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April 14th, 2006

Fry Powder

Posted by natdavauer in Around the World

Fry the expensive!” I hear bouncing off the plate glass windows and back into my ears as I jerk myself upright. Panting, I begin to look around the room for the source of the scream. As I catch the reflection of a man covered in sweat in the full length mirror, I realize it was me.

I drag myself through the sheets and over to the medicine cabinet where I sift through the empty orange canisters that spill into the sink. I stare deep into the eyes that stare back feeling like a slippery chicken in the bowel of la casserole dish. I find the right container when the words printed on the sticky label slowly come into focus: Laver four treasure pill. I pop four, then two more for good measure.

The TV blinks on and I sink back into the bed with the remote. What happened last night? Like a Google search memories start to list themselves: Old wine in Shanghai, good to eat fish egg. My eyes stare at the headlights weaving like an electric cow river on the interstates threading along the horizon. The list continues, “Five food chun, fresh cloud swallows, harbor type cow shi…

The TV is white noise when I wake up. Is it still the middle of the same night or did days just pass? I mourn to burn the laurel blossom firm. The light of the TV implodes into a black hole as I press the “off” button. I slide my head under the pillow but jerk back when I hit something cold and hard. A .58 revolver. It weighs heavy in my hand as I watch my reflection bend grotesquely around its edges. I notice a white corner sticking out of the barrel. A small note threads out spinning with the rifling. Smoothing the note out it reads in a thick, red lipstick scrawl, “Sauce of XO explodes the green bean explodes the fresh you.”

Just as I start to check the chamber of the gun for bullets the door barks twice at me.

“Room service” the voice of the dog says.

I didn’t order any room service. Or did I? I don’t even know where the hell I am. I hold my breath trying to decide if I should respond.

Ginger spring onion fries the bullfrog” the door says.

Without missing a beat “Sand farmland frailty skin squab!” jumps out of my throat. What the heck is going on here? Who is this guy? Who am I?

The door groans as it’s smashed by a size 13 on the other side. This guy either wants his tip really bad or maybe, just maybe this isn’t room service. The revolver slides under my shirt and into the small of my back. It feels like home. My belt hugs it tight and I know it’s been there before. My roundhouse kick sends the TV through the window and eight feet of deadly ice shower the floor.

Before the TV even reaches the tenth floor I have two lengths of bed sheet tied together. The door splinters just as I sail out of the window on a 500 thread-count lifeline. Room service fires what sounds like a 12 gauge and shot flies out over the city.

Thai onions turn Eyes fish ball!” he yells, reloading his boom stick.

Butter many privates!” I respond as I head for what is going to be a painfully intimate view into my neighbor’s window two stories below.

My left hand whips behind my back and returns with the .58. It is pumping rounds into the glass while I’m still thinking “Well, great wall f*cks red. I’m a lefty.” My identical twin swings straight towards me and then dissolves into glittering confetti like a retirement party.

I crash into the bedroom feeling the glitter dig deep into my back. This should hurt, but it doesn’t. I shouldn’t be alive, but I am. What shocks me as I stand returning the .58 home is that I’m not shocked at all. My mind feels clear and even happy. Happy of the fact that by the weight of the revolver I knew I only had five shells and only used four to “open” my neighbor’s window leaving one in the chamber for room service.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!?”

I look up still grinning to see a man and woman huddled under their own 500 thread-count life line. “Well, it’s like my uncle always used to say,” I answer. “Fry the pig pick the idea powder.”

2 Responses to ' Fry Powder '

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  1. Chuck Lawton said,
    on April 21st, 2006 at 10:03 pm

    I really REALLY want to say something equally clever as this story, but alas, I have nothing to add; Gallery Night has depleated me completely of cleverness.

    But I have just one nagging question… I was able to piece together that “ginger spring onion fries the bullfrog” is the code phrase for “The wind blows from the south today”. But I don’t see why responding with “some cats drink wine with strangers” did send the attacker on his way…

  2. Chuck Lawton said,
    on April 21st, 2006 at 10:04 pm

    Oops. did = didn’t…

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