2015 DACHSHUNDS, AUG-DEC
Once upon a time, Beckett the bebby done laid his head down to rest on his Mammy’s majestic mammary museum and awaited Morpheus’s embrace. “Little baby Beckett, come blow your horn / The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn / Where is the Becketts who looks after the sheep? He's on top of his Mammy, fast asleep.” But instead of Sugar Plum Sheep and other whatnots, Beckett was greeted by a most dreadful Nightmare: God is a filthy, no good, rotten Devil Rat! And He laid with some Virgin Whore who gave birth to an entire scurry of Unholy Squirrels. It gets worse. The lowdown dirty dray of Devil Rats have taken Beckett’s neutered nuts hostage. (He’s always wondered where they went?) And now these vile vermin are running around with his nuts in their mouths, hiding them, concealing them, disguising them, and burying them all around their Infernal Nightmare Heaven. (This month the left nut is hidden in a sheep’s stomach, while the right nut is in a skull buried beneath an avocado tree.) But it’s Beckett’s Nightmare, it’s in his skull, and he’s not going to stand for a drove of renegade Devil Rats holding his nuts hostage while they terrorize the unconscious recesses of his tiny brain. No way, NUH UH! So Beckett called in an airstrike (target coordinates: “My Nazareth Nightmare”) and gave it the catchy mission title of, “Operation Annunciation Of The Blessed Devil Rat—More Like The ANNIHILATION Of The Stupid Devil Rat! Die! Die! Die!” or, OAOTBDR—MLTAOTSDRDDD, for short… It’s a mouthful. Just like deez (wiener) nuts. Plaze.
Joan Of Arc married Don Quixote, but because they were both old and crazy as a couple of Dodo birds they were unable to conceive a child. But with the assistance of the Man Of La Mancha’s trusty steed, Rocinante, they employed in vitro fertilization and implanted their essences in the horse’s surrogate, yet reluctant, rectum. One hundred years later, and much to Rocinante’s relief, the old nag pooped out a little ass-birth wiener-fart named Dookie Dox (short for “The Duchess Of Dachness”). Inheriting her parents’ vivid imaginations, Dookie Dox became the Lord Of Delusion and was endowed with the power of Dachness which gave her the ability to erase people’s minds. The end of her lance was outfitted with a giant eraser and festooned with banners that said things like, “American Artisanal Amnesia Association,” “W-W-W-Wipe Out!” “Notorious Morpheus In Your Orifice,” “Complete Delete Obsolete,” “The Trypnotic Circus Featuring The Pickles Of Dillusion,” “F’geddabowddit,” “Café De Lethe,” “Welcome To The Blotto Grotto,” and “Blacked Out Is The New Black.” When she “Nighted” someone that person would instantly forget everything and be filled with the euphoria of total Dachness, but most of the time she would just point her Mind Eraser at you and you forget where you left your jacket, or what a windmill was called, or something stupid like that. All hail the Duchess Of Dachness! (Fade to black.)
One day while Faunus was chugging a jug of fig wine in his tree with the Lady Isis Thea, there was a brilliant flash. Before them stood their Son (they didn’t know they had one) swathed in an aura of gold. His name was Heliodox, The Winged Weenie (aka The Millennium Falchund), and he had been born in the center of the sun. Heliodox laid Seven Golden Eggs in the center of Faunus’s Sacred Grove Of Trees and when they hatched they became the Sunshine Sprites, a race of Golden Pixies that tend to the Earth’s Sunshine and manage the Rhinebeau River, the source of all Rainbows. Faunus and Lady Isis were overjoyed with their new family of gold babies. Heliodox gave them a magical Fairy Flag that they could use as a blanket for the Sunshine Sprites when they sleep after they put the Sun to bed every Night. But Heliodox warned them that Sunshine Sprites are a mischievous little horde of Faeries and should they ever harm a human child they will lose the Fairy Flag and the Sacred Grove will disappear. As a precaution, Faunus and Lady Isis hired a Gold Nanny Droid (who came with excellent recommendations) to watch over the Sunshine Sprites. One day, as the Sprites were building Rainbows in the Rhinebeau, they came upon a young girl bathing in their waters. It was the Princess Poobah and she didn’t know that entering the River was strictly forbidden. The Sunshine Sprites decided to teach her a lesson. One of them splashed the Nanny Droid with water while the others turned the Princess’s bar of lilac soap into a dead, slimy, rotten chicken. When Princess Poobah realized she was washing with raw poultry and maggots, she screamed and ran home to her castle. Unbeknownst to everyone in the Sacred Grove, Princess Poobah came down with Furry Parrot Disease and she would have died if it weren’t for a Dancing Dachshund that bravely stole the Fairy Flag from Faunus and wrapped the Princess in its magical folds. With the Fairy Flag gone, the Sacred Grove disappeared, and the entire family got on Heliodox’s back and flew to the Dach Side of the Moon.
