Saturday, September 11, 2004

 

It Isn't Easy Being Fluffy


This wandering lonely as a cloud shit ain't as poetic as folks think, lemme tell ya. I been wandering for two days now, after I left those fishermen, and it's been a long-ass two days, too. All kinds of shit happening. Let me bring you right up to date. I'm learning a lot, though. It's hard to steer when you're a cloud, for example. And lots of other things, too.

First off, I shouldn't have swilled all that PBR. When I lifted off from the pond, I was bloated. Next thing you know, I'm floating over Bainesville, Georgia and I just gotta pee. I mean, I'm soggy, man. And when I let loose, oooeee! Musta peed a river, a lake, a whole ocean. Kinda felt bad for that fella who was looking out the window as I floated over. Caught the first of it right in the face. I hollered "Sorry, man!" as I passed, but I don't think he heard me.

Course, after that, I was thirsty again. Thirst like you wouldn't believe, unless you've ever been a cloud that just dumped all its moisture. Dropped in on a pond to tank up, but it turned out to be a swimming pool, not a pond, and it was covered with these robot bugs. No shit. Like skeeters or something. Long sharp proboscis, like a needle you'd see in a doctor's office on the end of it. The pool was covered with 'em. I musta sucked up a few hundred thousand of 'em before I realized something was wrong. Fucker comes running out of the back of the house in a white lab coat, screaming "Stop! Stop! Noooo! My most magnificent creation!" All's I see on the coat is some stitching, a name, I guess: Cordani of Jupiter. From Jupiter. Imagine! And he looked just like a earthling. He's still ranting, something about not being able to take over the planet, some shit. Freak. So I'm outta there. Before long, them skeeter-thingies are irritating my silver lining, so of course I gotta dump 'em. How's I to know I went in a circle and was back over Bainesville, Georgia? Gawd, them robot skeeters sure set off a ruckus at that church picnic.

I'm circling Bainesville, now, just looking for a place to drink without causing any trouble, and I'm thinking maybe it'll be okay, when this goddam airplane starts flying through me. The pilot is throwing shit out of the window every time he flies through. And lemme tell ya, man, it's hard on a cloud, getting flown through. What's he throwing out? Fucking tampons! I look again as he passes through. It's that Cordani of Jupiter guy, and he's yelling "I'll dry you up, you bastard! I'll dry you up!" I have to laugh. I mean, does this guy really think he can dry up a cloud with a few thousand tampons? Idiot. And where did he get them all? I don't want to know. Fucking extraterrestrials. Idiots. My laughter must have thrown him off, because he flies away, shaking his fist at me. "I'll get you yet!"

I just dumped the soggy tampons by a barn and floated back toward town.

Thirsty again, I didn't take any chances. I just sucked up the contents of a big pond out back of the sewage treatment plant. I mean, I figured it must be clean, right, out back of a treatment plant? Clouds got no sense of smell, y'know. Bad idea. It was the incoming stuff, the raw sewage of Bainesville, Georgia.

So now I feel like puking, and I don't know where to go, and I'm about to cut loose on a clear patch out in the woods, when Whooooooooooosh! I'm raptured again, and recognize the weird incongruous patchwork tesseracts of Heaven. I seem to be tumbling, and can't control my movement--hard enough when you ain't nauseous and full of Georgia sewage--and next thing I know I'm over some suburb, headed straight for a picnic or barbecue or something. And I can't hold it. I just can't. Gonna puke on 'em. Second time today I puked on a picnic, and I'm the nicest, gentlest cloud you ever met.

As I cut loose, and the effluvia of Bainesville rains down on the party, I catch a glimpse of my old friend, Doug Robinson. Only one with any sense. All the others are looking up, and catch it right in the face. Doug is calmly closing his umbrella as I land with a soft splat over the stinking sodden mess. He's even got on hip waders.

"What took you so fucking long?" he asks.

"Ran into some trouble," I reply. "Got anything to drink? I sure am thirsty."

"You got a silver lining?" he asks, offering me a tankard of Valhalla mead.




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