The Randomness Continues

Friday, July 30, 2004

Shooting stars passed by like headlights on a wet road, and headlights passed like shooting stars in a clear sky. The WiseGuy was driving, breaking all the laws, but not doing anything that anyone else hadn't already done. He was 25 miles from somewhere, and half a mile from nowhere in particular. He passed a sign for birth, missed the exit for life, and got lost on Death Ave., before finding a glowing sign on the edge of the road that simply stated: questions answered, fortunes told, ice cream eaten, T-shirts sold.

The WiseGuy pulled his car into the parking lot, which seemed to stretch on for miles. Each spot was full until he passed them, at which time the cars pulled out and waited for him to circle back, then once again pulled into the spots when he thought he had one. Finally he found a spot 1.73 miles from the door, and the moment he parked all the cars left.

The door didn't have a bell, but instead had a dog hanging from a basket hanging from the door. The WiseGuy thought it strange, but a simple sign changed his mind: the basket bassett. He shrugged and walked to the desk.

An old woman was hunched over a newspaper clip-out of old Kathy cartoons. She laughed a shrill, piercing cackle every now and then, possibly just to reassure the world she was indeed still alive.

"Ahem," The WiseGuy coughed. The woman tilted her head to the side, her left eye focused on his face, her right eye drifting to the pocket where his wallet dozed.

"May I help you?" she asked, in a voice that made every movie The WiseGuy had seen about witches look normal.

"Umm, yes. I would like my--," she interrupted him.

"..Future told, your fortunes read, your questions answered, yes, I know," she said in a sarcastic tone.

"But... how did you know that? Did you read my mind? Did you see my future through a crystal ball, or read it on tea leaves?"

"No-- that's what is written on our sign."

"Oh yeah."

"We also have ice cream."

"Soft serve?"

"Chocolate dipped, with walnuts, pecans, almonds, peanuts, and sprinkles on the side."

"I'll take one vanilla cone."

"We don't have vanilla."




"No. We have only Neopolitan." The WiseGuy was baffled, but soon found confusion bows to ice cream. The woman dissapeared through a doorway with beads instead of a wooden door. He stood in a trance eating the ice cream cone for a few seconds before she popped her head through the beads. "Your fortune, child." The WiseGuy walked through the beads and sat down on a small red cushion.

"Hey, comfy chairs."

"Don't tell anyone, but they're actually ottomans."

"Really? They don't look like members of a 600 year old empire, which in it's prime, stretched from Northern Africa to southern Turkey." The woman simply stared at him for 27 minutes. After that, she took his finger tips in her hands, and began looking at them, occasionally saying things like, "ahh yes" and "oh my" and "good" to add to the effect that she was actually doing something that was worth the $55.00 he had paid her. She was almost finished with his hand, when she suddenly went stiff.

"What? Did you see something?"

"My dear," she said shaking, "you are going to--- DIE!"

"When? Now?"

"Well, you know, eventually. Well that's the end of the session, give me more money or get the hell out." The WiseGuy sat for a while looking at her as if her eyes were suddenly glowing red and fire was coming out of the tips of her fingers, which was very appropriate because that was exactly what was happening at the time.

"WiseGuy," she said in a chilling voice that made the basket bassett yelp with terror, jump off his basket, change his named to Carlos Sanchez and move to Mexico, "Leave this place. You are in danger, for the damned and cursed that hunt you come nearer each minute."

"Really?" Suddenly the on the tip of her fingers went out and her eyes returned to their normal glassy glazed over look.

"No," she sighed. "Listen, I want to go home and watch re-runs of Seinfeld, so will you just leave?"

"But you didn't answer my questions!"

"Fine. You want answers? You will get married three times before finding the perfect woman. Each of your first three wives died due to your stubborn insistance on hitting her with cake on your wedding day, and your misjudgement of your own strength. Your fourth and final wife is allergic to cake. You will have three children, each of which will be beaten up and teased during high school, but all three will retire at the age of 19 after inventing three inventions that changed the world: something better than what replaced DVDs, a color darker than black, and the Mike Tyson Roticery Oven. You will die loved by some, liked by a few, hated by
many, and wondered about by all. There, how are those for answers?" She looked up to find The WiseGuy had fallen asleep. After being tossed out, The WiseGuy woke up and got back into his car.

After driving for a while, he saw a man on the edge of the road. He stopped to offed the man a ride. "Hello sir, can I give you a lift?"

Other than not being old, over-weight, haaving a beardand a mustache, wearing glasses, a red suit, black belt and boots, or a hat, not having white hair, and not being jolly-- the man was exactly like Santa Clause.

"Wow, you know, despite looking nothing like him, you look exactly like Santa Clause!"

"I get that a lot."

"Can I offer you a ride?"

"Why are you asking my permission if the question you want to ask is implied in the question you already asked before knowing if I wanted a ride or not?" The WiseGuy looked like a particulary wasted deer looking at a particulary bright pair of headlights on a particularly nice car, driven by a particularly nice looking person. In other words, he stared at the man, eyes wide open, and tongue hanging out of his mouth at an odd angle. "I mean," the man said, "Yes, I'd love a ride."

The WiseGuy's car sputtered, and puttered, and uttered, and sometimes just ttered along, until it finally sputtered it's last sput having run out of gas. This would have been a problem, had the car not, just moments earlier, hit a tree and flewn miles through the air, coming to rest right by a gas station. Convenient.

The man who looked almost, but not quite, nothing at all like Santa Clause (HHGG fans, wink wink) offered to pay for the gas. But, thinking the man was calling him fat, The WiseGuy said he'd like to pay for the gas. The man said that he would feel bad if he didn't, and would gladly pay for the gas. The WiseGuy disagreed, saying the man was his guest, and he didn't want to argue about it anymore. The man said it would really be no problem. So The WiseGuy untied the rope that was safely securing the man to this planet, and watched as he floated off into the sky.

Miles away, the man got tangled in a tree. It took all the King's horses, and all the King's men, and all the King's cherry pickers, all day to get him back down. After seeing he wasnt a) Humpty Dumpty, and b) broken in pieces, they put him in an egg suit and beat him with pipes until he was broken into pieces. They then reached the conclusion that none of them could put him back together again, so they tied him back to the ground, safely securing his various pieces to this planet.

Back at the gas station, The WiseGuy had paid for his gas, and was now on his way home. He combed his teeth, flossed his hair, pressed his dog, and walked his shirt. Then went to bed.

When The WiseGuy woke up, he had had the strangest dream: he was sitting at his computer writing a post on blogger while listening to Modest Mouse and drinking a Mountain Dew. Man, his dreams sure were strange.

Outside his house, all the King's horses, and all the King's men were busy stealing vegetables from The WiseGuy's garden again.


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