Promcoming, Nick Tischer
Alice Gothica (Part Two), Lauren Masterson
Alice Gothica (Part Two), Cont'd
A Corny Story, Alison Burzd
A Corny Story, Cont'd
Bomb Scare During Fantasia 2000, Taegan Harker
Audabe For a Friend, Taegan Harker
Poem About The Dog, Adam Lizakowski
Poem About The Stork, Adam Lizakowski
Mathematics, JANEisnotplain
F=ma, JANEisnotplain
The Longing Adventures of a Perplexed Gourd, Laura Rynberg
Instrument of War, Joshua McCool
Haikus, Joshua McCool
Editrice Note: Editor's Not=EditorS Note
Issue Three Cover and Art
Showing posts with label Issue 3 (Prom) May 2009. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Issue 3 (Prom) May 2009. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Cover and inside pictures for Issue 3
Hi all! This is a post for all of you who are only able to read The Toucan online. Part of this issue's prom theme is a special cover. What is this cover? See for yourself.
Our beloved mascot has indeed donned a prom dress. I'm quite keen on it and anyone who doesn't like it can take it up with me. Seriously, it's my doodle. I won't be offended if you don't like my reluctant cross-dressing toucan.The next piece on the hit parade is a mate to “The Longing Adventures of a Perplexed Gourd”. I warned you that if we didn't get more submissions that I'd write more. I should have warned you that I draw nonsense as well. It isn't coloured because this is how it is featured in The Toucan, and colour ink can get pricey. Anyway, here it is.
So there you have it. This makes the issue officially complete. Enjoy!
P.S. If you want to say something, please do. Authors and artists generally like people feeling strongly about their work to say something about it. All the comment silence has been driving me up the wall, personally.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Back Page--Editor's not=EditorS NOTE
There should be lots of good news for you Toucan fans. You should be hearing about our release party/reading, acclaim, national distribution and submissions from T.S Eliot…FOOLED YA! T.S Eliot’s DEAD. It’s not April, heck, it’s not even May 1st anymore, but May 1st reminds me of our first piece of good news—it’s Laura Rynberg’s birthday. Who’s she, you may ask, and why would my normally only slightly insane fave lit mag advertise her birthday? Well, she’s our lovely new editor, or, as she’d say, editrice. She’s an artist by trade (avant-garde artiste to you hoi polloi), but she packs a mean punch. With forks. And her abbreviation is TM, for “taxidermy mosquito”. Oh, never mind, let her talk: Hullo. Some of you may already know who I am, but I'll introduce myself anyway. I was a part of a traveling circus in the freak show (obviously for my writing skills). Liz got me out of the show and took me in as editrice and part-time page-filler. My silly doodles grace one of the pages in this fantastic publication in order to match the silly poem. In interest of space I'll stop while I'm behind, and if you wish to know more, email The Toucan. Ta.
And now you know we’re going to gush about this issue. Basically, as a joke, TM and I are calling it the prom issue. It drifted this way with our first submission, the satirical “Promcoming”, and it just kept going with “A Corny Story”, which is only slightly corny. Plus, it’s prom season. Let me take this moment to remind you all not to drink and drive or buy neon orange tulle dresses. Some more high school memories: for me, math class was only good for poems. Poems, good, Calc BC…shudder. But yet I love the poem “mathematics”. In this issue, the poets stepped it up for sure. New and established voices abound, both with excitement. We might not have national distribution, but we have INTERNATIONAL submissions in “Bomb Scare” and “Aubade”. There’s poems for every palate (or palette), from the lovingly penned “Poem (s) about The Dog and Stork”, to haikus that are not just about nature anymore. “Corner Sweets”, anyone? And “The Longing Adventures of a Perplexed Gourd” needs no further …anything.
So, I suppose you want to know about the release party. So do we. Still in the works, proving difficult. We appreciate all of your suggestions. With the end of the semester, we’re up in the air, but we’ll see what we can do in the future. As always, drop us a line at mailto:thetoucanmag@gmail.%20com or on the blog, at thetoucanonline. blogspot.com. We’re thinking about an online-only summer edition with some backlogged work, so keep checking it out for that, and WE’LL keep you posted. I love the plural pronoun now, TM. And of course, SUBMIT!!! Guidelines on the blog, and send work to the email. Toodles, enjoy the sun. The Toucan will.
Regards, Liz AND Laura (or TM), Editrices Extraordinaire
And now you know we’re going to gush about this issue. Basically, as a joke, TM and I are calling it the prom issue. It drifted this way with our first submission, the satirical “Promcoming”, and it just kept going with “A Corny Story”, which is only slightly corny. Plus, it’s prom season. Let me take this moment to remind you all not to drink and drive or buy neon orange tulle dresses. Some more high school memories: for me, math class was only good for poems. Poems, good, Calc BC…shudder. But yet I love the poem “mathematics”. In this issue, the poets stepped it up for sure. New and established voices abound, both with excitement. We might not have national distribution, but we have INTERNATIONAL submissions in “Bomb Scare” and “Aubade”. There’s poems for every palate (or palette), from the lovingly penned “Poem (s) about The Dog and Stork”, to haikus that are not just about nature anymore. “Corner Sweets”, anyone? And “The Longing Adventures of a Perplexed Gourd” needs no further …anything.
So, I suppose you want to know about the release party. So do we. Still in the works, proving difficult. We appreciate all of your suggestions. With the end of the semester, we’re up in the air, but we’ll see what we can do in the future. As always, drop us a line at mailto:thetoucanmag@gmail.%20com or on the blog, at thetoucanonline. blogspot.com. We’re thinking about an online-only summer edition with some backlogged work, so keep checking it out for that, and WE’LL keep you posted. I love the plural pronoun now, TM. And of course, SUBMIT!!! Guidelines on the blog, and send work to the email. Toodles, enjoy the sun. The Toucan will.
Regards, Liz AND Laura (or TM), Editrices Extraordinaire
Page 24--Haikus--Joshua Chas McCool
Child in China
A child in China
Dreams of American boys
Kissing Canada.
Corner Sweets
Honey had a fee.
15 dollars was the price.
Well you can’t beat that.
A child in China
Dreams of American boys
Kissing Canada.
Corner Sweets
Honey had a fee.
15 dollars was the price.
Well you can’t beat that.
Page 22--Instrument of War--Joshua Chas McCool
There are many ways to fracture
The human bones,
And perhaps even more ways to fracture
The human heart.
I spat South
Africa inside the pastor’s mouth,
Modifying,
Morphine dripping into the eye
Lid of a melting pot.
The American Dream dangles from a firm branch,
Bowing, praising the Orange River.
Last night I walked out, stretched out
Parallel to the fresh baked pavement,
When a man with a sun fucked complexion, a yellow sun kissed jacket
yells out
“Hey you!”
Yeah?
“You one a them faggot lovers? I heard you was a faggot lover… Don’t you know that God made pussy for your salvation?”
I let language trigger the temple of my throat,
Vibrating the voices of the Maori ancestors,
Setting sun to gay lovers’ hieroglyphics painted on ghetto sidewalks and China’s exile line ups,
Dry blood peeking
through the cracks,
In surfaces, laboring palms of African tribes dilate from the various hues of my memory.
“Well,
One day,
I projected out of mamma’s brown pussy..
Musta been sweet cause she birthed a honey gem.
Been touched, been beat.
Born a warrior, a faggot to your hip-hop dreams.
Beat a drum.
Skin the concrete.
Recycle the child.
Illiterate the heart.
We are living in times of war.”
The human bones,
And perhaps even more ways to fracture
The human heart.
I spat South
Africa inside the pastor’s mouth,
Modifying,
Morphine dripping into the eye
Lid of a melting pot.
The American Dream dangles from a firm branch,
Bowing, praising the Orange River.
Last night I walked out, stretched out
Parallel to the fresh baked pavement,
When a man with a sun fucked complexion, a yellow sun kissed jacket
yells out
“Hey you!”
Yeah?
“You one a them faggot lovers? I heard you was a faggot lover… Don’t you know that God made pussy for your salvation?”
I let language trigger the temple of my throat,
Vibrating the voices of the Maori ancestors,
Setting sun to gay lovers’ hieroglyphics painted on ghetto sidewalks and China’s exile line ups,
Dry blood peeking
through the cracks,
In surfaces, laboring palms of African tribes dilate from the various hues of my memory.
“Well,
One day,
I projected out of mamma’s brown pussy..
Musta been sweet cause she birthed a honey gem.
Been touched, been beat.
Born a warrior, a faggot to your hip-hop dreams.
Beat a drum.
Skin the concrete.
Recycle the child.
Illiterate the heart.
We are living in times of war.”
