I am walking with an intense feeling of purpose across an annoyingly extravagant, overly decorated, front yard; well, at least I’m trying to. The thick, tubular stalks of the ice plants that cover the ground hinder my fierce strut to a wobbly stagger, souring my mood while simultaneously, stubbing my toes and twisting my ankles. Who in their right mind would decorate a courtyard with such a nuisance and spend the time to coordinate the plant colors into huge green, beige, and light pink spirals!? I could give two shits if it looks pretty! I can’t get to where I want to go fast enough! Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about it, but I continue to complain anyway as I haphazardly stagger across the ornate lawn.
Moments later, my inner rant is interrupted by loud shouts piercing my ear drums, and I turn to my right and come face to face with something even more annoyingly disruptive than the damn ice plants – immature, preteen, adolescents. A large group of junior high students, all of who are wearing those uncomfortable and extremely ugly P.E. uniforms with the shorts that ride-up and make the most hideous camel-toe, are practicing some goofy dance routine. Adding insult to injury are the childish, red umbrellas being used as props. The whole thing is just plain ridiculous! And the assholes don’t have a lick of talent. Their lack of discipline, with their loosy-goosy arms and miscounts, picks at my OCD and head over to have a word with their coach.
As I approach the heavy-set, middle-aged man I clearly see his own agitation and frustration at the asinine students and assume we will have a somewhat productive conversation on how to fix the problematic performance. Therefore, I am quite shocked when his countenance falls into a menacing grimace as I come closer; one that openly says, “I hate you bitch.” The tension between us thickens the air, and I feel suffocated by its deadly grip, but before I have a chance to react the fat bastard storms off, stomping his way through the rough terrain towards a large auditorium directly to his left. Enraged at his blatant disrespect, I chase after him but succumb to the uneven, tubular plants and collapse on all fours in mere moments. Rather than force myself to my feet like a normal human being, I being to crawl through the tough ice plants, which seem to get thicker and taller with every inch I cover.
Like an animal crawling through the underbrush, I continue my trek towards the auditorium and am struck by the seemingly comforting fact of being on all fours. It’s almost as if it’s my natural state of being; why? Am I some dirty whore used to being submissive and taken from behind? No, it’s something more animalistic and physical and somewhat primitive. I am clearly just not human. Specifically, I am a personification of one of my all-time favorite characters, Ducky (also called a Big Mouth), from The Land Before Time. And soon, as my dream unfolds, I discover that I am not the only fictional dinosaur.
In the meantime, I continue on my hands and knees until I reach a small out-cropping of young saplings; a tiny oasis within the sea of ice plants. A moments rest is all I need before continuing my chase, but I am interrupted by the presence of someone infiltrating my temporary sanctuary. Who this person is and why he’s in my space is a mystery, but he seems unthreatening enough, so I let him stay and God Bless America I did! He is a messenger, sent from who-knows-where, to tell me what the hell is going on and, why I’m reacting so intensely to the disrespectful coach.
The truth of the matter is this – the field, the auditorium, the tough ice plants, even the uncoordinated and pathetic pre-teen students, are all mine. I own it all. It is my park, built for the amusement of stupid adolescents everywhere; it is my nest-egg and financial security. Every employee, including the over-sized and incompetent coach, works for me, and, despite their shortcomings, I hired them with complete trust in their loyalties toward the enterprise I’m apparently running. Therefore, the shock of learning the coach’s betrayal plays across my face like a panic-stricken husband caught with his pants down and dick shoved inside a whore. So, I sit and listen, paralyzed in anger and dismay, as my messenger describes the elaborate plan to steal my property away and the weeks of preparation taken place under my nose. How could I have been so fucking clueless! Soon, I will be discarded like a piece of trash and become extinct in the business world; destroyed by betrayal. To top it all off, the fat bastard has organized a presentation in MY auditorium to inform all members of MY establishment on the changes to occur under his leadership and to rally them to his cause.
Anger flows through my blood at an alarming rate, reaching the tips of my fingers to the tips of my toes, and with every passing moment the emotion intensifies and itches to be freed to seek revenge. I’m quickly overwhelmed and consumed by rage, which launches me into a fervent sprint after the son-of-a-bitch coach and in mere moments I reach the auditorium doors, which are reminiscent of the stoic, yet failed, museum doors of Jurassic Park. How ironic that my park should also succumb to monumental collapse, and I in the guise of Ducky, a dinosaur.
Halfway up my journey on the entrance stairs I catch a glimpse of a true confidant and friend; an old co-worker from my days at the Hard Rock Café, Brian (name change). Following the premise of The Land Before Time, Brian has assumed the role of Little Foot, the trusted leader and advisor of the eclectic dinosaur gang, meaning I can trust in his help to regain control of my park. Relief washes through me as I slow to a walk to approach my valued ally, and I take a moment to let my mind wander and ponder the ironic intricacies of life that decided Brian should be Little Foot despite his publicly known large penis.
Sadly, my moment of relief and appreciation of Brian is cut short. As soon as I reach him I am met with immediate gut-wrenching, choked breath, tight chested, devastation, for I can clearly see it, gleaming from his unforgiving and cold eyes – betrayal. He too is in on plot against me, and I feel my innards spill from my cavity wall and entangle me in a vice-like grip of agony, despair, and overwhelming rage, inciting an immediate and emotional rampage. Fueled by the anger boiling up from my soul, I charge through the colossal museum doors to track down my soon-to-be-dead foes. I will kill them.
Unfortunately, my blind rage provides Little Foot with the perfect window to escape, and I find myself catching my breath in the little boys’ room. I guess I thought the kids could provide a clue on where to find Brian and the coach. So, despite the extreme awkwardness in approaching the young boys washing their hands, I “man-up” and ask where I can find my deceivers. They, of course, don’t know, and despite my disappointment, which urges me to probe them further, I can’t wait to get out and free myself from the feeling of pedophilia creeping over me. But, right before I turn to flee, the stall door in front of me opens to reveal a naked Mogli, standing in his full Disney glory with a panel of toilette paper covering his small cock. Assuming it’s no coincidence that this character appeared moments after I inquired about the fat coach and the endowed Little Foot, I wait for an answer, but the little bastard doesn’t say a damn thing! He just continues to stand there, seemingly petrified, making me feel like a disgusting creeper. I swear he was about to piss all over himself when our trance was abruptly broken by the loud bang of the neighboring stall door thrown open by the occupant; a large, fluffy, and stoic Grey Wolf. I watch in utter amazement as the majestic beast nonchalantly exits the bathroom and know this is a sign to follow and perhaps be lead to my deceivers.
The next moments find me running through the corridors of an indoor high school. Door after door fly by as I race toward the end of the hall, which finally dead-ends at my high school’s gymnasium where I see all the students gathering for some mandatory presentation. I know that the coach and Little Foot will make an appearance and rally for the students respect, and I dodge through the crowd intent on finding them before the assembly begins. However, the web of wires that cover the floor for the grandiose stereo and projection system slows my pace, and as I search for stable footing I run smack into Amber, a close childhood friend who is, coincidentally, the lighting and sound technician. A stroke of luck! She will know where the bastards ran off too because she is in charge. I quickly ascertain that everyone in the assembly will gather in the back hallways, and I run through the back door like a soldier bursting forth from a charge and ready to kill.
TO BE CONTINUED…
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