Twister

The day was already doomed for something like that twister. It had been dark and cloudy, and the clouds had tinged green by four ‘o clock. The wind moaned and screeched and howled for the longest time, and a thick, hot humidity had kept my clothes clinging to me all day. My hair was pasted against my neck since seven this morning. I spent my day sluggishly dragging myself from my house, to my car, to work, and, even inside the office building, I could still feel it as I wove my way in a maze of cubicles. Tiny, claustrophobic boxes that could easily be peered over, just like the stalls in a bathroom, or in a dressing room. Funny, though; many who have tried to peer at ME just get stuck, their hands clinging to the wall, and their feet still planted on their office chair, five to six feet away. Thank goodness for those plastic mats that protect my privacy, and those office chairs with wheels and indignant squeaks to signal and prevent an oncoming attack. That’s life in a cubicle-for me. Others have DIFFERENT problems, such as the neighbor who’s always licking his lips at your lunch. He knows it’s better than his, and he knows you know too. You just don’t care. Occasionally, you’ll hear a guy singing all the way on the other side of “cubicle oblivion”. His high notes squeak, and the low notes just roll out as if to rattle the windows…just like the thunder that roared and growled and snarled all day.

It was like a great, gray beast was crouching around the building, the street, the whole city. It crouched, and waited. Yes, it did. Its glowing eyes would flash now and then, and great torrents of hungry saliva poured down the streets and into the sewers. To think, we drink the drool of a great, gray beast. The beast crouched like it would never leave. It must have gotten sick or something, because it turned GREEN, and sneezed, and belched, and farted a great, winding force that rent through the parking lot. I’m sure it utterly destroyed my Audii. I paid so much for that car, and worked so hard to break the holds of “cubicle oblivion” on my life. The cubicle has sent many to the asylum now and then, quite a few to jail, and others into to sheer illness. An illness that results in a phobia of boxes. Oh, those people prayed for the boxes to leave them, and God sent them a TWISTER.

That twister had me crouched like a child against a concrete wall. How smart, a concrete wall. Just because it’s concrete doesn’t mean the twister won’t eat it…with us along with it. Yes, we just pepper the bland taste of the office building, and make it tastier for that great, gray beast that kills us with its breath before gobbling us whole. We all know that dry-wall is the worst tasting thing in that building. I’m sure the sewage tastes better to the gray beast than the dry-wall. Oh, but I’m wandering from the subject. This is about a green twister that tried to kill me.

Let’s see…well, it blundered into the building after chewing up the parking lot and my poor car. It simply sliced through the building like a can-opener does to a can. But, apparently, the blade was quite dull, and it left an uneven trail as the remains of cars, street-signs, those accursed holly bushes, rocks, twigs, cans, and numerous other things, from the building and wherever, were scattered and tossed carelessly around. This stuff is expensive! But, of course, the twister doesn’t care. Its only mission is to destroy…THE BOX. I was still crouched against the wall, along with bawling men and screeching women. I found the section of shadowed wall and floor I was staring at to be monotonous. I believe I dozed off from such a boring form of entertainment, other than listening to the twister as it had its own apocalypse, and the men and women who were ridiculously exaggerating their fear of death.

‘Oh, I’m too YOUNG to die!’

‘I can’t DIE! I have a WIFE and THREE KIDS!’

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah! They are as boring and stupid as Bush. In fact, in my spare time, “cubicle oblivion” drove me into an insanely boring moment, and I came up with a jingle bells song to go along with, “Jingle Bells, Batman Smells”. It goes:

Jingle Bells

Bushy Smells!

Cheney’s Almost Dead.

The “Bushmobile”

Lost a Wheel,

And Bin Laden

Got Away!

Hey!

Bush, Bush, Bush, Bush…YOU’RE A DOUCHE! Besides, it’s not like they’re THAT young, and I have heard the same people use the word “BRATS” and “DEVIOUS LITTLE GREMLINS” NUMEROUS times. What makes this moment any different from the numerous OTHER times? Why now that people realize their mistakes and scrutinize themselves until they go completely gaga? Oh, is it because the great, gray beast wants to EAT them, or maybe because there’s a twisted, green breath of poison waiting to squeeze you lifeless, breathless, and unconscious? Hmm…I believe that answer is ALL OF THE ABOVE! Besides, I was able to easily put this in the back of my mind, because I didn’t have to see my annoying neighbors get gored with “stud on crud”, or hear the singing man squeal so high, he choked on his own voice. Well,…maybe I did hear that, but I enjoyed myself. I found myself laughing in a half asleep, alternate reality world.

SO, I fell asleep, crouching like a child against a concrete wall, and when I next awoke, sure enough, the great, gray beast was slinking away, heavy and fat with people who had been driven crazy by their own offices. I found myself coated in tasteless dry-wall, and very many unknown items stuck to my body. A curious news crew and many flashing cameras, rushing voices, and men of the law were crowded around me. A fire-fighter was squatting next to me.

“You okay?”

I simply groaned and turned on my side. The reporters were raving madly, asking stupid questions, like:

“Sir, how did you survive this ordeal?” and “Can you confirm what it was that actually destroyed this building?”

I sighed, and stood up, brushing myself off. Then it got touchy when a reporter jabbed a microphone in my face. I turned angrily on them, and shouted, “SHUT the HELL up!”

They gasped and immediately shut their mouths. The cameras stopped instantly, which meant I could go home without being blinded first.

“Okay, if you want to know WHAT happened, you must listen to me, all of you, and leave out any twisted exaggerations if the truth is too boring.”

I paused.

“Safety first,” I explained as I held out a finger.

“I simply conducted a basic technique used in schools, along with my squealing colleagues. I crouched childishly against this concrete wall.”

I pointed at a wall about six or seven bricks high behind me.

“Then I listened to a green breath of poison as it delivered me from the singing man, the lunch-sniffers, and the cubicle spies that were usually apprehended by their swivel chairs. I became bored and the day had been fatiguing, so I simply went to sleep as the building and my colleagues were tossed and swallowed by that fat, gray beast slipping away above OTHER office buildings.”

I pointed behind me again, into the receding cloud. The green breath of poison was gone, and the gray beast was no longer the color of a dead fish.

One of them decided to pipe up, and say, “So, it was a twister?”

I rolled my eyes, sighed, and said, “Only a retarded person would call it THAT. Then again, you ARE retarded.”

Then another one, bolder than the last asked me, “Why do you think you were spared?”

I looked at him defiantly and simply stated, “I’m not a box.”

After finishing this short speech, I walked away, singing another rhyme forged out of boredom:

I lost my job to a twister,

To a twister, to a twister

I lost my job to a twister,

And it swallowed my colleagues whole!

I awoke inside a ring of retards,

Ring of retards, ring of retards

I awoke inside a ring of retards,

And this is getting old!