Page 20--The Longing Adventures of a Perplexed Gourd--Laura Rynberg
As I writty wratty wrote
In a bungled cordial chair
A whittle man came on a goat
Who had naught but one hair
‘Comey hither little toad’
The man did say to me
‘And trot down this bendy road
Till those thinky thoughts are free’
‘Who do you believe you are?’
Said I thinking myself wise
‘I’ve yet to figure that out so far’
He squarked with inkling in his eyes
So upsy we bobbled down the lane
Every stepping step onward still
‘What a distance!’ I did complain
As we sledded up a hill
‘Take this single hair from my steed’
Whittle man said as he handed it to me
‘It will bring you everything you knead’
And he galumped away and up a tree
I stood in nowhere, goat hair in hand
Thinking where next to go
When along came a marching band
Who played songs we all did know
So I followed them about
Though their heart were sad and lone
They led me with purpose, no doubt
For I ended back with my own
In a bungled cordial chair
A whittle man came on a goat
Who had naught but one hair
‘Comey hither little toad’
The man did say to me
‘And trot down this bendy road
Till those thinky thoughts are free’
‘Who do you believe you are?’
Said I thinking myself wise
‘I’ve yet to figure that out so far’
He squarked with inkling in his eyes
So upsy we bobbled down the lane
Every stepping step onward still
‘What a distance!’ I did complain
As we sledded up a hill
‘Take this single hair from my steed’
Whittle man said as he handed it to me
‘It will bring you everything you knead’
And he galumped away and up a tree
I stood in nowhere, goat hair in hand
Thinking where next to go
When along came a marching band
Who played songs we all did know
So I followed them about
Though their heart were sad and lone
They led me with purpose, no doubt
For I ended back with my own
Page 19--F=ma*--JANEisnotplain
the lines of light follow the
destination of coveted importance
reliance on the slimming derivatives
of newton’s escapism is so
far beyond cognition that
it may in fact be light years
away from chemical bound sanity
such that if nirvana came in a pill form
the reality of abnormalities
would in fact be infinite
*where F is force, m is mass and a is acceleration
destination of coveted importance
reliance on the slimming derivatives
of newton’s escapism is so
far beyond cognition that
it may in fact be light years
away from chemical bound sanity
such that if nirvana came in a pill form
the reality of abnormalities
would in fact be infinite
*where F is force, m is mass and a is acceleration
Page 18--mathematics--JANEisnotplain
mathematics is considered a dry discipline
depleted of life. devoid of emotion.
alive in weird scientific minds.
guarded by chaos.
mathematics is a higher order
of clarity and holy reference
a swirl of countable channels
for primitive line segments to
manifest in didactic series
of misguided well intentioned
left-handed-ness.
but mathematics really is a
beautiful means of calculating
abstract concepts infinite-ly
intense non-sense on the
relationship binding slope
of tangent line to the area
below the curve to the unseen
notion of sums overflowing
with wanting.
mathematics is simply beautifully complex
depleted of life. devoid of emotion.
alive in weird scientific minds.
guarded by chaos.
mathematics is a higher order
of clarity and holy reference
a swirl of countable channels
for primitive line segments to
manifest in didactic series
of misguided well intentioned
left-handed-ness.
but mathematics really is a
beautiful means of calculating
abstract concepts infinite-ly
intense non-sense on the
relationship binding slope
of tangent line to the area
below the curve to the unseen
notion of sums overflowing
with wanting.
mathematics is simply beautifully complex
Page 17--Poem About The Stork--Adam Lizakowski
It is hard to image a world without the stork.
Your long red legs, beak and white feathers.
When I was very young my mother told me about you,
I listened to her stories,
you were described to babies.
But today the young people made love
did not even think about you standing on one leg
on the banks of murky water
or clattering from the high chimney.
In my dreams I see you circling about a pond.
The hay smells so good,
the world seems to be so happy,
a dog looks straight at you.
And like the old Odysseus come back to your Ithaca,
with your sharp beak like a sword
counting things on the face of Earth,
what do you think?
For centuries people talked about you
as a symbol of sexual productivity.
But you are so real even though you are from
the fable stories kingdom. I believed in you
when I saw for the first time a couple
disappearing in a pile of hay.
Your long red legs, beak and white feathers.
When I was very young my mother told me about you,
I listened to her stories,
you were described to babies.
But today the young people made love
did not even think about you standing on one leg
on the banks of murky water
or clattering from the high chimney.
In my dreams I see you circling about a pond.
The hay smells so good,
the world seems to be so happy,
a dog looks straight at you.
And like the old Odysseus come back to your Ithaca,
with your sharp beak like a sword
counting things on the face of Earth,
what do you think?
For centuries people talked about you
as a symbol of sexual productivity.
But you are so real even though you are from
the fable stories kingdom. I believed in you
when I saw for the first time a couple
disappearing in a pile of hay.
Page 16--Poem About The Dog--Adam Lizakowski
love –from the ancient time
the best friend of man
with the smiles full of teeth
happy as a dog tail
you whore son dog
but the fangs tore my bosom
and would not let go
who sharpens the teeth of knowledge:
dog of Aristotle’s patiently
jumping through the circle of fire
Genghis Khan dog’s barking at the moon
Promethean dog in human’s campfire
I like dogs they are
sharp teeth of knowledge
the best friend of man
with the smiles full of teeth
happy as a dog tail
you whore son dog
but the fangs tore my bosom
and would not let go
who sharpens the teeth of knowledge:
dog of Aristotle’s patiently
jumping through the circle of fire
Genghis Khan dog’s barking at the moon
Promethean dog in human’s campfire
I like dogs they are
sharp teeth of knowledge
Page 14--Aubade For A Friend--Taegan Harker
1.
Days pass, then you’ll occur to me again,
and I lose you afresh every time.
2.
I’m awake at five a.m., remembering
how you’d recommend walks at this hour,
when the sky’s the colour of sea salt.
I used to dream about us walking
at the same time, on opposite sides of town;
a togetherness – only imagined – that would ache like grief.
3.
I fly out in a few days. I’ll probably stick with tradition:
text you the morning I leave, wonder
if, for one reason or another, it’ll be the final goodbye.
So, I’ll make it a good one. Then my phone’ll be off,
now able to tolerate the greyscale acres of check-in and departure.
4.
After months of barely speaking,
you drove to pick me up from my mother’s hospital bedside.
We stopped at a red light on an empty street.
Your eyes had shifted to dove-grey, from blue.
5.
I can’t remember when I told you she’d died.
I remember wanting you minutes after it happened,
I wanted you there to lie to me:
tell me I was pale, and needed to rest,
tell me the world would seem washed-out in the days to come.
You would have created normalcy –
to make me feel I was reacting right, to keep me calm and safe –
you would have made my comeback slower,
but at least you would’ve been there.
6.
It was nothing, really. Promise.
Go back to sleep; turn over in your bed
and find the colder side of the pillow.
You don’t need to worry. This was nothing.
Not the nightingale or the lark.
We were just a noise in the dark,
a noise in the heart, that used to be a song.
Before nothing can be done for us both,
I’ll leave quietly, so we can finally see morning.
Days pass, then you’ll occur to me again,
and I lose you afresh every time.
2.
I’m awake at five a.m., remembering
how you’d recommend walks at this hour,
when the sky’s the colour of sea salt.
I used to dream about us walking
at the same time, on opposite sides of town;
a togetherness – only imagined – that would ache like grief.
3.
I fly out in a few days. I’ll probably stick with tradition:
text you the morning I leave, wonder
if, for one reason or another, it’ll be the final goodbye.
So, I’ll make it a good one. Then my phone’ll be off,
now able to tolerate the greyscale acres of check-in and departure.
4.
After months of barely speaking,
you drove to pick me up from my mother’s hospital bedside.
We stopped at a red light on an empty street.
Your eyes had shifted to dove-grey, from blue.
5.
I can’t remember when I told you she’d died.
I remember wanting you minutes after it happened,
I wanted you there to lie to me:
tell me I was pale, and needed to rest,
tell me the world would seem washed-out in the days to come.
You would have created normalcy –
to make me feel I was reacting right, to keep me calm and safe –
you would have made my comeback slower,
but at least you would’ve been there.
6.
It was nothing, really. Promise.
Go back to sleep; turn over in your bed
and find the colder side of the pillow.
You don’t need to worry. This was nothing.
Not the nightingale or the lark.
We were just a noise in the dark,
a noise in the heart, that used to be a song.
Before nothing can be done for us both,
I’ll leave quietly, so we can finally see morning.
Page 13--Bomb Scare During Fantasia 2000--Taegan Harker
The announcement comes quietly in the last twenty minutes,
of seventy, right in the middle of the Firebird Suite.
We stay where we are. Mom and I say nothing to each other,
but lean a little closer.
The other few members of the audience murmur,
but still face the screen.
We watch the Firebird. We watch the credits.