The Grand Poobah’s daughter, the Princess Poobah, was sick in bed suffering from Furry Parrot Disease. The Grand Poobah offered his daughter’s hand in marriage to anyone who could cure her. Beckett, a lowly wiener in the village, knew that if he could steal the Fairy Flag from Faunus, The Old Man Of The Wood, it would cure the Princess. But even before he could approach Faunus’s terrifying grove of trees, Beckett had to travel many miles and cross the Fairy Bridge at the Rhinebeau River, which is guarded by the Sunshine Sprites: if you can’t answer their riddle, they eat you. After an arduous journey, Beckett arrived at the Fairy Bridge and was stopped by a Sunshine Sprite. The Sprite demanded an answer to his riddle before Beckett could enter the Wood: “How many beans are too many beans in a bean burrito?” For an answer, Beckett lifted his leg and whizzed in the Rhinebeau River. The waters of the Rhinebeau are sacred to the Sprites and the invasion of Beckett’s urine was the equivalent of an Exxon Valdez disaster. While the Sprite was distracted cleaning up the yellow spill, Beckett crept into the Wood and entered Faunus’s grove. “What brings you to Faunus’s Wood, oh Little One?” Faunus asked. In reply, Beckett did a little dance on his little legs that made Faunus laugh so hard he nearly fell out of his tree. “Oh ho ho! You are Nature’s Little Clown! Dance for Faunus, Little One, dance.” While Beckett continued his jig, Faunus opened a jug of fig wine to enjoy while he watched the show. Beckett danced and danced while Faunus drank and drank, and soon the Old Man Of The Wood came down with a bad case of the hiccups. As Faunus tried scaring himself by drinking wine while standing on his head and breathing his own farts, Beckett used the opportunity to reach into the closet in Faunus’s tree and nab the Fairy Flag. He ran all the way back to his village, unfurled the flag, cured the Princess of her Furry Parrot Disease, and they all lived happily ever after. (Answer to the riddle: 240. Because 240 beans are too farty.)
Winston Churchill and The Loch Ness Grandma were in the Prime Minister’s secret Druid Grotto enjoying mai tais laced with drugs acquired from a South American Shaman and watching a very young Cy Twombly vandalize a collection of Picasso’s sketchbooks with his Wiener. They had hired the painter “to write a biography of the god Bacchus using only a stick of lipstick and the letter E.” The goal was to produce some sort of postmodern alchemical reaction that would reveal divine secrets and foretell the future. Of course nothing of the Divine was revealed in this psychedelic ceremony, but we do know that Winnie The Pooh collected the art diarrhea, the drypocritical seeds of authenticity, bottled the drips, and sold it as a panacea called “Dr. Twombly’s Magical Pooh Drops.” The tincture was almost immediately banned by the FDA for “possessing no medicinal benefit.” While Twombly’s Bacchus series wouldn’t be revealed publicly for many years later, the experience had a notable influence on the young painter as his works from this early part of his career were described by art critic Jerry Saltz (@jerrysaltz) as, “… tantalizing, orgiastic scenes of scrotal shapes, flying vaginas, floating pudenda, abstract anuses, and a liquidity that art critic David Sylvester once compared to stains left on bed sheets after lovemaking.” There is a rumor that the latter impression was provided in reality by Churchill and the Loch Ness Grandma—a mental image that is best banished to the anals of history. Annals, whatever.
A courtroom sketch artist’s depiction from the trial of the Dancing Doxie who is facing allegations of stealing a Magical Fairy Flag. He faces a number of other related charges including, 1. Desecration Of A Flag: by cutting up a sacred flag and mutilating it with scissors, knives, and glue, 2. Unlawful Assembly: by combining and collaging the flag’s fragments with other found images from magazines and books, 3. Forgery: by counterfeiting, copying, pirating, appropriating, and replicating famous artworks and photographs with the intention of deceiving and defrauding, 4. Credit Evasion: by aggregating and repurposing content, both images and text, without providing proper documentation, provenance, or credit to the original artists and authors, 5. Possession With Intent To Distribute: what remained of the Fairy Flag had been chopped, minced, diced, cubed, hashed, and hewed into smaller pieces and then diluted, or “cut,” with much cheaper grade newspaper clippings, and 6. Urinating In Public. At the time of the Dancing Doxie’s arrest he was also found to be under the influence of Dr. Twombly’s Magical Pooh drops and he farted a Buttalyzer reading with a Blood Pooh Concentration of 0.666. Music for the trial was provided by The Cyclops Choir who performed “Careful With That Axe, Eugene” with The Little Ivory Nightmare on cello.
