The Road Beckons
Grasping a lifelike disposable plastic knife in his hand Little Jimmy Meyer quietly contemplated the peanut butter, the grape-flavored jelly and the old fat white bread. Having his parents out of the house and having the house to himself was a gratifying relief but did nothing to still his emotional, physical and spiritual hunger. Emboldened by the all encompassing quiet of his parent's absence, the essential quiet of the absence of television, Little Jimmy Meyer dug into the sanitary mildew-resistant plastic bread bag and grabbed a slice of presliced, prefabricated old fat white bread.
"Hey, not so rough, tough guy," shouted the bread. "We're not called old fat white bread for nothing."
Twisting the lid off the jar of peanut butter Little Jimmy Meyer wasn't startled when it said, "Hey, kid, no time for sandwiches. It's time for you to get on the road."
Pulling the lifelike disposable plastic knife through the thick viscous peanut butter Little Jimmy Meyer licked his lips with anticipation.
"We ain't thick and we ain't viscous," grumbled the peanut butter. "We're creamy delicious. And you better get going kid. The road beckons."
While attempting to spread the thick viscous peanut butter on the old fat white bread the old fat white bread crumbled, tore and complained something terrible.
"This isn't any way to treat old fat white bread," complained the old fat white bread.
"Will you shut your mouth," sniffed the thick viscous peanut butter. "You're bread. We're peanut butter. In the natural order of things peanut butter goes on bread. Don't you have an important secret message to give to the kid?"
"It's time to move," said the old fat white bread. "Time to get on the road."
Little Jimmy Meyer unscrewing the lid of the grape-flavored jelly didn't balk when it screamed out, "The And Ran Corporation is sending out this beacon of hope for you."
During his parents' absence Little Jimmy Meyer had grown accustomed to the incessant chatter of everyday objects and to the secret messages everyday objects divulged.
"Kid, you got to move," said the thick viscous peanut butter.
"Head toward the beacon of hope The And Ran Corporation is sending out," said the grape-flavored jelly.
"Time is of the essence," cautioned the old fat white bread. "Only the powers that be can predict the movements of your parents."
"How much longer your parents wait in their family-style car for an opening in traffic to make their escape can't be judged or gauged," warned the thick viscous peanut butter. "And you, yes you, you busybody you, stop calling me thick! Stop calling me viscous! And just call me peanut butter."
"Your parents' fuel is depleted," said the grape-flavored jelly as Little Jimmy Meyer slathered it atop his thick viscous layer of peanut butter.
"Hey, that tickles!" giggled the peanut butter. "And what did I say about the thick viscous thing. Just call me peanut butter."
"Your parents' fuel was depleted days ago," repeated the grape-flavored jelly. "Their spirits are sagging, low, almost gone."
Crowning his creation with a second slice of old fat white bread Little Jimmy Meyer listened closely when the old fat white bread said, "Your parents, like all patriotic patriots, will grow weary of their patriotic necessity to die for their country by sitting and waiting to die for their country when the all clear is sounded and they are instructed to return to their homes."
"They will come back," cautioned the peanut butter.
"Could be coming back right now," warned the grape-flavored jelly.
"Taking the long terrible trek from the driveway to the front door," said the old fat white bread.
Little Jimmy Meyer opening the cupboard where his mom kept the cardboard box of plastic sandwich bags and wondered what they would add to the conversation. Pushing his fingers into the plastic sandwich bags' cardboard box the plastic sandwich bags cried out, "Take me! Take me! It's crowed in here and I yearn to be free."
Pulling a plastic sandwich bag from its cardboard box the plastic sandwich bag breathing free proclaimed, "I am the chosen. And the chosen is here to tell you terrible terrorist threats that immobilize your parents will remain terrible terrorist threats. There will be no terrible terrorist actions. Threats are more potent than actions, cheaper to foment and the most potent form of terrorism currently available on the terrorist market. The two hundred and fifty times code red will be downsized, like the economy it's meant to downsize, to a squalid pittance."
While delicately grabbing his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and stuffing it indelicately into the plastic sandwich bag the peanut butter and jelly sandwich, as a cohesive whole, said, "The television will speak of great leaders leading."
"Great leaders leading will be applauded," said the plastic sandwich bag thick viscous peanut butter sticking to the roof of its mouth.
"Bombs will be dropped," said the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "Dropped by those filled with unnatural fear upon those they wish to naturally frighten."
"Life as your parents know it will continue," finished the plastic sandwich bag, "in fear."
Little Jimmy Meyer's sandwich had become more than a sandwich to him. His sandwich had become a friend. His sandwich told him of a big hole in the ground in a desert somewhere in the west where The And Ran Corporation had set up a rescue station for those, like himself, quietly contemplating their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while people they knew, and wished they weren't related to, huddled in television packed fuel-depleted family-style cars in the driveways and clogged arteries of the zone of terror awaiting escape.
