Frank's MSTie Christmas
Hi, boys and girls
My name is Pearl.
You know me from weekend matinees.
I'm gonna traverse
This universe
Until Mike's run down, trussed up, and pays.
Ah, dreams of glory,
But that's not my story.
It's Christmas - I wanna kick SOL ass
But I keep forgetting
(very upsetting)
To fill this space clunker with gas.
So, wouldn't ya know
I got no van go,
Re-entry's a pain with no time to browse
For a full service station
(darn navigation)
So I'll just pull up to this nice yellow house.
The 'Black' residence.
Sheesh, that makes sense.
We'll park here, rest our feet and our tushes.
If I don't lose my mind,
They'll prove to be kind
(Too bad my afterburners cooked their bushes).
A guy opened the door
(hope he's a bore
'Cuz I'm flaggin') "Hi! I'm Pearl!
From forever!
And this is Bobo the ape
(don't mind the gape)
Curd-face is Brain Guy the uh, whatever."
Well, his condition
Looked like a mortician,
All bedraggled, grim, a sorry sight.
But then he beginned
To fashion a grin,
Then chuckled, and *that* gave me a fright.
He shook his head
As if warding off dread,
Mumbled, "Swell. Looks like more of the same."
Don't know whereat
Or what he meant by that,
But he seemed docile and appeared to be tame.
By now Bobo's itchin'
To get to the kitchen,
And Brain Guy's all pouty for rest.
I sure could do
With a brew or two,
And this guy rumbles, "Come in. Be my guest."
Imagine my elation
At that invitation,
Though I informed him we were double parked.
After observing,
He said, unnerving,
"No biggie. I'm already fated and marked."
Whoa, oh dear.
What have we here?
Are we walking into the tourist trap of doom?
So then I got keener
To his woeful demeanor -
Those weren't laugh lines on his face, in the gloom.
Heck, why can't a
Guy be anti-Santa?
It beats burning up in the atmosphere.
A vale of tears?
A pail of beers?
Fine by me. Either way I'm still here.
He didn't much balk
When I made small talk.
We three just gibbered all happy and vital.
When we caught our breath
He shrank like death,
And then he began his sad recital.
"Quietly passing,
Foully massing,
Runnels of visions are wicked and emerging.
Noxious tides swell,
Then drag us to hell,
Insatiable, souless rivers converging.
Eyes full of starkness
Stare from the darkness,
Their edges burning, red limned shades of slate.
Screaming faces,
Void of all graces,
Recede shriveled, like carrion freight.
Reproaches hidden
Rise unbidden
Pivoting across the firmament, viley casted.
Suns and stars cry
In a lamenting sky,
As creation is wrenched, corrupted, and blasted."
Well, ya wanna guess
How I'm impressed?
This dude's as funny as a corpse in a shredder.
But our new friend
Ain't running out of wind,
And our cheery visit doesn't get any better.
"We've no defense,
The odds are immense.
Pits seeth with dying flesh, vermin scurry.
Frightful visitations
Portend conflagrations,
Plummeting human hopes, all is lost. I worry."
It's all my fault.
I shoulda caught
The coffin mailbox as an excuse to slip off.
The guy's haggard jowls,
And those attic howls,
Plus, circling buzzards should've been the tip off.
But, then, I'm a gal
Who'll make a pal,
Anywhere, if there's cash filling their till.
All yokels have been
A bug under a pin,
As I gaily enslave and crush their will.
Now, this may sound dumb,
Where this guy's coming from,
All this woe and despair, torment and such.
He's not throwing a fit,
No. He's chock full of grit,
And he's not gonna be bullied by much.
Here, charm's more apt,
And I can adapt,
Buff up to mellow, let my allure rip.
Then maybe there'll be
Something in it for me -
"Hey, Frank sweety? Got more of this dip?"
I'll give him his due,
The guy really jumped to,
Searching cabinets of murder evidence, in toto.
Lots of body bags,
Human parts tagged,
Manuals on torture, autopsy photos.
Out it all tumbled,
While the guy mumbled,
"Where'd Catherine put it? Where'd it all go?!"
Then, though belated,
The poor man deflated.
He wept, "Vanquished by a once-loving
foe!
I live in a mausoleum!
Oh, fearsome millennium!
Take me now, forego my pain, bring the future!"
So, ok, I'll lose
The planned abuse,
To shut him up I'll be gracious, not a moocher.
"Calm yourself, Frank.
Put that slop in the tank.
You got problems? Undone by these visions of yours?
I know real life,
And it cuts like a knife.
Try spending eternity with an ape that snores!
Suck in a waft
Of Brain Guy, sans bath,
Filling your van with refuse and crud!
His conversation's vestigial,
He leaves BO residual!
Think 'suicide' when he snivels in full flood!
And if you're not yet averse,
It gets worse.
Bobo thwarts my designs, then cowers and fibs.
Oh, he can grovel!
The crap he can shovel!
His bawling's worse than a shiv in the ribs.
So, ok, I won't dismiss
Hell, doom, the abyss,
But hostile space can flay your dermals!
It's cold, dark, cruel
And better stock up on fuel,
Be armed, on guard, and wear your thermals.
I got grief to the maxi!
I'm a freak taxi!
Split ends! I need a facial, massage, more beers!"
Then I paused, stumped.
There was Frank, slumped.
Turned out to be the best sleep he's had in years.
All was noiseless, barren
Except for Bobby Darin,
Wasn't my idea of joy, so I choose a
Livlier good sport,
Hey, life is short.
Insert tape, it blares John Phillip Sousa.
I've done my part,
He awakes with a start,
I yell, "Whattaya do for recreation?!
Besides surviving
Strangers arriving
And crashing SRO exhumations?!"
"Oh," he said, "Fatal
crash tours,
Possession cures,
Prying psychos off victims," he reminisced.
With fortuitous levity,
I asked, with brevity,
"Hey Frank? What holiday is this?"
We're here smack dab in
Goodwill to all men,
A time of sharing what we got, happily.
Small cherished treasures,
Almost forgotten pleasures,
Not bothered by what was or will be.
So I showed him berserk
Bobo, put to work
Cleaning house, doing laundry, with all his might,
While Frank did impersonations
Of demonic affectations,
And we giggled through that dark, stormy night.