Winnie The Pooh, The God Of Pooh, kicked the Dach Angel’s Cherry Moon down to Earth because the Dach Angel farted in Pooh’s Honey Pot and peed on his Treasure Map. What a sneaky devil that Pooh is! (Pooh is above, as Pooh is below.) So the Dach Angel, who is responsible for the Moon, had to go down to filthy Earth and fetch her Cherry Moon out of the Ocean. But once down among the Living, the Dach Angel became distracted by the buffet of yummy things that Earth has to offer, such as Devil Rats and Mailmen, Beds, Burgers, and BBQs. But while the Dach Angel was busy ignoring her Heavenly duties and running all over God’s Creation barking at everything in her path, the Cherry Moon remained in the Ocean. Since the Ocean was full of Moon, there was no place for the Sun to set. And if the Sun can’t set, then Night can’t fall, and the Werewolves can’t howl, the Cats can’t sing, the Moths can’t dance, the Stars can’t twinkle, and Dracula can’t bite nobody. Fortunately, after an exhausting few days of Dacchanalia on Earth, the Dach Angel sobered up and remembered her Sacred Moon duties. But she was too tired to carry the Cherry Moon back to Heaven, so she barked at her ghostly friend, The Wicked Witch Of The East, who haunts an empty can of paint under Dorothy’s Kansas casita, and requested her assistance: “Lil help? Plaze!” The Wicked Witch stuck out her gross green leg and dipped her disgusting witchy toes in the Ocean and gave the Cherry Moon a giant kick, returning it back to its Heavenly Orbit and the Sun was finally able to set. Night now! So watch out for Dracula, he’s hungry.
The Holy Men and their Inquisitors were escorted into a jungle clearing where a courtroom had been erected in the mouth of a cave that contained another universe in its shadowy abyss. The accused were told only that they had been arrested for crimes that they had invented and the very court they were appearing before was also a system of their creation. The Judge was also a fictional creature, pasted together from figments of their horrible imaginations. Fortunately the Imagination is infinite and autonomous and has the ability to construct itself independent of its architect’s intentions, which, in this case, was for the better, because instead of the old, stupid, jealous, intolerant, evil, human god these Holy Men had the gall to create in their own image, the creature that emerged from the fiery netherworld was the most delightful lil Wiener that anyone ever did see. When She entered, rainbows shot across the sky, parrots farted symphonies, marshmallow clouds fired chocolate lightning bolts, a barbershop quartet of lions roared in harmony, and the Moon announced that the Supreme Adjudachator’s Court was in session! Bang! Bang! The Inquisitors, unfamiliar with being the accused, approached the bench demanding explanations. “SILENCE!” the bailiff, an ancient raven, bellowed. The accused cowered and retreated before Her Majesty. The Supreme Adjudachator cleared Her throat and quietly explained that they would receive a team of court appointed lawyers to help them navigate the elaborate and confusing court procedures, which, again, were of their own design. Much to the accused’s dismay, their lawyers were nothing more than a gang of guttersnipes who arrived via hummingbird from the Ewok Faerie Village in the jungle canopy above. The dirty children introduced themselves as “The Little Horde” and explained to their clients that no one had ever been acquitted of charges in the Supreme Adjudachator’s Court, but that that was no reason to lose Hope. “Hope!” they snickered. The Little Horde presented the Holy Men and their Inquisitors with a menu and suggested, in the meantime, they begin considering what they would like for their Last Meal. It was a Friday, so fish was on the menu.
Mary is the daughter of Snow White and one of the Seven Dwarfs. No one knows which Dwarf is her father—most suspect Doc due to the strong resemblance—but Snow White had relations with all seven of them, so who knows? Mary, their daughter, on the other hand, leads a virtuous and pious life and is happily married to The Man In The Moon. With her lunar life partner, Mary bore a wonderful wolf pup named Maggie (a clumsy diminutive of Mánagarmr), the very first wolf in the world ever. She’s the longest lil wolf with the cutest lil wolf legs you ever did see! Every night, while her Papa drives the Moon across the Night sky, Maggie howls and barks because she misses him so much. When Dawn breaks, however, and Papa parks the Moon in the Ocean, Maggie fills with joy because when the Man In The Moon comes back to earth he assumes the form of a Rabbit. Before Moon Man and his wife had Maggie, he didn’t mind this magical Rabbit/Moon Man arrangement, but ever since they brought this wolf into their lives, it’s been Hell On Earth for the Moon Rabbit. Every day, from Dawn til Dusk, the Moon Rabbit is hunted, hounded, harassed, tracked, trailed, and tormented by his very own child who nips at his heels and threatens to eat him until it is time for him to go back to work. Needless to say, the Moon Rabbit can’t wait for the Sun to set so he can board his green cheese satellite and blast off into space where his daughter’s teeth can’t reach. But oh how she laments his departure: as soon Maggie sees her father ascend to the Heavens in his glowing green cheese spaceship, she starts barking and baying, howling and yowling all over again, begging him to come home so she can make him into rabbit stew. And that is why wolves bark at the Moon. It’s also why you sometimes see the Moon lingering in the sky during daylight hours, enjoying an early departure or a late arrival. “Heigh ho! Hail Mary! It’s off to wolf we go!”
