Weird day today.

So I head to the Goodwill to buy alligator skulls when a fuckin’ spaceship parks its fat ass on the hood of my Pontiac.  Stormtroopers hop out and start kicking five-year-olds in the face.  They firebomb all the cars and plant big watermelon things in the pavement, which grow really fast into big tentacle-trees that start snatching up teenagers and stuffing them in their squid beaks at the base of their trunks.  One of the Stormtroopers turns to me, still bystandering at this point, and grabs his nuts, as if that’s all he has to say about that.

I escape the squid-trees by running into a nearby building with a pack of old people.  The parents, Goodwill employees, and other random citizens are mowed down by Stormtrooper fire.  The building’s some sorta weird cave filled with tons of spiky plastic formations.  The old people start shuffling around, very scared now, until this guy…

…hops up and says “I’m in charge here!”  The old people seem really happy about that despite the great splashes of blood and slime covering the store windows.  They start praising the boy and waving their canes and walkers in the air triumphantly.  “Hallelujah!” they cry, and raise their hero high into the air.  But the oldsters’ arms are brittle, and their spines and hips begin to crack.  But still they hold him high, singing his praises.  The old people form a living pyramid, lifting the guy almost to the cave’s spiky ceiling.  Finally, an old man snaps his spine and the tower of flappy skin and crackling bones plummets earthward.  The hero is impaled through the eye by one of the plastic spikes.  Before I can say anything, a housewife swoops down from the ceiling and begins licking the dead guy’s blood off the smooth plastic.  She looks up at me with dull eyes and says “Are you a writer?  Do you know Stephanie Myer?  Does your book have Edward in it?”  I shrug, which is stupid because the housewife screams “THEN DIE!” and starts charging me.  I cringe just before….

….Mandalorian Joe hops out the shadows and stabs the rabid housewife through the face with his knife-staff-thing.  “You have serious problems,” Joe says to the corpse in a squeaky cartoon voice.  Mandalorian Joe, my ultimate hero, then looks into my eyes.  He tells me how I’ll die.  He says there’ll come a day when all authors must face off in a tournament-to-the-death that will decide the fate of the world.  I will be stabbed in the stomach fourteen times before having my head chopped off by a katana weilded by Carlton Mellick III in the thirty-ninth round of the tournament.  That didn’t scare me, because Mandalorian Joe then said I will have killed Stephanie Myer in the tournament’s twenty-second round.  All is well.

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