Left beaten, bloodied and bruised in a ditch somewhere, @MadMikeMarsbergen lost the Pot 1 Finals of SmackDown: The Second Coming to @torontojim (who later ended up winning the Grand Finals, too). Now he's back to get some revenge on all you competit...
Darkness and death were dancing. Hand in hand, round the merry-go-bush. Or was it bushing amongst the merry-go-round? Mike could not remember what "bushing" was, precisely, but he was certain it was something he had enjoyed, back when he was alive.
"Mulberry bush," a very deep, and very wise, and also very thoughtful, voice supplied.
"Ah, yes, I see," said Mike. "Actually, I can't fucking see anything. Why is it so dark in here?"
"Wrong."
"Look, asshole. I don't know who you are or where you get off sounding so judgmental within the three-and-a-half-second timespan we've utilized to establish our entire relationship but a question can't actually be wrong."
"Wrong. They're wrong on Jeopardy! like, all the time. By the way, we're in a lava lamp now."
So they were.
"Thanks for clearing that up for me. Just so we're on the same page . . ."
As he said this, Mike's body lifted from one gelatinous purple orb to to the next, suspended in warm florescent magenta, thick and slimy like living mucous--higher and ever higher into a sharp light, where he was finally deposited onto what appeared to be a large black path winding through a sea of feathery-soft white.
" . . . are you God?" he finished. But it was too late. He was alone. The camera was zooming out. "Wait, wait! My next guess was Michael Bolton . . .!"
Zooming out, out. He could only see the top of his own head now, a tiny pinprick as his mouse-voice squeaked, "Barry Manilow?"
And then he saw it. The Big Picture. He was not standing on a path at all, but a giant lowercase letter "a" (in regular Palatino Linotype).
Suddenly it all made sense. "We ARE on the same page!" he shouted, overjoyed.
Until the fist collided with his face again.
"Hey, OLD GUY," the kid repeated. "Get up and spin this god damned merry-go-round, or I'm telling my mom on you for being a perv!"
Mike was busy gingerly touching his lip. He was back in the park. "Did you--did you punch me in the face?"
"Sure as hell did." ("He knocked you out," added the kid's little sister, who was standing beside him clutching a teddy bear.)
So Mike proceeded to get up, punch the kid in the face, steal his cool lava lamp, and leave the park to read his action novel in peace.