“Dear Animal, We request the pleasure of your company and cordially invite you to join the Doxodus from Earth aboard the SS White Rhino.” Thus began the invitation sent to every creature in the Animal Kingdom: vertebrates, molluscs, arthropods, annelids, and even jellyfish. The Animal Kingdom has, for some time now, disapproved of the manner in which humans have abused and depleted the environment—their home—resulting in the extinction of so many of their family members, with even more species on the verge of extinction. And so the Animals have begun devising ways to escape this dying planet by migrating into space and finding a new, homo sapiens-free home. Researchers have recently discovered an Earth-like planet named Kepler-186f that orbits a Red Dwarf star about 500 light years from Earth. The Animals, who are more in touch with the Natural Universe than humans, have known about the Kepler system for centuries, but it is only recently that they have developed the means to reach this distant star. Thanks to a group of Dachshund scientists working in Germany they have discovered a path through a wormhole in a nuclear powered White Rhino horn that will allow them to transport every animal on Earth to the new planet. The plan hasn’t been without controversy, however, as a number of animals were conspicuously absent from the Doxodus invitation list, namely squirrels, cats, badgers, and, of course, humans. The Dachshunds have vehemently denied any prejudice, even though it states, at the bottom of the invitation in very small print, “Warning: do not tell any squirrels, cats, badgers, or humans about this invitation or where you are going. They are not welcome. Plaze. Danke.”
It all happened so fast. The Harpies were sitting down in their kitchen getting ready to barbecue a couple of babies they had stolen from some stupid and irresponsible parents, when Peaches, their peach-headed giraffe that lives on the kitchen stool, reared up and squealed like a banshee. There was an elephant in the room! And, apparently, Peaches is scared to death of elephants. Her scream gave everyone quite a fright, including Maggie (nee Mánagarmr, the world’s first wolf) who was chasing her father, the Moon Rabbit, across the sky, barking and baying, howling and yowling all over the place. But when Peaches got her pits rattled, the scream surprised Maggie who stumbled and bit God’s finger. While it was an unfortunate accident—Maggie didn’t mean to bite God’s finger and she was so terribly sorry—everyone quietly agreed it was God’s own goddamn fault that He got his finger bit because He shouldn’t have been messing around with His stupid Earth project again in the first place. He was in the middle of creating one of his self-proclaimed “World Famous Disasters”—a disease, or a flood, or a swarm of locusts, or something—when He stuck His finger right in Maggie’s ferocious mouth as she tripped. Everyone told Him that He’s old and He shouldn’t be meddling with disasters anymore, but He’s a stubborn old coot and won’t listen to anybody’s advice. Of course the wound got infected and God came down with rabies, or worms, or Ragnarök, or all of the above—no one was really sure what He had, but they knew the time had come to put Him down. Putting down your God is one of the most difficult decisions we have to make, but if the quality of your God’s life has diminished, it may be time to humanely end your God’s suffering through euthanasia. Before making any religious decisions, though, consult with your veterinarian who can evaluate your God’s condition and give you an accurate diagnosis of your God’s health and wellbeing.
