Tuesday, August 25, 2009
THE FIRING SQUAD PT. 2
(Continued from THE FIRING SQUAD)
Despite the oppressive stillness of the night and the constant threat of being accidentally shot by communist bloc street thugs who while sitting in their shiny BMWs, use the kingdom's bucolic, secluded streets as a quiet respite from their exciting, high-octane lives of drug dealing and petty thievery, the overwrought daddy bravely set out on foot. The magical baby quickly dropped off to sleep, securely strapped to the daddy's tummy in the loathsome, terry cloth SNUGLY sling the magical baby demanded.
Fortunately, before crawling out of their castle, the daddy took a magic potion called RED BULL, whose mystical and presumably carcinogenic ingredient Taurine, gave the exhausted daddy the strength, stamina and shaky excitability of a 17 year-old-girl on prom night. As the day's first light began to break over the kingdom, the over-caffeinated, body dysmorphic daddy had the brilliant idea to go for a strenuous early morning hike through the kingdom's trash strewn 'urban wilderness' Griffith Park. He insanely reasoned that the magical baby's ten pounds of extra weight would be "Like...you know, a totally awesome cardiovascular workout!"
Due to his sleep deprived, energy drink fueled insanity, the daddy set out on the park's steep trails with neither diapers, baby wipes, baby bottles, water canteen, or back-up baby supplies of any kind. And just for fun, the short sighted daddy neither told anyone where he was going nor took his cell phone.
The chemically pumped-up Daddy, soon made short shrift of the park's filthy, treacherous trails. The sun had yet to appear on the horizon as the daddy made his way into the heart of darkness. Miles from anywhere or ANYONE, the daddy found himself in a clearing at the top of hill with stunning, commanding views of the Kingdom. As the daddy breathed in the clean early morning air and marveled at the beauty that surrounded him, the hair on the daddy's neck rose as as a coyote the size of a Buick entered the same clearing, hungrily regarded the daddy's bulging, padded 'tummy' and let out a blood-chilling howl. In a terrifying instant, the giant coyote was joined by his posse of mangy pals who seemed to share his taste for domesticated cats, dogs, and in the daddy's pathetic case, self-important, entertainment industry dickheads.
Oddly, unlike most cases of near-death experiences, the daddy did not see his sad little life pass before his eyes. Instead, the daddy visualized the sensational headline in the Daily Variety and Hollywood Reporter exclaiming how a dopey, clueless entertainment marketing executive was mortally wounded by a pack of vicious, rabid coyotes. The stupid, negligent daddy's last words uttered in his best Meryl Streep Australian accent to a band of benevolent Korean hikers, "Help...A coyote ate my babeh!"
(To Be Continued)