Mr. T Self-Administers Enema
With Garden Hose

by A Candy-Colored Clown They Call the Sandman

I was awakened early this morning by the sound of Wayne Newton pecking at a red dot on the throat of Shirley MacLaine causing her to regurgitate lobster florentine into his mouth. When they finished, they began giving each other pedicures while humming 'Ballad of the Green Berets'. I was lulled into a state of half-sleep for about an hour when I suddenly became aware that the humming had turned into hideous, eerie, operatic screechings from a stringed orchestra. I opened my eyes and saw the huge black monolith from '2001: A Space Odyssey' at the foot of my bed. Slowly, with a shroud of smoky mist encircling them, four chimpanzees rose up from the floor and began singing an acappella version of 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight'. Unfortunately, before they reached the second chorus, the huge structure toppled over, killing them instantly, and nearly crushing my feet.

I ran out of the bedroom, and knocked over a completely bald Burt Reynolds, who was wearing only a jockstrap and a pair of nipple- clamps. He grinned at me malevolently, and then produced a knife which he plunged into his upper calf. Wincing in pain, he thrust his hand into the wound, and pulled out a half-dozen, squirming, multi-colored Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, and began popping them into his mouth.

"Less filling, tastes great!" he declared, spitting out a green helmet.

I ran down to the kitchen to throw some cold water onto my face, but when I turned on the faucet, a steady stream of wriggling pink newborn mice filled the sink.

I bolted out to the backyard to get some air, but was immediately nauseated to witness Mr. T, wearing only his trademark mass of jangling medallions, on all fours, self-administering an enema with my garden hose.

"A fluoridated water supply is part of the insecure white male power establishment's attempt to control and subvert the masses," he growled, grimacing with pleasure.

I quickly increased the water pressure of the hose, and his stomach swelled to massive proportions before exploding bits of hair, flesh, intestines, and jewelry all over my lawn.

I rushed back inside to call the police, but stopped in my tracks when I saw Beatrice Arthur attempting to make love to Abe Vigoda's corpse on my dining room table. Gavin MacLeod stood on a chair above them, wearing a referee uniform, translating the event into sign language.

I galloped upstairs to the bedroom telephone, but when I picked up the receiver, instead of a dialtone, all I heard was, "We are Flinstone Kids-10 million strong, and growing," over and over. I slammed the phone down and crawled out my bedroom window onto the ledge of the roof. I gazed across the street and saw a film crew preparing a set for the next episode of COPS, complete with filthy, infested trailer, and scraggly, toothless, alcoholic, abusive, screaming spouses. I crawled along the perimeter of the roof until I was in a position to jump down on top of the garage. But before I could do that, I looked into the gutter and noticed a miniature Judd Nelson, dressed like one of the "droogs" from 'A Clockwork Orange', brandishing a cane and bludgeoning all of his fellow castmembers from 'The Breakfast Club'. My last memory before leaping from the roof, was Nelson breaking into a breathless, impromptu rendition of 'Singing In The Rain' while kicking a bleeding, barely conscious Ally Sheedy in the face with his pointed boots.

I must have missed the garage roof, since the next image to greet my sore eyes was the sterile surroundings of a hospital room, and Eartha Kitt lying in the adjacent bed wearing her Catwoman costume. She kept 'meowing' incessantly, while Barry Manilow surreptitiously scooped the contents of her bedpan into a gallon-size Ziploc baggie.

I willed myself back to sleep to avoid going into shock. When I awoke again, I found myself on the set of 'The Brady Bunch', with Jan sulkily repeating "Marcia, Marcia, Marcia" while menacingly wielding a chainsaw in front of the rest of the bunch. Suddenly, she lunged toward them, but was only able to get a hold of Peter, whose leg she cut off right above the knee. I tried to run out of there, but ended up tripping over the twitching, bellbottomed, platform-shoed leg, lying next to the dog, Tiger, who was smoking a crack pipe. I ran into their kitchen and found Sam the butcher rubbing slabs of veal cutlet onto a naked Alice, who was straddling the sink, slathered head-to-toe with Crisco pure vegetable oil. Mrs. Brady burst in, screaming, "I have Wessonality!" and then proceeded to shave her armpits with an electric razor. I then felt a sharp clang on my skull, and crumpled to the ground with Mr. Brady standing above me in a scuba outfit shouting, "I will not be typecast! I will not be typecast!"

I slowly refocused into a woozy consciousness back in the hospital with the comforting sight of Shirley MacLaine standing above me wearing a nurse's uniform. I looked closer and saw a red dot on her throat, which I instictively pecked with my nose, whereupon she regurgitated copious quantities of chunky-style morphine into a funnel leading to a tube in my arm.

9/13/97


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