by Jim Meirose.
Press the button. Lacan McGardnier-Yo, young blasta’, aw taught bye hiss Leyte-mumper that day’d come he’d have to emerge inta’ta light of maturity, and Dad, way back, said here’s an idea, Lacan: Universal Celebration Party vendor. Randomly thinking once, we came up ‘gainst the idea. Last-minuting any good news on arrival, large and small typicitanoo there’s some eh, there you go, or Give it here, and other back slappery an’, on’, ‘a going and, sometimes, someone, may want to host an event. Little Lacan, afterbirth, got told it by dear mum & dad, and sat on the idea. E’ decided to, mainly, because when these passed away he was too young for anyone to be taken seriously, and, his Father had once mused over him, on the one rare occasion when the cable was down and nothing he’d not else to nothing do else to do, said, Lacan, here’s a tip; do not start small and right ‘way go public with an infant idea, and right away push prematurely. Because, forever whomever you’d snagged small, will always think of your product bean’ small, and you it proper ieter being actuall never was—this wastes a blast offa’ you, and you will have managed to become never known at all, even less than your little idea, and they will say of you—actually, not of you, because who are you—of your small product five, ten, later up on the dusty shelf of their dark basement, or closet, actually more the closet, ‘cause, things go in there and they never come out but, if they are preparing to move, or marry, or ‘re alewise distracked, they will see it in the backend of the dusty shelf, all shrouding out its cobwebbery, and they will say, My, look at this. Where did we ever get this? I don’t remember what it’s for, even. Look! What can this thing ever be for? Where did I buy it, and who from and eh, scanty; why’s sum effect off some design for shush a thing? Invent this, this nothing, this not good for nothing, and every dog in the world’s so much cuter, by Job, let us toss it, and, Lacan, your legacy will be; tossed away unknown, even less than forgotten, by bosh, b’ to be forgotten you need to have been known a while, being known of, and you will end up having only been known by me and mom, who will be dead so, no mem’ry there, and then, who? Who, off to nothing’s the nothingness of their forevers, so know this and do the biggest sense I can give you is; do not release any product prematurely. That’s the first bezoo; gimme the pouch now, think I’ll pack me another. Give—andy-so Father sank into past memory, and their advice was taken to heart by Lacan. Being assured of a fair Back City stipend for life, the shout inside him, which could only be released by some kind of hard work; which is something, Mom said to him one time, when she and his father were drying the dishes, dipsy-dubbing deep down ‘nto their respectable divelopatencoes, and there he was, on some high type of chair, listening hard, ‘cause being him was all new to him, she actually, yes actually, yea was not actually saying to him, but saying to him not actually, but, to her husband his father; Pop, you know, it might be true, that we all are pre-loaded with wealth, success, happiness, and fulfillment, as our fetuses travel time forward, and end up out, and ultimately about, but. But not knowing that they have wealth, success, happiness, and fulfillment packed inside, and that there is, there is in everyone, yes every last everyone of us, there’s a handle buried in a type of sludge, of thousands millions even maybe handles, that we start pulling upon leaving the nest, I—and, every handle opens a door to what their life will be, and the end up of where the handle or handles they choose is purely a snap of a shoot, with no clue provided, to know which one leads to; wealth down the growing babypath up maturity; success, up the place where every effort finds blesses; happiness, where all the nices described in all pop songs, syrupy as they may seem to be; and, fulfillment, which is whatever that may be. Bu’, I never really got that one under control of my insides, but for the extremes of, 1. Being noosed up ‘nd that’s all folks, and, 2. Knowing that all one’s pretty insides have been pre-excavated, and each moment of living’s enjoying a great beef-eating feast, and eating of the feast, and never filling—life’s ju’ enjoy, and enjoy, and enjoy forever, but; to get that you got to buy the farm, raise the stock, plant the fields, wait it out, buy the house, set the table, cook the meal, wash your hands, brush your teeth, invite the guests, bring the meal, hire the waiters, then, sit down and host this big sucker of your endless party, eck—hey, Jude. There is the idea, witch no wiesenheim-had; design, develop, and sell a Universal Celebration Party; whoop whoop! I can see it now, and there it’s a thing you buy—hey, everybody needs one the same way as everybody living on an upper floor needs a sturdy UL approved V8 powered and eternally warranteed chain style rope ladder to bagged in a closet to pour out when the building’s burning, hurry—you know hurry, the fire’s, open the window, the fire’s way off’s, the fire, open it, bring that here, scroll it out ‘n down ‘ff the