We watch them graciously re-run the reel for us.
Gershwin plays again.
What’s happening out there?
I’m twelve, and the youngest here.
Preoccupied with numbers, counting up, counting down.
Even after three hours we sit in silence.
There must be silence for the screen.
There must be silence, phones must be turned off.
We watch the Carnival of the Animals again.
We watch the inappropriate yo-yo.
We say nothing. Am I the only one who can’t buy escapism right now?
What’s happening out there?
Maybe I’m the only one here wondering
if eight-foot dancing flamingos will be the last thing we see.
of seventy, right in the middle of the Firebird Suite.
We stay where we are. Mom and I say nothing to each other,
but lean a little closer.
The other few members of the audience murmur,
but still face the screen.
We watch the Firebird. We watch the credits.
We watch them graciously re-run the reel for us.
Gershwin plays again.
What’s happening out there?
I’m twelve, and the youngest here.
Preoccupied with numbers, counting up, counting down.
Even after three hours we sit in silence.
There must be silence for the screen.
There must be silence, phones must be turned off.
We watch the Carnival of the Animals again.
We watch the inappropriate yo-yo.
We say nothing. Am I the only one who can’t buy escapism right now?
What’s happening out there?
Maybe I’m the only one here wondering
if eight-foot dancing flamingos will be the last thing we see.
Page 10--A Corny Story, Cont'd--Allison Burzd
The first thing I saw when we entered the lobby (I haven’t been to a movie out in quite a while) was a sign saying No Outside Food Or Drink. I had completely forgotten about that. You would think I would have thought about this sooner, given my anathema for movie theatre popcorn, but something was always stopping me. Frantically I tried to think of loopholes, but the best I could come up with was that the popcorn was not really “outside” anything, it was inside a bag. And my sweatshirt.
“Miss?”
“Aagh!” I said, looking up expecting to be poked in the belly with a movie theatre cop’s pistol.
“Don’t get out much, do you?” Lindsay snickered. “He wants you to pay him for the tickets.”
“Riight. Gift card!” The guy gave me a weird look and handed us two tickets for the next showing of “A Day In The Love.” I try not to argue with Lindsay. Sometimes she scares me. The guy looked familiar, though. Like I might have seen him before, in a hallway, somewhere. Not the library. School. Had to be it. I didn’t say anything. The guy who took our tickets and made no comment about my swollen sweatshirt also had that same déjà vu look.
“Dude, let’s get popcorn.” Lindsay said, shoving me toward the concession stand. “And drinks.”
“I—“ Suddenly I stopped. Could the guy at the register possibly be none other than Nick Anthony, the only thin guy I’ve ever talked to? The guy I was supposed to go to prom with, until he ditched me to go to Wisconsin. OH MY GOD! It was! Aagh!
“Hellooo, Sam, popcorn?” Lindsay had no idea what my problem was. I kept her away from Nick for good reason. How unbelievably awkward this was. I hadn’t talked to him since I went to prom all alone, danced with no one, and ate only three crappy h’oerderves.
“I don’t like popcorn.” I said in a small voice. “But I will have a drink.”
“Don’t ask for any of mine, then. Well God, Sam, don’t you ever get out? Go get your drink!”
“Okay.” I said robotically, and approached the counter while staring upward at the exorbitant prices, attempting to calculate how much I had left on my gift card (5 dollars) and how much the smallest drink was (with tax, more than five dollars), which resulted in me walking awkwardly into the register as Lindsay hooted. My last coherent thought before I was banged in the head by a scanner was, am I really girly and dumb and shallow enough to ask Nick for a discount?
“Oops.” said Nick with a smile as I knocked over his price display. “Hi, Sam.” This oops was a new Nick. Previously he would have just collapsed into high-pitched laughter. I really know how to pick ‘em.
“Um, hi, I’ll have a small Coke.” I said, figuring I could hit Lindsay up for the difference.
“Sure, comin’ right up.” he said, with the sound of confidence in his voice. I completely did not want to say anything to him, so I sort of stared at one of the other guys who was…ugh…pumping fake butter on a bucket of movie theatre popcorn. Probably Lindsay’s. My stomach began to feel as if it were sliding out of my sweatshirt, slippery from all the oil….
No, that was just my bag of organic popcorn, falling to the ground with a soft crunch. I must have jarred it loose when I walked into the register. I have never seen Lindsay speechless in her life, but she paused, a handful of lard-encrusted yellow corn dung halfway to her mouth.
“I thought you didn’t like popcorn?” She said after a minute.
I sort of shrugged and bent over to pick the bag up. When I straightened, I saw all the aproned teenage attendants had stopped putting cheese on nachos, Coke in cups, and butter on popcorn to stare at me.
“Um,” one of them said. “You know you’re not supposed to have that.”
I can get very sarcastic when the mood takes me, and especially when confronted with statements worthy of Captain Obvious. “Um,” I replied, “why do you think I was hiding it my sweatshirt?”
“You know we’re going to have to take that.” he said, completely missing my own Captain Obvious rejoinder.
“The popcorn or my sweatshirt?” I said, figuring if he couldn’t get my sarcasm, he might need a clarification as well as me.
“The popcorn.”
“Oh.” I looked around. Life in the concession stand (if it was intelligent to begin with) had resumed during our brief exchange. Nick was coming over with my Coke. Now was the time to be girly, dumb and shallow. “Nick? Can’t I keep my popcorn?”
“Nope.” He said, setting the Coke on the counter and pushing a button on his register. Now I felt like an idiot. I had just sacrificed my status as an independent female for a lousy bag of organic popcorn and it failed. Meekly I placed the bag on the counter and resolved to quit the area as quickly as possible without spilling my Coke, which Lindsay had to pay part of.
“But, you can have a free Coke.”
“Oh,” I said, wondering about the sudden turn of events, “really?”
“And a free popcorn if you want.”
“Um, no thanks, Nick, I don’t like movie theatre popcorn. As you can tell.” I said with an insecure laugh. He picked up my Coke in his surprisingly large hands and bent over. “You know what?” He said as he held out the cup. “Neither do I.”
“Aagh.” I said for at least the fifth time that day. “Thanks.”
“No problem. It’s the least I can do. Enjoy the show.”
I smiled, waved at him with my Coke-free hand, and walked off to rejoin Lindsay who stood safely against an unoccupied Resident Evil VIII game with her mouth still handing wide open. I discerned…yuk, little yellow popcorn specks on the field of her tongue.
“He totally likes you.” she said, suddenly regaining her composure and cocksure attitude.
“No, he doesn’t, Linds.” I said. “Now shut up and enjoy the show.”
“Miss?”
“Aagh!” I said, looking up expecting to be poked in the belly with a movie theatre cop’s pistol.
“Don’t get out much, do you?” Lindsay snickered. “He wants you to pay him for the tickets.”
“Riight. Gift card!” The guy gave me a weird look and handed us two tickets for the next showing of “A Day In The Love.” I try not to argue with Lindsay. Sometimes she scares me. The guy looked familiar, though. Like I might have seen him before, in a hallway, somewhere. Not the library. School. Had to be it. I didn’t say anything. The guy who took our tickets and made no comment about my swollen sweatshirt also had that same déjà vu look.
“Dude, let’s get popcorn.” Lindsay said, shoving me toward the concession stand. “And drinks.”
“I—“ Suddenly I stopped. Could the guy at the register possibly be none other than Nick Anthony, the only thin guy I’ve ever talked to? The guy I was supposed to go to prom with, until he ditched me to go to Wisconsin. OH MY GOD! It was! Aagh!
“Hellooo, Sam, popcorn?” Lindsay had no idea what my problem was. I kept her away from Nick for good reason. How unbelievably awkward this was. I hadn’t talked to him since I went to prom all alone, danced with no one, and ate only three crappy h’oerderves.
“I don’t like popcorn.” I said in a small voice. “But I will have a drink.”
“Don’t ask for any of mine, then. Well God, Sam, don’t you ever get out? Go get your drink!”
“Okay.” I said robotically, and approached the counter while staring upward at the exorbitant prices, attempting to calculate how much I had left on my gift card (5 dollars) and how much the smallest drink was (with tax, more than five dollars), which resulted in me walking awkwardly into the register as Lindsay hooted. My last coherent thought before I was banged in the head by a scanner was, am I really girly and dumb and shallow enough to ask Nick for a discount?
“Oops.” said Nick with a smile as I knocked over his price display. “Hi, Sam.” This oops was a new Nick. Previously he would have just collapsed into high-pitched laughter. I really know how to pick ‘em.
“Um, hi, I’ll have a small Coke.” I said, figuring I could hit Lindsay up for the difference.
