Amanda’s husband rested in bed for a week, suffering from fever, tremors, and night sweats. One day she decided to don his favorite outfit, a see-through body-hugging negligee. She flounced into his room, climbed on top, and applied clown makeup to his face. She threw the covers over his head, and beat him with a broom handle from head to toe until it broke, then shoved one half into his rear end, after she applied lubricant. Finally she stopped the video recording and uploaded the footage to several streaming sites. Amanda and her friends laughed for weeks. Amanda never felt better.
Sultan Slamdance, was a solo industrial metal project from South Sudan. One night at his favorite venue, Armageddon Playground, he played his guitar to his hard hitting electronic backing tracks, while hopped-up on honey drop hookah. The combination of the chords he used for his song, “My Love is like Planting Pomegranates in a Mine Field, with a 20 Gallon Drum of Gasoline Strapped to My Back,” opened a portal to another space time continuum. Green skinned aliens which stood seven feet tall with large eyes, massive heads, pink antennas, and wearing silver thermal spandex appeared on stage. They each brought their own instrument: bagpipe, zither, xylophone, harpsichord, trumpet, and washboard. The melodies were lush, well arranged, passionate, and accessible. Then the Sultan’s all-female fan club, The Mummified Mammary, took to the stage. The lovely ladies clad in black vinyl skirts, fishnet body suits, and “X” pasties danced suggestively with the aliens. As the set came to a climax, the alien leader named, Captain Karg, handed Slamdance “The Omega Orb.” It was a basketball-sized levitating sphere which radiated blue light. Sultan Slamdance held the orb over his head then opened it.
The blonde buxom cashier interrupts me, "That’ll be $45.03. Please swipe your card."
See this cash register is exactly where the stage used to be. I survived the explosion by jumping under the bar. There I was, trampled by the patrons’ high heels. I suffered a punctured lung, ruptured trachea, and swollen knee. But other than that - I was ok.
"Sir, don’t forget your bags."
“Yes, hurry up,” shouts a guy next in line. He wears bunny ears, a blinking red nose, and Steeler jersey.
“Please,” adds a woman behind the guy with the bunny ears. Her attire consists of a green polka-dot tutu, diving mask, snorkel, and hiking boots.
Yep, got it. But I didn’t finish my story. Why don’t we meet up for a cup of coffee, and I can tell you the rest. It has to do with the subsequent FBI’s cover-up and the strange lights outside my window.
The cashier rolls her eyes. "Sir, thank you for shopping at Walmart, have a great day."
Bio: Nick Romeo is a multidisciplinary artist, musician and writer. His writings have been published in various literary magazines such as Uppagus, The Gambler, StreetCake Magazine, Eye Contact, Syzygy, and others. He was interviewed for Pankhearst's Fresh Featured of December 2015 and The Dailey Poet Site of February 2016. Nick lives in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania with his wife and cat, Megatron.