Gladys Knight Clubs Pips To Death

by A Candy-Colored Clown They Call the Sandman

I awoke this morning to find Gladys Knight standing at the foot of my bed wrapped completely in tin-foil from the neck down, smoking a cigar. She had a whip in her left hand, and a Louisville slugger in the right, and she was clubbing each of the Pips to death, one by one. I stepped over a mass of tuxedoes and body parts and made my way to the kitchen.

As I approached the refrigerator door, I saw an impresson of the Virgin Mary, "weeping" Tropicana Orange Juice (not from concentrate). I opened the door and saw a 10 inch Phil Donahue scurrying with a microphone, attempting to interview the cottage cheese.

"When were you told that you were small curd, and who lied to you about your expiration date?" he asked, breathlessly.

As I poured my Cheerios into the bowl, five of Charlie Sheen's upper molars came out of the box. I put them aside for a future lawsuit, and finished my breakfast. I hurried upstairs for my shower, but when I entered the bathroom, I found Ross Perot standing on my sink, naked, pointng to several multi-colored bar-graphs and pie charts with a long stick.

"This line represents the percentage of the American population who wash their hands with soap and water after going to the bathroom. This line represents those who just rinse with water. This line represents those who don't wash or rinse at all..."

I hopped into the shower and ignored him. When I entered my closet to get dressed, I was surprised to find that my entire wardrobe had been replaced with that belonging to the cast from 'Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat'. I slipped into something mildly medieval, and ran out to my car. As I pulled out of the driveway, an acrid stench permeated the vehicle. I looked in the rear-view mirror, and was disappointed to see the shredded, decomposing remains of a Sumerian llama in the backseat. I began humming 'Billy Don't Be A Hero', and came to an abrupt halt at an out-of-commission stoplight, where Gene Simmons was directing traffic in full KISS makeup. I arrived at a Fotomat and paid for a roll of family vacation pictures they developed for me, and then pulled into a parking space to look them over. But, the pictures they gave me were of Charles Manson and family committing various acts of ritual animal torture in the mid-1960's. I stormed back over to the Fotomat, but could not find the clerk whom I paid. Instead, boxing promoter Don King hulked at the counter, with his hair on fire. He refused to refund my money, but I didn't get to argue with him because the booth soon after collapsed around him in flames.

I decided to catch a movie to relax, and though there wasn't much to choose from, I settled on 'Die Hard 7--Die Hard With A Hard-On'--in which Bruce Willis is trapped inside of a Las Vegas brothel being held hostage by a psychotic pimp. While dipping into my popcorn, I pulled out a human foot and disgustedly tossed it to the ground. Suddenly, something jumped onto my shoulder and began whispering vulgar variations of children's nursery rhymes into my ear. I cautiously turned and saw a creature with the head of Andrew Dice Clay, and the body of a 6 month- old fetus, with an umbilical cord snaking a few rows back connected to the mouth of Ed Asner.

"Hickory dickory dock...." the entity spouted, before I threw it off of me and ran out of the theater.

I drove to a gas station and attempted to use the pump, but apparently it was out of order. Before I could replace the nozzle, though, some greenish gel began oozing out, first in drops, then soon after, in a torrent. The sticky puddle quickly rose up and assumed the properties of Pia Zadora, dressed as a pirate, complete with eye patch and wooden leg.

"AAArrrggghhh!!! Matey!!! Cash or credit---Same low price, landlubber!!"

Fortunately, Gladys Knight appeared with her bat and clubbed Pia the pirate into submission. Another day, another celebrity pirate bludgeoned unconscious. Time to go home.

[Writers] [Birdhouse]