When the beautifully manicured and completely artificial television announcers announced a terrible winter storm, "The worst winter storm ever!" announced the beautifully manicured and completely artificial television announcers, approaching Little Jimmy Meyer's mom and dad from the confused safety of their television packed, fuel-depleted family-style car, they had not been told how to patriotically proceed.
"Stay tuned to your favorite television stations," announced the beautifully manicured and completely artificial television announcers, "and you will be told how to patriotically proceed."
"The television tells them how to live," said Little Jimmy Meyer's sandwich.
"The television tells them how and what to think," said Little Jimmy Meyer's plastic sandwich bag.
"How and what to think without ever thinking," thought Little Jimmy Meyer.
"There must be someone we can call," shuddered Little Jimmy Meyer's mom in panic. "What about the auto club? Let's call the auto club. The auto club will help us."
"With all this traffic," grumbled Little Jimmy Meyer's dad. "All this traffic jam. All these inconsiderate people in our way when we want to escape the zone of terror. Any moment now, any minute now, any hour now, any day now, any week now, any month now, any year now the terrible terrorists will spray us with terrible terrorist sprays. There's just no way the auto club can get to us in time."
"Not with the worst winter storm of all time approaching," announced the beautifully manicured and completely artificial television announcers.
"Did we pack warm weather-proof clothing?" asked Little Jimmy Meyer's mom terrified.
"Did we pack warm weather-proof winter boots?" asked Little Jimmy Meyer's dad on the verge of tears.
"Did you pack a thermos of instant extra artificially sweetened warm hot chocolate?" announced the beautifully manicured and completely artificial television announcers.
"And a lifetime supply of life-affirming marshmallows?" shrieked Little Jimmy Meyer's dad. "No point in packing a thermos of instant extra artificially sweetened warm hot chocolate if we didn't pack a lifetime supply of life-affirming marshmallows."
"We have the life-affirming marshmallows," sighed Little Jimmy Meyer's mom with relief, "but in our haste to escape the zone of terror we forgot to pack a thermos of instant extra artificially sweetened warm hot chocolate and now we are going to die!"
"Damn! Damn! Damn!" cursed Little Jimmy Meyer's dad. "Terrible terrorists are one thing. Worst winter storms of all time are quite another!"
"What are we going to do?" shrieked Little Jimmy Meyer's mom. "Who are we going to call. Oh, who can help us now?"
"Stay tuned to your favorite television stations for further instructions," announced the beautifully manicured and completely artificial television announcers.
"We're going to stay tuned to our favorite television stations for further instructions," said Little Jimmy Meyer's dad with poise. "They may close the schools and then what are we going to do?"
"School closings as follows," announced the beautifully manicured and completely artificial television announcers.
"Is there any more antiperspirant spray?" asked Little Jimmy Meyer's mom rootling around in the glove compartment.
"Please!" begged Little Jimmy Meyer's dad. "I'm trying to hear this. This is important. They're announcing school closings!"
"We've been trapped in this car for weeks," said Little Jimmy Meyer's mom pulling everything but gloves from the glove compartment. "I wonder why they call this a glove compartment there are never any gloves in here. Never any antiperspirant spray either and I hate to be the one to tell you…"
"You hate to be the one to tell them," announced the beautifully manicured and completely artificial television announcers. "But they stink."
"But you stink!" said Little Jimmy Meyer's mom.
"Please!" reiterated Little Jimmy Meyer's dad. "They're closing all the schools. Forever!"
"We're closing all the schools. Forever!" announced the beautifully manicured and completely artificial television announcers. "Stay tuned to your favorite television stations for further instruction."
"They're closing all the schools. Forever!" said Little Jimmy Meyer's dad. "We're to stay tuned to our favorite television stations for further instruction."
"Here it comes," announced the beautifully manicured and completely artificial television announcers. "The worst winter storm of all time. Get out of your family-style cars and head for your family-style homes!"
"What are we going to do?" shrieked Little Jimmy Meyer's mom and dad. "What are we going to do?"
"You will panic," announced the beautifully manicured and complete artificial television announcers.
"I'm panicking," said Little Jimmy Meyer's mom in panic. "Are you panicking?"
"I'm panicking," said Little Jimmy Meyer's dad. "What do we do now?"
"Stay tuned to your favorite television stations for further instruction," announced the beautifully manicured and completely artificial television announcers. "As you run screaming from your family-style cars be safe, be sure, make certain you have plenty of instant extra artificially sweetened warm hot chocolate and a patriotic lifetime supply of life-affirming marshmallows."
As Little Jimmy Meyer's mom and dad joined millions of other patriotic patriots running screaming from their family-style cars in confused family-style panic toward their family-style homes, making several trips to rescue the televisions they had hurriedly packed when attempting their escape from the zone of terror, Little Jimmy Meyer peanut butter and jelly sandwich in hand snuck out the back door as his parents' arms, heavy with televisions, ran screaming in the front.
