So you want to hear my story? Well you can’t. It’s on paper. But you can probably read it.
I suppose I should start from the beginning. Where it all began. Chapter 4:
Many decades had passed since the tragic oreo-induced death of my aunt Ethel. To this day, I cannot look at a box of Oreos without weeping with combined joy and disgust. This does not prevent me from eating them….no, dear readers, for truly the Oreo is the cookie of the gods, but I digress.
As I stood under the neon glow of Big Al’s 24 Hour Morgue’s “2 for 1 special” sign, I contemplated the whirlwind of events that resulted in me ending up here. I contemplated many things, actually. Things like, “Why am I here?”, “Didn’t I already ask that?”, “Where DID all the cowboys go?”, and “Why haven’t I seen this place before?” That last question stuck especially in my mind, as Billy’s godmother had mysteriously died the same night as my aunt Ethel, and we really could have used that deal.
I don’t know how long I stood staring at that sign, but it must have been quite a while, as my leg started to itch from the small family of iguanas building a nest in my left pant leg. “Oh well, let them roost.” I thought, as I finally mustered up the courage to enter Big Al’s store. The jingling of the bells on the door was almost melodic, like the sounds that melodic bells would make if they were just slightly less melodic.
“How do you like my melodic bells? I just had them installed yesterday. I had them take out some of the melodic, though, because, well, this is a morgue, after all.” The man behind the counter said, very racistly.
Who was this mysterious man?
“I’m Big Al.” Well, that answered that question. “What can I help you with today?”
I eyed Big Al melodically. A seven foot tall man stood before me, his tinfoil sombrero cocked to the side in a manner that suggested “I care about my looks, but I don’t care if you care about my looks.” His hairy, shirtless chest seemed out of place next to his elegantly pressed The Flash Underoos. No matter. I came here for a reason, even if I don’t know what that reason is.
“Big Al? The old man in the sea told me to tell you….the kumquat has transcended to the realm of the elephant lords.”
Big Al growled low and grabbed the collar of my torn Argyle poncho. He pulled me close. I could smell the oreos on his breath. “Old Salty send you, boy? You better not be playing me like the bilingual mute he sent before you.”
I shook my head and offered him an oreo. He seemed both saddened and overjoyed at my gift. He leaned closer.
“Your Aunt Ethel?” he whispered. The smell of oreos was almost overwhelming now. I resisted the urge to eat his nose. “She’s alive.”
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