“Sure, comin’ right up.” he said, with the sound of confidence in his voice. I completely did not want to say anything to him, so I sort of stared at one of the other guys who was…ugh…pumping fake butter on a bucket of movie theatre popcorn. Probably Lindsay’s. My stomach began to feel as if it were sliding out of my sweatshirt, slippery from all the oil….
No, that was just my bag of organic popcorn, falling to the ground with a soft crunch. I must have jarred it loose when I walked into the register. I have never seen Lindsay speechless in her life, but she paused, a handful of lard-encrusted yellow corn dung halfway to her mouth.
“I thought you didn’t like popcorn?” She said after a minute.
I sort of shrugged and bent over to pick the bag up. When I straightened, I saw all the aproned teenage attendants had stopped putting cheese on nachos, Coke in cups, and butter on popcorn to stare at me.
“Um,” one of them said. “You know you’re not supposed to have that.”
I can get very sarcastic when the mood takes me, and especially when confronted with statements worthy of Captain Obvious. “Um,” I replied, “why do you think I was hiding it my sweatshirt?”
“You know we’re going to have to take that.” he said, completely missing my own Captain Obvious rejoinder.
“The popcorn or my sweatshirt?” I said, figuring if he couldn’t get my sarcasm, he might need a clarification as well as me.
“The popcorn.”
“Oh.” I looked around. Life in the concession stand (if it was intelligent to begin with) had resumed during our brief exchange. Nick was coming over with my Coke. Now was the time to be girly, dumb and shallow. “Nick? Can’t I keep my popcorn?”
“Nope.” He said, setting the Coke on the counter and pushing a button on his register. Now I felt like an idiot. I had just sacrificed my status as an independent female for a lousy bag of organic popcorn and it failed. Meekly I placed the bag on the counter and resolved to quit the area as quickly as possible without spilling my Coke, which Lindsay had to pay part of.
“But, you can have a free Coke.”
“Oh,” I said, wondering about the sudden turn of events, “really?”
“And a free popcorn if you want.”
“Um, no thanks, Nick, I don’t like movie theatre popcorn. As you can tell.” I said with an insecure laugh. He picked up my Coke in his surprisingly large hands and bent over. “You know what?” He said as he held out the cup. “Neither do I.”
“Aagh.” I said for at least the fifth time that day. “Thanks.”
“No problem. It’s the least I can do. Enjoy the show.”
I smiled, waved at him with my Coke-free hand, and walked off to rejoin Lindsay who stood safely against an unoccupied Resident Evil VIII game with her mouth still handing wide open. I discerned…yuk, little yellow popcorn specks on the field of her tongue.
“He totally likes you.” she said, suddenly regaining her composure and cocksure attitude.
“No, he doesn’t, Linds.” I said. “Now shut up and enjoy the show.”
Page 8--A Corny Story--Allison Burzd
At the movie theatre I wish they had glass cups so you could watch the soda stratify into sugar and ice. But you merely have to imagine it taking place inside your ginormous big-ass cup they give you that if you stick it between your legs leaves a giant wet spot on your tight jeans and makes you really, really have to go the bathroom.
Actually, I hate movies, but I was only waiting outside the movie theatre because I got a twenty-buck gift card for volunteering at the library and my friend Lindsay said, “let’s go!” and I agreed because I was trying to be less nerdy, even though volunteering at a library wasn’t accomplishing that at all. Of course, I wanted to see the indie smash hit “Su Marido La Cucaracha” with subtitles and all. I’ve always aspired to see a movie with subtitles. But no, Lindsay wanted to see “A Day In The Love”, which was some sort of really romantic documentary about this couple who are Beatles fans and the girl is dying of a brain tumor. I was like, um, hasn’t this been done before, in both Love Story (okay, fine, she had leukemia, but she still was a Beatles fan), and Across the Universe (okay, fine, no one dies, but Beatles songs?). And I love the Beatles, but I love them too much to be subjected to cheesy tearjerking romance. It makes me want to sic John Lennon on someone.
“Bring money for popcorn.” Lindsay reminded me about three days before we went. I guess she was still in shock that I was actually going. So was I.
Can I admit something to you? Something that I’ve never told anyone else? Okay. Part of the reason I don’t like going to the movies is not just because I don’t like movies, but because movie theatre popcorn makes me want to hurl. Some people swear by movie theatre popcorn. Some people, if on death row, would request that their last meal was movie theater popcorn. I think one tub of movie theatre popcorn has more oil spilled on it than the Exxon Valdez released—and I’m an environmentalist. It just leaves this giant unpleasant grease slick on the back of your throat that watery Coke does nothing to ameliorate besides make you really have to pee when the Acromulantas are dropping down on Harry and Ron. Plus, it’s a nasty urine yellow. But that’s not the worst thing about movie theatre popcorn. The last time I went on a date the guy I was with (blind date) hurled scrambled eggs all over the backseat of my car. I think he was drunk, because when we went to IHOP (at 5 pm, mind you) he drank a whole pot of coffee, burped several times, and ordered a double order of scrambled eggs because he said his mom always used to make him 6 scrambled eggs for breakfast. I could believe that. He looked like he was about to lay 6 dozen. Why do I always get stuck going out with fat guys? Aggh! But anyway, while we were going twenty through his subdivision (he didn’t drive) he turned green, turned around, and puked all over my newly air-freshened cloth back seats. And…it sort of looked like movie theatre popcorn, even if it was a bit brown. And then there was the time my little brother stuck movie theatre popcorn up his nose during The Lion King, but we won’t get into that.
You know what though, I like popcorn. Really. Not so much the microwaveable kind, but the kind that comes in a big black bag from Trader Joe’s, isn’t urine colored/scrambled egg vomit yellow, and is only lightly salted and oiled. I just feel so…clean while eating it. Scrubbed. Cleansed. It is Snow White. I think I would request it for my last meal on Death Row: it may absolve me from my sins. And though movies aren’t on my top ten list of favorite things to do, eating popcorn with movies is. The last time I went to the movies with Lindsay she broke my heart…no, I’m not gay, I already told you a dating story. So anyway, we went to go see Harry Potter, and she bought this mongo tub of popcorn and offered me some. I was like, eew, but I didn’t say that since no one aside from you and me knows that I don’t like movie theatre popcorn, so I took a piece or two to be polite, felt the grease slick, slurped half my coke and let her have the rest. “Maybe later,” I said.
I don’t know about you but when they show the feast scenes in Harry Potter I always get really, really hungry, and we were at the matinee, I hadn’t eaten breakfast and we hadn’t had lunch, and Ron was eating two turkey legs at once, and I just knew at that moment, I could eat anything, including my empty Coke cup, my chair stuffing…and movie theatre popcorn. “Lindsay, can you pass the popcorn?” Mggmgf…yeah.” She shoved it in my lap, I reached my hand in, and it practically freefell only to reach a very greasy paper bottom with THREE popcorn kernels rolling around like ball bearings. And this was the feast scene in the beginning of the movie! My empty Coke cup was a little dry to the tongue.
So after that very sad experience, I decided to come up with a plan. I would bring my own damn popcorn. Popcorn that I actually liked. And Lindsay, the pig, wouldn’t have any. I forgot to mention that the guy who puked all over my car also ate the remains of my salad and as much as I love Lindsay, she’s about three hundred pounds. I have got to stop hanging out with fat people. Maybe they feel sorry for me. I’m actually a bit underweight for my age, but it’s because I’m tall and don’t like ice cream, French fries, McDonalds, or movie theater popcorn. Coke cups provide a lot of fiber. I went to Trader Joe’s and bought myself my very own bag of MY popcorn two days in advance. I brought it in, stuck in the pantry, and when the day arrived, went to grab it…and found it open. My little brother had gotten into it yesterday while I was at the library. Sigh…drive to TJ’s, buy ANOTHER bag of popcorn (the air had sort of gotten to the original bag because my brother’s a slob), and then onto the movie theater, speeding so I wouldn’t be late.
I parked my car very badly in the furthest row from the door so no one would hit me or I them and because I am a very bad parker, checked to make sure I had the gift card (I did), grabbed my popcorn, and locked my car. The chill wind hit me immediately as I bent over to make sure my door was locked, so I UNLOCKED my car, setting the alarm off in the process, and grabbed my Brookfield Zoo sweatshirt that I always keep in the back seat for situations like this. Setting the bag of popcorn and my purse down, I pulled it over my head, nearly strangling myself, and thus warmed, grabbed everything and headed toward the neon lights. We had arranged to meet in front of the doors.
Lindsay, of course, was late. The standing agreement was that you had to tell her an hour and a half before the real time you wanted her there. I had remembered to do that, but she still wasn’t in sight, and on the horizon, I love her dearly, but she’s hard to miss. So there I stood like an idiot in my Brookfield Zoo sweatshirt with a bag of organic unbuttered popcorn, checking my cell phone and coming up with creative swears under my breath while these totally hip and muscular guys joked and smoked in front of a movie poster for the Incredible Ganga Man or something.
