A Work of Fiction in 7 Parts: Murder on the Edmonton Express – Part IV

FAST FOOD, SLOW DRINKS & DINOSAURS FOR HIRE

 So. There I was. Sitting on the john, reading the latest copy of Reader’s Digest, letting the flatulence out and contemplating the theories of the universe.  I belched, realising there are none.

I was in the drunk-tank at JFK international Airport somewhere in the US.  Everyone disappeared while going through customs while I was handcuffed to the toilet.  I can tell you I was not a happy crapper.

Pulling out my trusty hacksaw, (I won’t tell you from where) it took me all of a several moments to cut through the handcuffs, pull up my pants and fart before opening the door to see where I was.  Outside was the lounge to the Airport and everyone I ever knew was there.  Richard “Dick” Nixon, yup, the Big Dick himself was there.  Santa Clause, the Pirates of Penzance and three old colleagues of mine, Huey, Dewy, and Lewy.  They were all drinking a toast to the television they were watching. An announcer was speaking and I listened as I made a glass of Hooch and swallowed.

“And Dr. Peppa’s Mountain Dew Consortium fell apart today as the young woman, Sodium Chloride, addressed congress in a clear and concise way explained how Dr. Peppa’ is really dead and Mr. Christie, heir to the Hershey fortune and current president of the US, is guilty of the crime.  Sodium Chloride, dressed in a low-cut revealing more than I can say on television, charged Christie with treason…  The immediate response of the US congress was to Impeach the President for sleeping around with Hilary Clinton and Monica Lewinsky.  The President retaliated by launching miniature used condoms into the House of Representatives and leaving on a plane to Jamaica.  All this happening at the JFK International…”

I coughed up my Hooch and looked around.  I understood why everyone I know is here in this lounge to say goodbye to Christie.  I didn’t tell you, everyone I know is an enemy   except Queenie, Salt and Fantom.  Suddenly, the huge doors open at the other end of the room and as sure as my gold tooth has been replaced thousands of times, Christie himself walks into the room.  Gomer Pile gives the man a box of chocolates, Frank Sinatra offers him a song and Beaker (the MiB from way back in Part I) hands him the keys to a classy Plane.  The man boards and flies away, myself shooting at him with my Armalite rifle… the plane leaves, I turn around from the huge observation windows and crap my drawers, which I should have done while I was sitting locked up on the john.

Ever have one of those nightmares where every monster you can think of is in your room, staring at you, wanting to remove the skin from your body while you are still living? Yeah? Well… I’m there now and I have no clue how to get out of this one… Any suggestions?

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About jsmeraka

A writer and all-round contrarian, I've worked in and out of government and the private sector, shared radical thoughts on political and global change and aimed to live on the fringe of political and creative thought. That doesn't mean I do. I just hope so.
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