Wednesday, October 04, 2006

The Night Barry Took the Field

The stadium lights were dark when Barry took the field. From the stands we all could sense something moving down there in the gloom. We guessed it was a marching band, or maybe dancers or a float. It had better be something good, we mused, we'd been promised a halftime show.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer crooned. "Boys and girls and popcorn vendors too. You should probably bolt your minds to the thick part of your skull. And you're gonna wanna torque it tight and fill the seams with glue."

"Well," someone whispered from a seat near the top of the stadium. "This could be something different."

"You better bet your freaking souls this is something different!" The announcer roared as if he'd heard the man. The speakers trembled on their posts as if Lucifer himself was behind that microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, beer vendors and ticket takers in curls..."

The announcer let out the rest of the breath with a rumbling moan that even the parking attendants felt as vibration in their bones. Then he filled his lungs again with such a ragged gasp, that the flags that rimmed the stadium were torn from their masts.

"It's a hurricane walking with a butterfly! It's a tidal forces belly rind!"

Most of us couldn't even hear right by now--half of us were crying.

"It's the next best thing to savage cheese. It's a cataclysm of the mind!"

It was now or never for that unseen announcer. Too much more of this rampage of buildup and he'd find himself overlooking a stadium of corpses. He seemed to know it was time.

"I..." The stadium trembled to its foundation.
"Give..." The blimp crashed into a cliff.
"You..." Pigeons dropped dead a mile away.
"BARRY!!!" Eardrums ruptured in shocking sprays of yellow fluid.

"Yes, Barry!" The announcer reiterated.
"I give you Barry!!!"

Someone lit a fuse and then a thousand pounds of fireworks holocausted into the sky.

When we could see again, those of us that still could see, we all beheld Barry. He stood alone at center field.

There he was.

Barry.

He didn't seem to be doing much.

"That's right!" The announcer shrieked. "It's Barry!!!"

Barry gave us all a little wave.

"Barry's here!!!"

In the stab of an angled spotlight, Barry's shadow stretched for yards. Barry slowly raised his arms and the dark giant at his feet mimicked the motion.

"That's right folks, Barry!!!" The announcer howled, sounding very near an aneurysm.
"I present Barry, and his shadow puppets of unicorns fucking!!!"

And then I'll be eternally damned if Barry didn't proceed to make shadow puppets on the shimmering grass that looked exactly like two unicorns fucking.

And I don't know if it was the blood in my ears--or the corneal damage to my eyes--or the way my organs kept on sloshing against my twisted spine--or the spider fangs of agony that pierced my shuddering brain... but with reckless mercy as my witness, it was the most beautiful thing on God's dark earth that I had ever seen.

And now I don't even know how the game ended, and I don't even know where I am. I only know I'd cut chunks from myself to watch Barry's shadow puppets of unicorns… watch them fucking again.

The End






(Note to self: Yikes. Just yikes.

Don't ever, ever let anybody read this.)

12 Comments:

At 1:17 AM, Blogger Arthur Quiller Couch said...

Clint and Louis L'Amour, and you write about fucking UNICORNS? Damn.

 
At 4:55 AM, Blogger 12 Crumble Ave said...

Wonderful stuff as always Lattie Baby(I can call you Lattie Baby can't I?)

Good old Barry eh... sounds like an even more warped and twisted vison into your mind than usuaal Lattie Baby, and I for one was glad for the glimpse, as it only makes my own black hole of terror slightly more bareable in comparison.

Oh and I now know who to blame for my damn pigeons dropping dead the other week. how the heck am I supposed to send letters now?

- Mr Winston

 
At 5:22 AM, Anonymous ATD said...

Well, it's a good thing for the marching band that they chose to yield on this night.

Man. With that kind of crowd-power, Barry should run for president. With the announcer as his running-mate.

On second thought, one might consider his shadow-puppets a weapon of mass destruction.

~ATD

 
At 8:34 AM, Blogger Ethan Greer said...

*applauds boisterously*

 
At 11:53 AM, Anonymous Strange Forces said...

The blimp...

Cry for the blimp.



Stunning as always, sir.

 
At 4:21 PM, Blogger Lightning Bug's Butt said...

If you want to watch Unicorns humping, just tune into HBO around 2330 hrs. They got all kinds of crazy stuff like that.

 
At 10:35 PM, Blogger Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said...

Bloody hell!

That surely glitters as one of the blackest, most flawless of the black, flawless diamonds in your sparkling many-gemmed crown, Mr. Flint.

I found myself wanting Barry; yes Barry and his fucking unicorns.

 
At 12:58 AM, Blogger talulah trashbag said...

That Manilow is an endlessly talented fucker, isn't he?

 
At 11:16 AM, Blogger Helga von porno said...

I would rather share this with you in secret, but this story reminded me of being born. Yet I don't remember being born!

 
At 9:42 PM, Blogger Ari said...

"who is this barry mothafucka?" I thought to myself. And then the waves of mirth came, regular as the tide. i think i agree that unicorns fucking is hot hot hot bcs of the innocence/animalistic lust juxtapositionalar trajectory.

 
At 9:17 PM, Blogger the Monk said...

Take a bow, ye old sod, take a bow.

 
At 2:09 AM, Blogger Latigo Flint said...

Read the rest of me Arthur Quiller Couch. It'll make you even madder. (Nice name by the way! It rivals mine, and I didn't think that was possible.)

It's spelled "Latty Baby" Mr. Winston, and don't you forget it.

I know ATD, right? They usually refuse to do so. You know we didn't forget to sing the dirges in the dark though. Some things never change.

Thank you very much Ethan Greer. I'm humbled by your applause.

And weep for the pigeons. Warmly appreciated Strange Forces.

Well noted LBB. Well noted indeed.

Thank you very much Sam. I don't remember writing it. There's blood on my keyboard and deep scratches on my monitor.

Yes he is Talulah. Yes he is. He's some kind of miracle. I can't smile without him.

I would rather you shared many things with me in secret Helga Von Porno. (And I mean that in the most very lewd of ways.)

Juxtapositionalar trajectory has just become the best phrase I've ever heard Ari. So well done there.

Okay sweet Monk, but you know I'm gonna stumble a bit as I do, right?

 

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