When the Dachess Of Dork was very young, her parents died and she was forced to live with her aunt who made her do all of the chores. One day she told the Dachess to visit her nearest neighbor, The Loch Ness Monster, and retrieve the Rainbow she had lent her. It was late and the Dachess worried that she wouldn’t make it back before sunset to milk the Lady Bugs—unless she took a shortcut through the Spinnewald, a dark and evil forest patrolled by venomous Devil Spiders who created a labyrinth of cobwebs in the ominous woods. It was said that even the slightest touch of a Spinnewald web would ensnare you for eternity. As she pondered her predicament, a strange Little Green Man with gold teeth appeared and handed her a can of Electric Mayhem Beans. He told her to eat the beans, spin around three times, then enter the Spinnewald backwards and a path will appear. The Dachess figured life couldn’t get any worse, so she did as he said. But as soon as she entered the dark forest, she became very scared. The old dead trees blotted out the sun, the cobwebs began closing in, and she could hear the Devil Spiders chittering in the darkness. Suddenly, her tummy rumbled and before she had time to control her bowels, a deafening fart exploded out of her butt and roared through the forest. After the Dachess excused herself and recovered from her embarrassment, she noticed that her sonic boom-boom had blasted a path right through all the cobwebs. As she took a few steps further into the spiders’ lair, it happened again, and she produced another massive explosion that blew away all of the cobwebs behind her. The Electric Mayhem Beans had turned her keister into an Ultrasonic Fart Cannon! In this way the Dachess marched straight through the forest, fanny first, clearing a path through the webs with her new sonic weapon. She retrieved the Rainbow from Nessie and made it home in time to milk the Lady Bugs. She has been known ever since as The Queen Of The Spider Beans. To this day, people in the region always scoop up a spider and/or some cobwebs from behind the toilet and place it in the bottom of a pot of bean soup in her honor.
The great J.S. Dach’s performance at our tiny village’s Dachtoberfest this year was an experience we will not soon forget. The maestro’s soulful howling was accompanied, of course, by Captain “Borg Face” Picard (tenor) and the Marquis De Sade on lead guitar (his Sado-Masolicks are to die for!), as well as their backing orchestra, The Little Horde—which, I was surprised to learn, really is a little h10orde of orphan scamps who play weird instruments. There’s a young girl, for instance, who just pours blue paint on a snare drum while a pack of hounds chase a Jazz Rabbit around in 5/3 time. There’s another rabble of rapscallions who do nothing but slap a giraffe’s tits back and forth for the duration of the show. It was one of the most amazing performances our tiny stage has ever hosted. The surprising star of the night, however, was J.S. Dach’s opening act: Primitive Blacksmith Derek. Now, I’ve never been to Vegas, but those that have said that PBD was way better than the Blue Man Group—you know, those guys that paint themselves up all blue and bang on stuff? It’s difficult to describe Derek’s music except that it’s very percussive, and almost sounds electronic at times, but it’s all made with primitive analog instruments—primarily a forge, fire, anvil, and hammer. I understand it’s an entirely new genre of music being dubbed Ludtron (short for Luddite Electronica). During the show, actors and other musicians act out scenes from Derek’s life while he bangs out a real hammer, then a sword, on the anvil in his forge. Despite the tragedies that unfold around him, he perseveres and uses his hammer to build a magnificent bridge across the stage. Then he leaves his forge, strides across the bridge, and, once he reaches the other side, he jams the hot sword he just smithed up his butt and dies. It sounds terrible, I know, but it was quite beautiful. I get goosebumps just thinking about it.
Pinocchio explains the Holy Trinity to Picasso’s Monkey over dinner: the Father, Santa Claus, gave some old cookies and lumps of coal to his Son, Pinnochio, who then jammed them in His toaster. After 666 minutes of toasting, and some magical chemical reactions (the Toaster Wizard is another story entirely), the old cookies and lumps of coal were transformed into the Holy Toast, or what is now known as the “Moon” and its “Anti-Moon”—two sides of the same coin. The Toaster blasted the Holy Toast high into the sky and to this day the Moon is hotly pursued by Maggie (nee Mánagarmr, the world’s first wolf), while its other half, the Anti-Moon, is held hostage by Lucy The Dragon (a younger cousin of The Loch Ness Monster, Nessie). “All three of us,” Pinocchio said, “will eventually be swallowed by a great whale that will poop us out in the Seas under the North Pole, and then the whole thing will start all over again, ad infinitum.” So, in conclusion, Santa and Pinocchio artificially inseminate a kitchen appliance that gives birth to the Holy Toast, all three—the Father, the Son, and the Holy Toast—are swallowed by a Leviathan, and then deposited in a great pile of poop at the bottom of the Sea under the North Pole. Shortly after Picasso’s Monkey relates this story to his master, cubism is born.