After about 15 minutes it occurred to me that standing in front of the movie theatre with a bag of popcorn waiting for Lindsay was a bad idea. Lindsay was the kid in 3rd grade who if you didn’t like your peanut butter and relish sandwich, you’d give it to her and nibble on your Chips Ahoy while she inhaled it. Even though she would probably complain that my beloved TJ’s popcorn tasted like paper, she would eat it for lack of anything better to munch on. Once inside the show, though, it would be dark. The bag was black, she’d never notice it…and she’d have her own disgusting popcorn. Aha! A plan! I really am smart sometimes. Quickly I looked around for a hiding place. Purse too small, pink, and fashionable to fit popcorn bag three times its size without compressing popcorn in a trash compactor. Jeans pocket same problem. Sweatshirt big and baggy. Without hesitation I stuffed the bag up my sweatshirt, thus increasing my total girth 100%. Hopefully the hip boys didn’t notice. Perfect timing, as it turned out. Lindsay’s bright orange beater pulled up five minutes later.
“Sam! You gained weight? Am I late?”
“Um, no and yes….”
“Are you PREGNANT?” Lindsay has a really loud voice, and it carries, and the hip guys looked over, eager for a dirty topic of conversation.
“No…I…”
“’Nuff said. Let’s go get tickets.”
WHAT HAPPENS NEXT? CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT
Actually, I hate movies, but I was only waiting outside the movie theatre because I got a twenty-buck gift card for volunteering at the library and my friend Lindsay said, “let’s go!” and I agreed because I was trying to be less nerdy, even though volunteering at a library wasn’t accomplishing that at all. Of course, I wanted to see the indie smash hit “Su Marido La Cucaracha” with subtitles and all. I’ve always aspired to see a movie with subtitles. But no, Lindsay wanted to see “A Day In The Love”, which was some sort of really romantic documentary about this couple who are Beatles fans and the girl is dying of a brain tumor. I was like, um, hasn’t this been done before, in both Love Story (okay, fine, she had leukemia, but she still was a Beatles fan), and Across the Universe (okay, fine, no one dies, but Beatles songs?). And I love the Beatles, but I love them too much to be subjected to cheesy tearjerking romance. It makes me want to sic John Lennon on someone.
“Bring money for popcorn.” Lindsay reminded me about three days before we went. I guess she was still in shock that I was actually going. So was I.
Can I admit something to you? Something that I’ve never told anyone else? Okay. Part of the reason I don’t like going to the movies is not just because I don’t like movies, but because movie theatre popcorn makes me want to hurl. Some people swear by movie theatre popcorn. Some people, if on death row, would request that their last meal was movie theater popcorn. I think one tub of movie theatre popcorn has more oil spilled on it than the Exxon Valdez released—and I’m an environmentalist. It just leaves this giant unpleasant grease slick on the back of your throat that watery Coke does nothing to ameliorate besides make you really have to pee when the Acromulantas are dropping down on Harry and Ron. Plus, it’s a nasty urine yellow. But that’s not the worst thing about movie theatre popcorn. The last time I went on a date the guy I was with (blind date) hurled scrambled eggs all over the backseat of my car. I think he was drunk, because when we went to IHOP (at 5 pm, mind you) he drank a whole pot of coffee, burped several times, and ordered a double order of scrambled eggs because he said his mom always used to make him 6 scrambled eggs for breakfast. I could believe that. He looked like he was about to lay 6 dozen. Why do I always get stuck going out with fat guys? Aggh! But anyway, while we were going twenty through his subdivision (he didn’t drive) he turned green, turned around, and puked all over my newly air-freshened cloth back seats. And…it sort of looked like movie theatre popcorn, even if it was a bit brown. And then there was the time my little brother stuck movie theatre popcorn up his nose during The Lion King, but we won’t get into that.
You know what though, I like popcorn. Really. Not so much the microwaveable kind, but the kind that comes in a big black bag from Trader Joe’s, isn’t urine colored/scrambled egg vomit yellow, and is only lightly salted and oiled. I just feel so…clean while eating it. Scrubbed. Cleansed. It is Snow White. I think I would request it for my last meal on Death Row: it may absolve me from my sins. And though movies aren’t on my top ten list of favorite things to do, eating popcorn with movies is. The last time I went to the movies with Lindsay she broke my heart…no, I’m not gay, I already told you a dating story. So anyway, we went to go see Harry Potter, and she bought this mongo tub of popcorn and offered me some. I was like, eew, but I didn’t say that since no one aside from you and me knows that I don’t like movie theatre popcorn, so I took a piece or two to be polite, felt the grease slick, slurped half my coke and let her have the rest. “Maybe later,” I said.
I don’t know about you but when they show the feast scenes in Harry Potter I always get really, really hungry, and we were at the matinee, I hadn’t eaten breakfast and we hadn’t had lunch, and Ron was eating two turkey legs at once, and I just knew at that moment, I could eat anything, including my empty Coke cup, my chair stuffing…and movie theatre popcorn. “Lindsay, can you pass the popcorn?” Mggmgf…yeah.” She shoved it in my lap, I reached my hand in, and it practically freefell only to reach a very greasy paper bottom with THREE popcorn kernels rolling around like ball bearings. And this was the feast scene in the beginning of the movie! My empty Coke cup was a little dry to the tongue.
So after that very sad experience, I decided to come up with a plan. I would bring my own damn popcorn. Popcorn that I actually liked. And Lindsay, the pig, wouldn’t have any. I forgot to mention that the guy who puked all over my car also ate the remains of my salad and as much as I love Lindsay, she’s about three hundred pounds. I have got to stop hanging out with fat people. Maybe they feel sorry for me. I’m actually a bit underweight for my age, but it’s because I’m tall and don’t like ice cream, French fries, McDonalds, or movie theater popcorn. Coke cups provide a lot of fiber. I went to Trader Joe’s and bought myself my very own bag of MY popcorn two days in advance. I brought it in, stuck in the pantry, and when the day arrived, went to grab it…and found it open. My little brother had gotten into it yesterday while I was at the library. Sigh…drive to TJ’s, buy ANOTHER bag of popcorn (the air had sort of gotten to the original bag because my brother’s a slob), and then onto the movie theater, speeding so I wouldn’t be late.
I parked my car very badly in the furthest row from the door so no one would hit me or I them and because I am a very bad parker, checked to make sure I had the gift card (I did), grabbed my popcorn, and locked my car. The chill wind hit me immediately as I bent over to make sure my door was locked, so I UNLOCKED my car, setting the alarm off in the process, and grabbed my Brookfield Zoo sweatshirt that I always keep in the back seat for situations like this. Setting the bag of popcorn and my purse down, I pulled it over my head, nearly strangling myself, and thus warmed, grabbed everything and headed toward the neon lights. We had arranged to meet in front of the doors.
Lindsay, of course, was late. The standing agreement was that you had to tell her an hour and a half before the real time you wanted her there. I had remembered to do that, but she still wasn’t in sight, and on the horizon, I love her dearly, but she’s hard to miss. So there I stood like an idiot in my Brookfield Zoo sweatshirt with a bag of organic unbuttered popcorn, checking my cell phone and coming up with creative swears under my breath while these totally hip and muscular guys joked and smoked in front of a movie poster for the Incredible Ganga Man or something.
After about 15 minutes it occurred to me that standing in front of the movie theatre with a bag of popcorn waiting for Lindsay was a bad idea. Lindsay was the kid in 3rd grade who if you didn’t like your peanut butter and relish sandwich, you’d give it to her and nibble on your Chips Ahoy while she inhaled it. Even though she would probably complain that my beloved TJ’s popcorn tasted like paper, she would eat it for lack of anything better to munch on. Once inside the show, though, it would be dark. The bag was black, she’d never notice it…and she’d have her own disgusting popcorn. Aha! A plan! I really am smart sometimes. Quickly I looked around for a hiding place. Purse too small, pink, and fashionable to fit popcorn bag three times its size without compressing popcorn in a trash compactor. Jeans pocket same problem. Sweatshirt big and baggy. Without hesitation I stuffed the bag up my sweatshirt, thus increasing my total girth 100%. Hopefully the hip boys didn’t notice. Perfect timing, as it turned out. Lindsay’s bright orange beater pulled up five minutes later.
“Sam! You gained weight? Am I late?”
“Um, no and yes….”
“Are you PREGNANT?” Lindsay has a really loud voice, and it carries, and the hip guys looked over, eager for a dirty topic of conversation.
“No…I…”
“’Nuff said. Let’s go get tickets.”
