PUMPKINSEED (Cabo 12/2018)

Enter the Monster, the Prelude

The Modern Barnum was full of disjointed ideas but he had an army of attentive barkers to carry out each whim and whatnot.  So when MB tired of Vegas or rather Vegas momentarily poo-poo'd his latest boondoggle, MB announced the start of a new Vegas, a better Vegas, a snazzier, hipper Vegas that would not be filled with chumps and losers. This Vegas (new name TBD, certain to be trademarked, copy-written, and excessively marketed on a hundred thousand ball caps) would be built exactly 66 miles away from Vegas so as to make use of an updated Route 66 jingle. Taking this new highway that's the best, MB created an artificial oasis, replacing the intersection of the cactus crossing and an unglamorous sandy strip. This first of none, this pioneer to everlasting sand, this hotel, embraced by heat but shunned by heathens, popped up like an unsuspecting mushroom.

MB looked at his creation and said it was good. Encouraged by his horsefly hearty ha-ha harem, MB wanted to make the opening of this never to be wonder of the world one to remember. And since he was told that all his ideas were good ideas, when he invited all the greatest names from the horror movies to convine and convent, they were all to happy to vacate their monstonous maybeham for a little rust and relaxation. So in they came, the vampires, the zombies, the aliens, the wolfens, the weebies, and the whathaveyas. The hotel was so big and MB was so determined to fill the hotel that invitations were extended to such tame and unfrightening creatures as the Daisy Plucker and Sniffles, the allergy-plagued clown.

This is where our true Monster entered the hotel lobby looking for his welcome fruit basket and name tag only to be rebuffed at the courtesy counter by a pleasant smile named Willa Jean. There was a legitimate misunderstanding. While our Monster had made a movie it had never been distributed because of the fact that he had no presence, no heft, no visual existence. Our subject was a lean willow with thin pipe cleaner extremities. It took Willa a moment to realize that she was not staring at a crack in the wall. In its rage The Monster roared a huff of a gaunt hummingbird only to be met with kind and considerate empathy from Willa Jean, but no room, since the Daisy Plucker and Sniffles, the allergy plagued clown, had taken the last two rooms. To think how differently events could have unfolded if Willa Jean would have simply bunked the Monster with DP or Sniffles. My goodness, most roommates would not have noticed the slender twig even if sharing the same bed, and this connotation of sharing the bed is of earlier times when weary travelers were lodged together sometimes three or more in a single bed and no one thought much about it, not like now when, ooh-ooh, you're sharing a bed can only have a single meaning.

But this is neither here nor here again and this is why there is not a thriving oasis named TBD exactly 66 miles from Vegas.