In an upcoming film about dach metal giants, WienerschnitzHELL, behind-the-scenes footage and interviews reveal a band that was in complete chaos while they were in the studio writing and recording their magnum opus of radish patch techno, “The Flight Of The Turnip Princess.” Metatron’s Cube, who writes all the lyrics and is known as the band’s Voice Of Nothing And The Sound Of Silence, was frequently absent from the recording sessions because she became deeply involved in Sacred Geometry and was too busy with real estate speculation in another dimension. The lead guitar player, Wolfgang Pugilisky, was practically useless because he was injecting a potent concoction of navy bean soup laced with spider webs he farmed behind his toilet. As a result, he was convinced that he was an ancient bronze statue of a Greek God that had been reincarnated in a Native American child who rode a motorcycle around a graveyard in the desert. Vicious Sintaur, usually the band’s most colorful musician, was constantly drunk on a strange brew made from floor stew and fermented earwax. That wasn’t a problem in itself (he was almost always drunk), the problem was that he had seen a Cirque De Soleil show in Las Vegas and insisted, often violently, that the band should incorporate more circus tricks and acrobatics into their onstage performances. Saint Pinocchio and his girlfriend Sweetums had devised a way of untangling the red lines from candy canes which they then crushed into a powder and smoked in a mistletoe cigarette—they said it allowed them to communicate with bees on the moon. Even J.S. Dach, usually the voice of reason in the group, became addicted to a strange mixture of old Halloween candy and his own farts. It’s a miracle they were able to complete “The Flight Of The Turnip Princess,” an album that changed the face of music. “Concerto In Fart #: The WienerschnitzHELL Dachumentary” airs next month on PBS.to his Son, Pinnochio, who then jammed them in His toaster. After 666 minutes of toasting, and some magical chemical reactions (the Toaster Wizard is another story entirely), the old cookies and lumps of coal were transformed into the Holy Toast, or what is now known as the “Moon” and its “Anti-Moon”—two sides of the same coin. The Toaster blasted the Holy Toast high into the sky and to this day the Moon is hotly pursued by Maggie (nee Mánagarmr, the world’s first wolf), while its other half, the Anti-Moon, is held hostage by Lucy The Dragon (a younger cousin of The Loch Ness Monster, Nessie). “All three of us,” Pinocchio said, “will eventually be swallowed by a great whale that will poop us out in the Seas under the North Pole, and then the whole thing will start all over again, ad infinitum.” So, in conclusion, Santa and Pinocchio artificially inseminate a kitchen appliance that gives birth to the Holy Toast, all three—the Father, the Son, and the Holy Toast—are swallowed by a Leviathan, and then deposited in a great pile of poop at the bottom of the Sea under the North Pole. Shortly after Picasso’s Monkey relates this story to his master, cubism is born.
Early in our galaxy’s history, a giant peach-shaped meteor, piloted by a young child named James and his crew of insects, happened to do a fly-by and evacuated all of the waste and garbage aboard their flying stone fruit. In so doing, James and his giant peach deposited the chemical building blocks necessary for the creation of rainbows in our heavens. The task of constructing the Rainbows is handled every morning by an army of Wieners flying around in ice cream cones. The Ice Cream Cone Wiener Gang is in the employ of a Little Horde of child-like creatures that reside in a village on the side of a cliff in a remote corner of the Fa-RRT666 constellation. All of the children in the Little Horde are born with their heads turned inside out and thus everyone in the community knows what everyone else is thinking. The Rainbows that fill the sky are for their enjoyment during the Morning Parade so that they can begin their day in good spirit. The Rainbow shrapnel scatters the grounds and so after the parade it is collected by an ancient ancestor of the race of Old Ones, a female, who they call Miss Dinah Sawyer (who, interestingly, is also distant relative of Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn’s close friend and a modern day warrior with a mean, mean stride). Miss Sawyer gathers the little bits of Rainbow and feeds them to her circus elephant, Ganesha, who gobbles ‘em up like peanuts. Because of Miss Sawyer’s age, she often forgets that Ganesha has a sensitive tummy and can suffer from severe bouts of diarrhea after eating Rainbow snacks. It’s okay, though, because the mess is always cleaned up by the frat boys who attend the Wittenburg School Of The Dark Arts and live in the old frat house on Nirvana Lake. The frat boys refurbish Ganesha’s dung and transform the excrement into planets that are capable of supporting Life, which they then sell as kits to neighboring startup galaxies. And that’s where Earth comes from: rainbows and elephant poop.
Unlike most rescues, our brontosaurus really was a rescue. Our friend Stacy found him in an alleyway in Compton—a tributary of the La Brea Tar Pits, I imagine? He was covered in tar, his eyes weren’t yet open, and he was barely alive. More importantly, he was blocking traffic. Stacy scooped him up and took him to the vet. When Stacy was filling out the paperwork she wrote “Lobster” in the space for “pet’s name.” Stacy loves Red Lobster. So we think she was hungry. When the vet came into the reception area and called for the patient, “Lobster?” everyone chuckled, and that sealed the deal: the dinosaur’s name is Lobster—“Lobster,” what a stupid name for a brontosaurus from Compton. As expected, the dachshund didn’t much care for his new roommate when we got home and has asked several times a day since, “When’s his mom gonna come pick him up?” And that’s why we suspect the dachshund had something to do with Lobster’s disappearance. In fact we think the dachshund put the dinosaur in his time machine. We have steadfastly refused to believe that the contraption he’s always tinkering with is a working time machine, but we’re having a hard time maintaining this opinion in the face of recent facts. Last week, for instance, Lobster was gone for a couple days and when he turned up he looked pretty frazzled and he was wearing a tattered Civil War uniform. Which side was the grey team? The Confederates? Oh, so he’s a racist dinosaur? (Redundant?) Anyway, we put up signs around the neighborhood, which, to be honest, we had a little chuckle while making: “LOST: BRONTOSAURUS.” I was going to write “LOST: THUNDER LIZARD,” which is what brontosaurus means, but I thought the neighbors might not get it, or think it’s a prank, or something. They’ll probably think it’s a prank anyway because how do you lose one of the largest animals to have ever walked the Earth? That’s why we have to consider the time machine a real possibility: Lobster could be anywhen. He was last seen around November 14 in a daily dachshund calendar, but he could be on any day in any calendar from any year. If you see him in your past, present, or future, please call us in the now. Danke.