WHAT HAPPENS NEXT? CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT
Page 6--Alice Gothica Part Two, Cont'd--Lauren Masterson
Alice plucked the possibly perilous Pocky from the pussy’s paw. Upon chewing the crispy chocolaty cookie, a curious chill crawled like a current coursing clouded veins and closing chasms. Creatures cavorted and contorted Alice’s conscience, cleaning cold crypts of certain conclusions. Enter in a weir with witty whimsical widjets and words. Quaint quandary quietly quelling the sound. Slowly, Alice turned and found a tail and claws, fur and paws.
“I’m a cat!” Alice shrieked. But the puss was gone. Only the half-eaten Pocky remained. A warm draft swept past bringing her the scent of tea. She followed the scent through the towering grass until she came upon a door. A single solitary black door stood amidst the grass and Alice could smell fresh air at last. Alice peered around the left side of the door, and then the right. She found no walls or barriers preventing anyone from merely walking around. However, with how peculiar everything had been, Alice found it would be best to knock first. When Alice brought her fist to the door a great bird swooped down and settled on the knocker.
“Lazing in the foggy dew!” it cawed.
Alice stared up at the raven as its great eye stared at her with the melancholy darkness of a starless night.
“Watching buttercups cup the light!” it rang out once more.
“I wonder if it’s another riddle,” Alice mused as the raven shifted, “I hope not, I’m growing weary of riddles.”
“Yippie! You can’t see me but I can you!”
“But I can see you, raven!”
“Beware the weir!” the raven screamed suddenly and promptly flew off.
The door itself was black with white inlay and a great spider knocker. When she knocked it sounded very quiet, no matter how hard she banged. Quite abruptly, the door was flung open by an annoyed Hare quivering and quaking.
“You needn’t bang so loud and so much!” the Hare burst with chattering teeth.
“I do apologize…” Alice said softly.
“Your voice! Your voice!” the Hare screamed grabbing his ears.
“Well you needn’t shout!” Alice shrieked and stamped her foot.
“Now that’s proper!” the Hare shouted, and invited Alice
inside. There was a table with a sag in the middle where a fat cricket dozed and teapots rattled and teacups rolled.
“Are you having a tea party?”
“Why yes I am! Care to join me?”Alice watched the Hare sink down into a plush black chair with red cushions. His black fur seemed even more startling against the red and his gold earring twitched with every breath.
Alice sank down in a chair opposite with green cushions that burbled like toxic water. The Hare then poured cups promptly full of tea.
“Why, there’s nothing in here!” Alice cried as she brought the empty teacup to her lips.
“Nonsense!” the Hare shouted as he twitched his ear sending his exotically enchanting earring erratically swinging, “There is plenty to go around my dear!”
Alice opened her mouth to argue once more but the Hare furrowed his frustrated face.
“Don’t you dare say that there’s plenty when I have had none!”
His tone was harsh and frightened Alice, which was ruining the fun.
“I’ll give you more once I’ve given less! Don’t you know it’s ladies first and cruel men last!”
“Who are you talking to?” Alice wondered as her head bobbed which way, hoping to see a man looking this way.
“You sir, know nothing about tea! I’ll have you know flabberjing is not proper and ill fit!”
By now the Hare had become so enraged with itself that it had begun beating itself with the empty teapot.
“Poor dear thing,” Alice sighed as she set down her cup and slowly walked away.
The towering trees seemed to taunt poor Alice as she walked by. The color drained from her face as eyes beamed from the leaves. Poor Alice, all alone and frightened. Poor Alice, no longer enlightened. Bloodshot and thirsty, so awake and tired. Poor Alice felt her head spinning and her body trapped.
Alice found herself looking into the glowing eyes of a spider.
“It is the end of the line,” his silky voice sang.
“The end of what?” Alice squinted, for his eyes were becoming quite bright.
“Of you!” His voice blared loud as a horn.
Then the light enveloped Alice and there was an alarming thud. The Red Queen painted Alice red and fairies of red, white, and blue screeched and ran. There was no more Wonderland. Alice was dead. She had been hit by a truck and broken her bones, every one.
“I’m a cat!” Alice shrieked. But the puss was gone. Only the half-eaten Pocky remained. A warm draft swept past bringing her the scent of tea. She followed the scent through the towering grass until she came upon a door. A single solitary black door stood amidst the grass and Alice could smell fresh air at last. Alice peered around the left side of the door, and then the right. She found no walls or barriers preventing anyone from merely walking around. However, with how peculiar everything had been, Alice found it would be best to knock first. When Alice brought her fist to the door a great bird swooped down and settled on the knocker.
“Lazing in the foggy dew!” it cawed.
Alice stared up at the raven as its great eye stared at her with the melancholy darkness of a starless night.
“Watching buttercups cup the light!” it rang out once more.
“I wonder if it’s another riddle,” Alice mused as the raven shifted, “I hope not, I’m growing weary of riddles.”
“Yippie! You can’t see me but I can you!”
“But I can see you, raven!”
“Beware the weir!” the raven screamed suddenly and promptly flew off.
The door itself was black with white inlay and a great spider knocker. When she knocked it sounded very quiet, no matter how hard she banged. Quite abruptly, the door was flung open by an annoyed Hare quivering and quaking.
“You needn’t bang so loud and so much!” the Hare burst with chattering teeth.
“I do apologize…” Alice said softly.
“Your voice! Your voice!” the Hare screamed grabbing his ears.
“Well you needn’t shout!” Alice shrieked and stamped her foot.
“Now that’s proper!” the Hare shouted, and invited Alice
inside. There was a table with a sag in the middle where a fat cricket dozed and teapots rattled and teacups rolled.
“Are you having a tea party?”
“Why yes I am! Care to join me?”Alice watched the Hare sink down into a plush black chair with red cushions. His black fur seemed even more startling against the red and his gold earring twitched with every breath.
Alice sank down in a chair opposite with green cushions that burbled like toxic water. The Hare then poured cups promptly full of tea.
“Why, there’s nothing in here!” Alice cried as she brought the empty teacup to her lips.
“Nonsense!” the Hare shouted as he twitched his ear sending his exotically enchanting earring erratically swinging, “There is plenty to go around my dear!”
Alice opened her mouth to argue once more but the Hare furrowed his frustrated face.
“Don’t you dare say that there’s plenty when I have had none!”
His tone was harsh and frightened Alice, which was ruining the fun.
“I’ll give you more once I’ve given less! Don’t you know it’s ladies first and cruel men last!”
“Who are you talking to?” Alice wondered as her head bobbed which way, hoping to see a man looking this way.
“You sir, know nothing about tea! I’ll have you know flabberjing is not proper and ill fit!”
By now the Hare had become so enraged with itself that it had begun beating itself with the empty teapot.
“Poor dear thing,” Alice sighed as she set down her cup and slowly walked away.
The towering trees seemed to taunt poor Alice as she walked by. The color drained from her face as eyes beamed from the leaves. Poor Alice, all alone and frightened. Poor Alice, no longer enlightened. Bloodshot and thirsty, so awake and tired. Poor Alice felt her head spinning and her body trapped.
Alice found herself looking into the glowing eyes of a spider.
“It is the end of the line,” his silky voice sang.
“The end of what?” Alice squinted, for his eyes were becoming quite bright.
“Of you!” His voice blared loud as a horn.
Then the light enveloped Alice and there was an alarming thud. The Red Queen painted Alice red and fairies of red, white, and blue screeched and ran. There was no more Wonderland. Alice was dead. She had been hit by a truck and broken her bones, every one.
Page 4---Alice Gothica Part Two--Lauren Masterson
Just as Alice passed by, she came upon lights of every impossible color. There were lights zapping back and forth leaving sparks and sparkles in their wake. In the center of this bumbling show of lights so dazzling sat a rather fat Caterpillar holding great bars of light in his many hands. He was shaking to and fro and his eyes rolled about his great heavy head as the fireflies blew smoke from lighted encased domes happily humming the neurotic tune.
“A party! I never knew insects held such parties!” Alice said to herself.
Just then one of the whizzing lights fizzled and frazzled too close, leaving Alice covered in sparkles and sparks.
“Why, I’m glowing!” Alice exclaimed as she looked down at herself.
“It’s a shame you’re wearing all snickerdy-snack! If only you had on a color whiter than black!”
Alice found herself talking to the light, finding it to be a flitting fairy of flight.
“If I catch you, shall I receive a wish?” Alice supposed as the fairy hovered haphazardly.
“You shan’t be getting any wishes! You can’t catch light as much as sing like talking fishes!”
The fairy flicked almost like a candle going out and rekindled at the Caterpillar’s side. Alice decided to follow the fairy: nevertheless it proved hard to catch.
“Got you!” Alice shrieked triumphantly grabbing hold of a slim leg. However, she found herself holding nothing but star sprinkles.
The fairy gave a gay giggle and disappeared once more. Alice found herself quite alone with the large Caterpillar.
