Jason's Got a Turley Gurkerburger |
Although Mr. Geppo had promised that the glass contained a pint of Tsing Tao, the next thing I remember after quaffing the beverage was waking up in the hold of what I later found to be the American Way, a shipping liner delivering cargo between San Francisco and Kyoto. The room was dark and rats were everywhere. I felt my face and knew I had been out for several days: I really needed a pickle to buffer my stubble. I groaned and fell back asleep.
There's two ways that it's really bad to wake me up. First, don't tie me to the back of a horse. Second, don't shake me awake in the hold of a cargo vessel when there's rats about and I haven't eaten in days. Unfortunately, the beautiful singer I soon came to know as "Woman in Graveyard #2" (that was her stage name, a relic of her days in George Romero films) shook me to consciousness. Not realizing where I was I flailed about looking for Meat and happened apon an innocent rat. It's jaw gnashing, my eyes crazy, I whispered to the rat, "I'd like to suck you down to your toes."
"You talking to me?" queried WIG#2. "Yeah, the guy who's doing the tango with that twitchy rodent. Are you talking to me?"
Coming to my senses, I apologized for my behavior. "I was just startled and a bit peckish. But now it occurs to me that I'm a vegetarian. It's something about your cheese..." I paused for a second. "Where are we?"
"The cargo hold of a ship called the American Way. We're on our way to San Francisco. You don't remember? You don't remember *anything*?"
Alas, I did not. It was not the first time, either. Back in the day I had often lost my memory for weeks at a time. Must have been a side effect of my parents' involvement in Project Bluebook.
I decided to do some investigating. Grabbing a convenient crowbar, I pried the lids off of several of the surrounding crates. I was astonished...they were all filled with bootleg Hello Kitty merchandise, clearly being shipped from Japan with the intent of overloading American soil with visages of the Mouthless One. I remembered a Haiku one told to me as a warning:
I wish I had some translucent paper and a corrugated goose. That might help. Or perhaps an ectoplasmic connector. Something had to be done. Quickly. I knew the forces that typically battled the Sanrio darkness were gathering on a beach in San Francisco. I had to get topside, and fast.
I grabbed WIG#2 by her hand, saying, "That's it...we're getting out of here. We have to warn the others." Pocketing a Bad Badtz Maru PEZ dispenser as proof, we headed towards the American Way's deck. I didn't care how I had gotten here, I just needed to get out and get assistance. The guards had jet skis, and we wanted them. Pulling a salami out of my pants, I wacked one over the head. He groaned: "I've forgotten the rest, but I'm sure I've forgotten your teeth." Had I suddenly entered a Russ Meyer film? This all made no sense to me.
We jumped on the jet skis, crashed into the Pacific, and headed for dry land. Gesticulating with a lit cigarette was the American Way, far behind us. Yes, we would rendezvous with the others who came from far away to celebrate DNA25, not knowing that they would soon become part of a much larger conflagration....