You may have one of these floating around inside of you right now. They’re known as Lil Weenies: biochemical computers that operate on a subatomic level. And someone, or something, has been implanting them in newborn babies across the world since at least 1969. Scientists say the Lil Weenies began as a DNA molecule harvested from a subtraction sign in a third grade-level math problem which was then combined with proteins from a crack in a stump that was used as a milking stool in a dairy barn at an agricultural university. Once the synthesis between the minus sign and the crack occurred, it quickly evolved into a subatomic microorganism with a chemical profile that is distinctly long, yet very short—much like a dachshund, hence the nickname, Lil Weenies. How they got into our systems, and what they’re doing, nobody knows, but they exist in a surprisingly large portion of the population. While their ultimate purpose is yet unknown, Lil Weenies have been observed drawing on the internal walls of veins and arteries with their lipstick rockets. It’s been likened to “quantum graffiti,” but some of the observed “tagging” appears to be a form of poetry about sublime pastoral landscapes. There is also evidence to suggest that the Lil Weenie’s biochemical processing system is emitting gases composed of proteins from Wood, Wieners, and Whipstick (WWW)—the basic building blocks of the internet. There is a radical theory that not only did Lil Weenie gases create the internet, but that their emissions are the internet itself. Lil Weenies have so far proven indestructible, although they have exhibited a susceptibility to severe cases of nuclear subatomic worms. As if having a tiny Lil Weenie cruising around in your veins wasn’t disturbing news enough, there are nuclear subatomic worms cruising around in its veins—and, presumably, being excreted into our veins. So, yeah, you probably have worms.
The mesmerizing song of the Siren, Lorelei, has lured sailors to their deaths for centuries. And then she eats the sailors. Everything except their wieners, which she arranges on glass shelves in a mirrored hutch. Every other part of the dead sailor is ground up and shaped into patties to become her (self-proclaimed) “world famous” Sailor Burgers. Many years ago, Lorelei invited her neighbors, the Dwarves who lived in the mine next door, over for a BBQ. Even though she said she was serving her “world famous Sailor Burgers,” they didn’t learn ‘til much later that the burgers were actually comprised of ground up sailor meat. The Dwarves avoided Lorelei after that and politely declined any further invitations until she eventually let them be and they quietly coexisted in silence beneath the Rhine. If only the Wieners were lucky enough to have been ground up into Sailor Burgers, for the existence they suffered in Lorelei’s hutch was a fate far worse than death: each of the specimens in her trophy case was possessed by the conscious spirit of its former owner, yet because of a Siren Spell they were rendered limp and inert, unable to move or cry for help. Then one day the Dwarves heard a cacophony of deafening noises coming from Lorelei’s place, and despite their fear of the crazy Siren lady, it was too much to ignore. When they arrived they found the place in total disarray and a swarm of Wieners were running around barking, and dancing, and peeing on everything, just trashing the place. In the middle of the room the great Siren lay snoring in her bed. Apparently the Siren’s Spell is only active when she is awake. And while it’s generally believed that Sirens never sleep, the truth is they do tend to doze off for a couple of days once every 100 years or so. The Dwarves went and got their instruments and they all had a great big party celebrating the Wieners’ freedom all while barking at passing ships warning them to git, go on git. And so it is said, when Sirens sleep, their Wieners will sing.