He was white with great loops of iridescent neon color surrounding his bulges. Alice saw that his eyes rolled about like marbles, and they were just as blind.
“Enchantingly engaged!” the Caterpillar shouted above the great din.
“Excuse me?” Alice found it hard to understand the Caterpillar, especially with all the glowing and glittering colors beaming like gems.
“Electing ensemble either east everlasting!”
“What nonsense…” Alice muttered.
A green fairy tossed a couple of the glowing bars to Alice. Without thinking, she grabbed the green glowing gifts from the gleaming air.
Immediately, Alice felt the beat course through her. What had been an irritating erratic thudding became a rhythmic heartbeat pumping the meaning of everything through her veins up to her brain where it settled and exploded into pure nirvana thought. Her hips swung to the beat, chains jingling as additions to the din. Lights flashed off her spikes and created more flitting speckles of color. Images and messages floated around Alice, a mix up of green and rainbows and black. Alice soon found herself singing and waving the glowsticks that had become her world.
Green fairy, green, green fairy, green,
Green, green, green, green absinthe filling me
Green fairy, green, lights dancing scene
Green fairy, green, glowing eyes can’t see
Green fairy, green, green fairy, green
green, green, green, green
Smoke curled around Alice and soon brightly colored coiled dreads adorned her high head, lustrous black curls engulfing the new appendages. The world spun and tilted and everything became green.
When Alice awoke her vision swam before her bloodshot eyes and sensations coursed through her skin. The party looked long gone, the toadstools no longer red, but now brown and foreboding. Alice gingerly touched her hair and found the dreads still ensnared, but the glowing bars had become nothing more than twigs.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Alice whispered as she dropped the twigs and stood up. Alice stumbled to her feet, finding her sight swimming and shifting so swiftly that her mind missed mostly everything. Upon steadying her stumbling step, Alice found herself ambling towards a surprisingly simple store. The lights were cozy and the door was open. From first glance it looked perfectly normal and good. However, upon hovering halfway in the doorframe. Alice found herself staring at a woman that was more feline. Her fur was smooth as she smoothed her apron and shifted her strange gaze towards poor perturbed Alice.
“Come in! Come in! You needn’t linger lightly lest you lose looking and leave.”
Her ditty perplexed Alice, but nonetheless, she found herself stepping through and was immediately surrounded by sweets and stuffed animals of sorts.
“Is this your shop?” Alice asked carefully.
“Why yes it is! Why not try some Pocky?”
She offered a stick of biscuit covered with chocolate. It was so tempting, but after all the strangeness, who knew what such a gift could mean?
C'MON, DONT YOU WANT TO KNOW HOW THIS FINALLY ENDS? CLICK HERE TO WRAP IT UP!
“A party! I never knew insects held such parties!” Alice said to herself.
Just then one of the whizzing lights fizzled and frazzled too close, leaving Alice covered in sparkles and sparks.
“Why, I’m glowing!” Alice exclaimed as she looked down at herself.
“It’s a shame you’re wearing all snickerdy-snack! If only you had on a color whiter than black!”
Alice found herself talking to the light, finding it to be a flitting fairy of flight.
“If I catch you, shall I receive a wish?” Alice supposed as the fairy hovered haphazardly.
“You shan’t be getting any wishes! You can’t catch light as much as sing like talking fishes!”
The fairy flicked almost like a candle going out and rekindled at the Caterpillar’s side. Alice decided to follow the fairy: nevertheless it proved hard to catch.
“Got you!” Alice shrieked triumphantly grabbing hold of a slim leg. However, she found herself holding nothing but star sprinkles.
The fairy gave a gay giggle and disappeared once more. Alice found herself quite alone with the large Caterpillar.
He was white with great loops of iridescent neon color surrounding his bulges. Alice saw that his eyes rolled about like marbles, and they were just as blind.
“Enchantingly engaged!” the Caterpillar shouted above the great din.
“Excuse me?” Alice found it hard to understand the Caterpillar, especially with all the glowing and glittering colors beaming like gems.
“Electing ensemble either east everlasting!”
“What nonsense…” Alice muttered.
A green fairy tossed a couple of the glowing bars to Alice. Without thinking, she grabbed the green glowing gifts from the gleaming air.
Immediately, Alice felt the beat course through her. What had been an irritating erratic thudding became a rhythmic heartbeat pumping the meaning of everything through her veins up to her brain where it settled and exploded into pure nirvana thought. Her hips swung to the beat, chains jingling as additions to the din. Lights flashed off her spikes and created more flitting speckles of color. Images and messages floated around Alice, a mix up of green and rainbows and black. Alice soon found herself singing and waving the glowsticks that had become her world.
Green fairy, green, green fairy, green,
Green, green, green, green absinthe filling me
Green fairy, green, lights dancing scene
Green fairy, green, glowing eyes can’t see
Green fairy, green, green fairy, green
green, green, green, green
Smoke curled around Alice and soon brightly colored coiled dreads adorned her high head, lustrous black curls engulfing the new appendages. The world spun and tilted and everything became green.
When Alice awoke her vision swam before her bloodshot eyes and sensations coursed through her skin. The party looked long gone, the toadstools no longer red, but now brown and foreboding. Alice gingerly touched her hair and found the dreads still ensnared, but the glowing bars had become nothing more than twigs.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Alice whispered as she dropped the twigs and stood up. Alice stumbled to her feet, finding her sight swimming and shifting so swiftly that her mind missed mostly everything. Upon steadying her stumbling step, Alice found herself ambling towards a surprisingly simple store. The lights were cozy and the door was open. From first glance it looked perfectly normal and good. However, upon hovering halfway in the doorframe. Alice found herself staring at a woman that was more feline. Her fur was smooth as she smoothed her apron and shifted her strange gaze towards poor perturbed Alice.
“Come in! Come in! You needn’t linger lightly lest you lose looking and leave.”
Her ditty perplexed Alice, but nonetheless, she found herself stepping through and was immediately surrounded by sweets and stuffed animals of sorts.
“Is this your shop?” Alice asked carefully.
“Why yes it is! Why not try some Pocky?”
She offered a stick of biscuit covered with chocolate. It was so tempting, but after all the strangeness, who knew what such a gift could mean?
C'MON, DONT YOU WANT TO KNOW HOW THIS FINALLY ENDS? CLICK HERE TO WRAP IT UP!
Page 1--Promcoming--Nick Tischer
It all starts about four hours before the promcoming. You’ll have to pick up your date, or they’ll pick you up. The girl will always be late; even if she could travel back in time, she’d still be late. And you’ll give each other these flowers that neither of you really wants to wear all night long, and god forbid you get the girl a corsage without a wristlet and have to chance touching one of her boobies in front of her father, ending the night before it even began. You’ll meet each other’s parents whom you may or may not see again. There will be an awkward tension, because they know there is a good chance that by the end of the night you two will have made fuck.
Then you’ll go somewhere to take pictures with a group of people you mostly don’t know, if you even know any at all. Everyone’s parents will be there to blow the occasion out of proportion as if it was a marriage. The girls will bark out commands and go berserk if they are not met. The group will most likely be lead by an overweight girl who is not the prettiest, but got the position as the party’s leader because she has the biggest mouth. She looks kind of like Ms. Piggy, and her tight pink dress clenching around her fat only helps to further the simile.
The guys will act like they are cool with each other, just so that they have someone to talk with. There will always be that guy who is ugly as fuck and has one of the prettiest girls in the whole school on his arm. The one really annoying guy will keep screaming “gonorrhea fountain!” at the most inappropriate times. There is also the one guy who is on more LSD than you thought even existed, yet somehow he survived taking all of it. All the guys will try to be the most macho, but it is manners and not macho that matter in this test. Then you will all cram into your cars and go to a place that the girls decided on, where the food probably sucks, but you compliment them on their choice because you don’t want the night to go to shit already. Ms. Piggy will order a salad, and everyone who isn’t legally retarded will realize that normally she must just order a cow on a hamburger bun. At sometime during this meal all the girls will go to the bathroom together, even though there is most likely nothing for most of them to do in there. They will come back to come in on the awkward conversation of which supermodel each guy would like to pork. There will be an endless amount of arguing over the check. The girls will offer to pay and the guys will end up paying. Credits cards will be declined, people will dine and ditch, and people will get the short end of the stick.Then everyone will all drive to the dance. For some reason no one will dance for the first half hour. People will take this time to meet friends they haven’t seen, girls will comment on each other’s dresses and say they are nice even if they are in fact ugly as all fuck. The songs will all be ones that nobody particularly likes but are danceable. At some point the DJ will play the Cha Cha Slide, and then the Electric Slide, along with various other Slides the DJ has, causing anyone dancing to be pissed off, yet follow the song. Otherwise everyone will dance in the exact same manner to everything that isn’t a slow song. While you are dancing, if you notice the floor, the most random things will be on it, cough medicine, a girl’s panties, and a retainer, and the list will go on.
