set of 10.”
“Hmmmm. There must be an error. When I began my ascent to provide for your wish, they handed me this box. Are you sure? You look like you could use a few more fingers.”
“No!” shouted Wadeth. “I like my little finger. I have spent years focusing all my finger energy and rerouting my taste buds into this finger.” She dipped her little finger in the watermelon juice pond and then finger painted a pink transparent reproduction of the church at arles by someone else with a different name, and not the same person with a different name. The watermelon angel was impressed.”
“Ok. Wait here just a minute…” The gurgling started up again and Watermelon man descended into the juicy abyss.
Wadeth was pissy. “Even bogus watermelon fitz-guru can’t get a pair of chuks! She waited another half hour and checked her blood pressure again. She took her finger out of the preaching slot and swirled it around in the church at arles and transformed it into a tool shed. A delicate ribbon made of recycled chunks slithered out of a hornk. The monkeys grabbed that and strangled it and roasted it over a bubble gum bonfire and soaked it in toadwash and prepared to slap the watermelon guru with it if he returned without a set of chucks.
Right then, the gurgling started up for the third time. Again the incomprehensible voice of the ages, “hurbuguble wobble grugulubba wubba you seek.” As the gooroo emerged from the juice he had tucked beneath his arm the perfect box set of nunchucks and instruction manual, dripping watermelon juice, exactly like the one mentioned by the green African in the ad on P.V.
“Thank you mr. Melon gooroo!” Wadeth grabbed the nunchucks and started whirling them and brandishing them without reading the manual, and naturally she struck the glass edge of the watermelon pool, and smashed it to pieces and all the juice poured out on the ground and soaked her purple astro-boots. When all the juice poured out from beneath the gooroo she could see that he was standing on the shoulders of mr. Data. That was when she realized that she herselph was living in P.V.
Fin