My friend’s mother was born with the ability to know exactly where and what was on the other side of the Earth directly below her. If I were to poop my pants, for instance, and that poop shot down my pant leg, then dropped straight down into the Earth and continued travelling through the center of the planet and popped out the other side, my friend’s mother would be able to supply me with the exact coordinates of where my poop would emerge. She said she was part tree. Because that is of course what trees do: they’re like spaceships blasting off in slow motion, but in the opposite direction of what you imagine. They’re going down—or up the other way, however you like to look at it—burrowing straight under the blanket of Earth to enjoy a little nap at the center of the world before continuing on to the other side. Switch stance spaceships. She would tell us that there is a little Faerie House at the core of every tree and that is the control center for the Root Rocket that is piloted by a Hund who is driving the whole hullaballoo to the Hunderworld, a journey that takes millions of years. She described the Hunderworld as, “Kind of like Tolkien’s Middle Earth, but without the stupid.” Not sure what she meant by that, but that’s what she was going on about while we were grazing the livestock beneath a giant Sequoia on the outskirts of the Schwarzwald. “This Hund is going to New Zealand,” she announced proudly while patting the bark and staring up at the canopy. “Well, technically it’ll pop out in the South Pacific just east of New Zealand. Probably be a kelp forest when it gets there.” Then she licked the tree and began mimicking a rocket launch, “T-minus, ten, nine, eight, we have ignition sequence start, six, five…”
SETTING: Therapist’s office. Jove, Juno, and a marriage counselor are in the middle of a therapy session. Some microphones malfunctioned, however, so we only hear the therapist’s voice in this recording.
THERAPIST: Why don’t we begin with Juno telling me how she feels about Jove changing into a swan and seducing mortal women? … Okay, well if you two could lower your voices. Remember, this is a safe place and— … the species of bird really isn’t that important here— … okay, Juno? Juno? Please continue. Jove, let her finish. Thank you. Juno you were saying that you wanted to punish the mortal woman, but not Jove. Why? … Wait—back up: you condemned the mortal woman, Jove’s lover, to beat a dead horse for eternity and—a pile of cows, sorry—so she was condemned for eternity to beat a pile of cows with a dead horse? … Whack-A-Mole? No I don’t know what Whack-A-Mole is … Oh, so they were Helios’ cattle? I see, I see. And if Helios doesn’t receive retribution for his cattle, then he’ll go down to the Underworld and shine His light on the Dead, and this causes problems for Jove. Got it. And— … No I am not taking Jove’s side, I’m not taking anyone’s side, and I believe you have the right to be angry at Jove for being unfaithful, but, as Jove pointed out, when you seek revenge you use methods that are, shall we say, unsound … I agree, it’s very strange that a woman would have relations with a bird, but she wasn’t in control of her own faculties when she was seduced by a God … Jove? Jove? I’m well aware of the time that she blinded your friend Tiresias, but let’s just—I know, she has hurt a lot of people, you both have—but let’s just focus here on the bird incident and the dead horse, mkay? Juno, if I asked Jove what the most hurtful thing you’ve done is, what do you think he’d say? … Jove? Please. I realize she’s your sister, but we’re talking about your marriage here? … Jove? Remember what we said about lightning bolts in the office? … Jove!
In the Old Days the Sun did not cross the sky during the Winter months and most of the citizens of the Vegetable Patch would die during the long, cold, dark months. They prayed for the Sun, but their prayers went unanswered. So they called the Temple’s customer service line. “Please listen to the entire menu as our selections have changed. For status updates on prayers related to Disasters, press one. For Financial prayers, press two. For prayers related to Sports or Romance, press three. For prayers related to Weather, press four—” Four! More Sun! After a number of misdirected transfers, wrong departments, and unsupportive supervisors, the Vegetable’s patience with the Temple’s dysfunctional automated phone system paid off (they’re vegetables, they have nothing but patience) and they were awarded an appointment with Dox Pollo, the Executive Managing Director of the Weather Department. The delegate the Vegetables chose to represent them was none other than the esteemed Count Broccula. In their closed door meeting, Dox Pollo explained to the Count that Winter is caused because the Helios Horse is pooped after Summer and needs to hibernate, plus there are long standing deals in place with the Moon Lobby (headed by Dox Pollo’s crazy sister, Lunadox), and the Fog Faction, as well as the Cloud Congress, none of whom will give in to any deal that cuts into their Darkness and Gloom. Count Broccula is a fierce negotiator and he said that if the Helios Horse didn’t fly across the sky during Winter at least for a few hours a day, then he’d make sure the old mare never saw another carrot for the rest of its life. To sweeten the deal, Count Broccula agreed to keep the Moon and the Clouds and the Fog and the Darkness company for the rest of Eternity if only his beloved Vegetable Patch could get a little Sun during the Winter months. Dox Pollo was impressed with Broccula’s offer, and while he had to do a lot of wheeling and dealing, he was able to get the Moon and the Clouds and the Fog and the Darkness to allow the Helios Horse to prance across the sky during the Winter, if only for a few hours. And that’s why Winter days are so short and why Brocculas only come out at night.