Afterwards you will go on a bus where people will scream while you try to sleep. The chaperone will hand out cameras and glow sticks that will cause flashes and laser-light illusions. One guy will inevitably talk about making articles of clothing out of bologna, which will make you laugh, in turn waking other people sleeping. However, you do find that he had a good point about how bologna could make a good rain slicker, or a decent pair of moon shoes.
And finally the bus will park far away from where it was supposed to be, and you’ll have to walk to this boat. And once the boat leaves the dock, it will be exactly the same music you heard before to dance to, in fact everything from before, except now you can’t leave for two hours, because you’re on a boat. The LSD guy will point over the side railing claiming there are dolphins. You will look at the water and tell him he’s wrong, but he will assure you that they are in the sky. The annoying guy from before will finally take off his coat, and he’ll have suspenders on underneath, which will cause you to laugh a little, before you remember that you’re on the boat.
Two hours later after the karaoke hell and all else has ceased you will return the bus and ride it back. This time the guy that talked about bologna will start to strip out of his tuxedo. He will grab onto one of the poles and give a strip tease that would put Demi Moore to shame. The bologna guy will then start to sing the bus driver song, and it will be a miracle that the driver doesn’t crash the bus to end it all. The chaperone will not care because he just wants the night to end. The bologna guy will ask if anyone’s going to Denny’s and everyone will say no.
And afterwards you and the people you knew from the group will go to Denny’s. You’re sleep-deprived; do you invite the annoying guy? You say that if the bologna guy is actually at Denny’s you will buy him a meal as a gesture of thanks for making the bus ride bearable. You will all be seated and order the weirdest food to eat at 6 a.m. There will be a bunch of older drunk people, and one guy will come out of the bathroom with a toilet seat cover around his neck screaming “Anal!” Their group will be thrown out. The annoying guy will not shut up, and you will hand him a dollar bill and suggest he plays the crane game. Every time he returns you will hand him another. Fifty dollars later at a random point during the conversation he will scream, “Look, I won a fucking BEAR!” so loud that if it wasn’t 6:30 a.m. you would have been kicked out. That was the price of not being annoyed.
Your little group will make plans to go to the beach and one girl will give everyone else directions, except she will fuck up the directions that she gives you. Later that day you will go with your date and your best bro to find said beach, stopping at other beaches where life guards who have been around for twenty years and more will say said beach does not exist. Your best bro will be asleep the whole time and scream out “There’s a street” and “There’s a beach” in his sleep. Three hours later you will arrive at said beach. The only spot is one where you have to parallel park, and after fifteen minutes of trying to parallel park in the space your best bro will wake up, tell you to park it as is, and then parallel park perfectly in under thirty seconds, finally giving you a reason to take him places. One guy will be a cock salad and throw other people into the water before they get into their bathing suits. And thank any religious being you want that Ms. Piggy is not there, because surely the sight of her in a bathing suit would have made you drown yourself. No one will want to do anything because they are all tired from not sleeping and being in the hot sun. Then you will drive back the right way, and get home in 45 minutes. You drop off your best bro and then ask to use the girl’s bathroom. When you go to piss, you’ll pull down your pants and half the sand that was at the beach starts to pile up in the bathroom. You thank her and leave, and tell her you’ll call her later even though you just made a desert in her washroom. But you do call her back because you’ll need a date for the one next year.
Then you’ll go somewhere to take pictures with a group of people you mostly don’t know, if you even know any at all. Everyone’s parents will be there to blow the occasion out of proportion as if it was a marriage. The girls will bark out commands and go berserk if they are not met. The group will most likely be lead by an overweight girl who is not the prettiest, but got the position as the party’s leader because she has the biggest mouth. She looks kind of like Ms. Piggy, and her tight pink dress clenching around her fat only helps to further the simile.
The guys will act like they are cool with each other, just so that they have someone to talk with. There will always be that guy who is ugly as fuck and has one of the prettiest girls in the whole school on his arm. The one really annoying guy will keep screaming “gonorrhea fountain!” at the most inappropriate times. There is also the one guy who is on more LSD than you thought even existed, yet somehow he survived taking all of it. All the guys will try to be the most macho, but it is manners and not macho that matter in this test. Then you will all cram into your cars and go to a place that the girls decided on, where the food probably sucks, but you compliment them on their choice because you don’t want the night to go to shit already. Ms. Piggy will order a salad, and everyone who isn’t legally retarded will realize that normally she must just order a cow on a hamburger bun. At sometime during this meal all the girls will go to the bathroom together, even though there is most likely nothing for most of them to do in there. They will come back to come in on the awkward conversation of which supermodel each guy would like to pork. There will be an endless amount of arguing over the check. The girls will offer to pay and the guys will end up paying. Credits cards will be declined, people will dine and ditch, and people will get the short end of the stick.Then everyone will all drive to the dance. For some reason no one will dance for the first half hour. People will take this time to meet friends they haven’t seen, girls will comment on each other’s dresses and say they are nice even if they are in fact ugly as all fuck. The songs will all be ones that nobody particularly likes but are danceable. At some point the DJ will play the Cha Cha Slide, and then the Electric Slide, along with various other Slides the DJ has, causing anyone dancing to be pissed off, yet follow the song. Otherwise everyone will dance in the exact same manner to everything that isn’t a slow song. While you are dancing, if you notice the floor, the most random things will be on it, cough medicine, a girl’s panties, and a retainer, and the list will go on.
Afterwards you will go on a bus where people will scream while you try to sleep. The chaperone will hand out cameras and glow sticks that will cause flashes and laser-light illusions. One guy will inevitably talk about making articles of clothing out of bologna, which will make you laugh, in turn waking other people sleeping. However, you do find that he had a good point about how bologna could make a good rain slicker, or a decent pair of moon shoes.
And finally the bus will park far away from where it was supposed to be, and you’ll have to walk to this boat. And once the boat leaves the dock, it will be exactly the same music you heard before to dance to, in fact everything from before, except now you can’t leave for two hours, because you’re on a boat. The LSD guy will point over the side railing claiming there are dolphins. You will look at the water and tell him he’s wrong, but he will assure you that they are in the sky. The annoying guy from before will finally take off his coat, and he’ll have suspenders on underneath, which will cause you to laugh a little, before you remember that you’re on the boat.
Two hours later after the karaoke hell and all else has ceased you will return the bus and ride it back. This time the guy that talked about bologna will start to strip out of his tuxedo. He will grab onto one of the poles and give a strip tease that would put Demi Moore to shame. The bologna guy will then start to sing the bus driver song, and it will be a miracle that the driver doesn’t crash the bus to end it all. The chaperone will not care because he just wants the night to end. The bologna guy will ask if anyone’s going to Denny’s and everyone will say no.
And afterwards you and the people you knew from the group will go to Denny’s. You’re sleep-deprived; do you invite the annoying guy? You say that if the bologna guy is actually at Denny’s you will buy him a meal as a gesture of thanks for making the bus ride bearable. You will all be seated and order the weirdest food to eat at 6 a.m. There will be a bunch of older drunk people, and one guy will come out of the bathroom with a toilet seat cover around his neck screaming “Anal!” Their group will be thrown out. The annoying guy will not shut up, and you will hand him a dollar bill and suggest he plays the crane game. Every time he returns you will hand him another. Fifty dollars later at a random point during the conversation he will scream, “Look, I won a fucking BEAR!” so loud that if it wasn’t 6:30 a.m. you would have been kicked out. That was the price of not being annoyed.
Your little group will make plans to go to the beach and one girl will give everyone else directions, except she will fuck up the directions that she gives you. Later that day you will go with your date and your best bro to find said beach, stopping at other beaches where life guards who have been around for twenty years and more will say said beach does not exist. Your best bro will be asleep the whole time and scream out “There’s a street” and “There’s a beach” in his sleep. Three hours later you will arrive at said beach. The only spot is one where you have to parallel park, and after fifteen minutes of trying to parallel park in the space your best bro will wake up, tell you to park it as is, and then parallel park perfectly in under thirty seconds, finally giving you a reason to take him places. One guy will be a cock salad and throw other people into the water before they get into their bathing suits. And thank any religious being you want that Ms. Piggy is not there, because surely the sight of her in a bathing suit would have made you drown yourself. No one will want to do anything because they are all tired from not sleeping and being in the hot sun. Then you will drive back the right way, and get home in 45 minutes. You drop off your best bro and then ask to use the girl’s bathroom. When you go to piss, you’ll pull down your pants and half the sand that was at the beach starts to pile up in the bathroom. You thank her and leave, and tell her you’ll call her later even though you just made a desert in her washroom. But you do call her back because you’ll need a date for the one next year.
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