"You can't leave your televisions out in the cold," announced the beautifully manicured and completely artificial television announcers, "not with the worst winter storm of all time coming your way."
"They'll freeze to death, poor things," sobbed Little Jimmy Meyer's mom. "Can't we do something?"
"You need to keep your televisions close," announced the beautifully manicured and completely artificial television announcers. "They are friends. They are family. They are all you have between you and them!"
"We need to keep our televisions close," said Little Jimmy Meyer's dad.
"They are friends," proclaimed Little Jimmy Meyer's mom.
"They are family," intoned Little Jimmy Meyer's dad.
"They are all we have between us and them," said Little Jimmy Meyer's parents in unison.
"Do we have enough instant extra artificially sweetened warm hot chocolate and a patriotic lifetime supply of life-affirming marshmallows?" screamed Little Jimmy Meyer's dad racing toward the family-style car to rescue another member of his family-styled medium.
Little Jimmy Meyer's mom shouting instruction into her portable life-sustaining telephone was sadly disappointed when after all her efforts she got nothing but a prerecorded operator announcing a prerecorded busy signal.
"Is your portable life-sustaining telephone always busy?" announced the beautifully manicured and completely artificial television announcers.
"It's always busy," cursed Little Jimmy Meyer's mom.
"Always busy," announced the beautifully manicured and completely artificial television announcers. "And always out of your economic reach."
"Always busy," shrieked Little Jimmy Meyer's mom. "And always out of our economic reach. We can't afford our patriotic life's necessities. Instant extra artificially sweetened warm hot chocolate. A lifetime supply of life-affirming marshmallows. Even if we could afford instant extra artificially sweetened warm hot chocolate and a lifetime supply of life-affirming marshmallows I can never get through to our local national distributor."
"The line always busy," announced the beautifully manicured and completely artificial television announcers.
"The line is always busy," complained Little Jimmy Meyer's mom. "Jammed by less than patriotic people who can't afford instant extra artificially sweetened warm hot chocolate and a lifetime supply of life-affirming marshmallows but are buying and hording all they can because they want to stay warm during the worst winter storm ever!"
"The best you can do is to keep trying," announced the beautifully manicured and completely artificial television announcers.
"The best you can do is to keep trying," shouted Little Jimmy Meyer's dad bringing in the last of the televisions.
"I don't care how expensive or how deeply we have to get into debt to secure our patriotic necessities," shrieked Little Jimmy Meyer's mom at the prerecorded operator announcing a prerecorded busy signal, "We need instant extra artificially sweetened warm hot chocolate and a lifetime supply of life-affirming marshmallows and we need them now!"
"Hurry inside," announced the beautifully manicured and completely artificial television announcers. "The worst winter storm of all time is coming. And while the worst winter storm of all time is coming you need to stay tuned to your favorite stations for further instruction."
"We are staying tuned," screamed Little Jimmy Meyer's mom hysterically. "We are staying tuned for further instruction but what do we do now."
"While mom is in the kitchen warming up some of that tempting life-affirming instant extra artificially sweetened warm hot chocolate," announced the beautifully manicured and completely artificial television announcers, "dad should impatiently battle the dank dark foreboding forces of the basement, flashlight in hand, fighting past the dank dark foreboding forces of the obsolete furnace to see if your lifetime supply of life-affirming marshmallows has not been tampered with by mice or terrible terrorists."
"Not the dank dark foreboding basement again!" shrieked Little Jimmy Meyer's dad. "I hate the dank dark foreboding basement. I hate the dank dark foreboding forces of the obsolete furnace. What good has the furnace been since the price of home-heating fuel has been so artificially escalated home owners with family-style homes like ours can't even think of affording it."
"From deep in the dank dark recesses of the dank dark foreboding basement," announced the beautifully manicured and completely artificial television announcers, "dad screams out, ‘In my next life I have to remember not to come back as me.'"
"In my next life," screamed out Little Jimmy Meyer's dad from the dank dark foreboding recesses of the dank dark foreboding basement, "I have to remember not to come back as me."
From her perch near the nuclear-powered warming oven Little Jimmy Meyer's mom warming a big mug of instant extra artificially sweetened warm hot chocolate substitute asked, "Can you do that?"
"Can I do what?" screamed Little Jimmy Meyer's dad from the dank dark recesses of the dank dark foreboding basement.
"You can't," announced the beautifully manicured and completely artificial television announcers. "But you sure can talk about it."
"In your next life?" asked Little Jimmy Meyer's mom. "Can you come back as someone else?"
"I can't," said Little Jimmy Meyer's dad. "But I sure can talk about it!"
Bio: Yap, yap, yap Bayard. Yap, yap, yap Bayard. Yap, yap, yap Bayard. Bayard, Bayard, Bayard, yap.
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