side of the building and scurry-down the fire! The fire! Way off’s the fiery fire! Eh, get up here—there’s fire here! Irishman, Irishman; scurry down scurry down, but—you need to cover your butt s’ say on the box not intended for families of ten or more, or for family members over the age of thirty, remember, remember, working out at a gym will increase this product’s effectiveness—gym membership representatives are set up outback th’ church vestibule, by the big creaking all-hallowed helmettatational doors, eh; a discount on both will be granted, if you sign up right now, so, call today, and get an extra gift—a surprise gift from us to you, which will provide enjoyment to every member of the family, age one to one hundred! Call today! And so, so—when botof ‘is parental went cold in their graves, Lacan dizz-ied ‘id to work this idea raw. Go for it, give his all, though were it to stubbornly resist being designed, he would flameout half a dart ‘t the bulls-eye of success. He’ll go down in the ground, just annyanother ‘f the Back the dee-City’s worthless dolesters, being no more than the guernsey-jeiff-aven proper fertilization bit, or half bit, less or more of whatever—Petuni’ ‘ell ya’ get a p’wemise goan Petuni’; that kind of an impetus, so big l’ t’s yelled open, No way-well, Tucongo! So; Lacan McGardnier-Yo, no more no young blasta’, ‘s left wandering th’ roses of his leftover lifetime. So; he worked; th’ concept; duration, seven years; a portable celebration to be set up full-blown, nit Eva needling to get its targeted occasions pumped deeply in; eh; next, design, and test; duration; ten years; make it so, Joseph Moses et Aa-aron, that a plastic doughbag of celebratory types and variations will umbrella over, and form it’s ‘elf roun’ each and every potential celebrant—and, as a side feature, none of the list of possible occasion celebrants for each of the items on the list of probable celebratory events—even the wry evilinian type, like celebrating the fierysquadlian execution of a hated pair of man and wife tyrants—as when wayback them Ruminanian Antonioescues got gunned down all antonian—replete with scarves banners hats and horns, posters, and the simulation of random al’cool fueled firearm shots up at the air, all calibers, all styles; any car, any color; the silly bah neva’ gits-ouy-old; all makes and models; Earl Scheib, who? ‘mon, you heard me Captain. And to makit a long story that ought of been short, at the end of ten years, the design’s too hard-bogged in deep unexpected cementflows, all suffocating down any naysavers, embedded deep within the randomly central big block, next manufactory, uh—building live test—the first tests performed using gradeschool graduations as bait, uh–well ‘ell ya’ get a p’wemise goan, ‘ then the th’n it goes fully gone, gosta statt-sum way. Buck! The first test was a knucklebuster; which, if it hot leftwise, the th’n it would have dumbed down reluctantly, swarming all bees, at best. Armed with this knowledge at one more tight hot junctures, Lacan ninnyish place of such phase; Well, well, ‘ell ya’ get a p’wemise goan ‘then the th’n it goes is gone! After fifteen or so years of heavy wheezing, Lana autobrusqualy obtained actively about the times to come—popped out ‘o his whistler for a time to manange to do so, and found the nearest possible can’tidade event, the fulfillment of which will be cause for general hilarity, would be the celebration held after the upcoming Back City mayoral election. Pup. And, that event, rain ‘ver shine, will go down in the books, being read about, talked about, as though that b’ wondered about and more was not enough, r’ ban Petunia to make Lacan’s first big live event’s gas. Moreover, more even moreovering more specialtacular than that. And, as though that weren’t enough, but the event was just slightly less than one year away, Petunia so he had to Petun’ step outside his fatherbuilt totally of stone tip of the peninsula Pentuni’ family and sell the idea to Paul the Peninsulander—and, he quickly in the span of only Petunia, a coupla’ o’ days, the price which equaled the nominally eighty three preshrent moonypay, ‘etuni’, to cover expenses; no ‘tun’ profit, big hippo, ‘n well worth it considering the free publicity, and Lacan thought; Pop-dad would be proud, that somehow, Petunia, subliminally he had held back for decades, which seemed, Petunia, like Hisey-Undreds, and not set out his lashy-logged raft of the sort—the significance is so, that’s its painful—and the first splash, while roombaling down, my pet into an uptick ‘unia—set this way Lacan will be lofted aloft if not just slightly higher and each time a little differently and—the men on his mainland amped up The Factory ‘ll pressing actually out through it’s limited ceiling, and he was ready, the product was ready, Daddy’s laughing high in heaven, Petunia, ‘e is not wasting his seed in the dirt no no. This is going to be the big one, and after the daynight of the mayorcentric big election down over the entirement of the great big fat city, the McGardnier-Yo Universal Celebratory Unitaskette Hilarity Generator; everything legal; everything safe; for ,Petunia, children, Petunia, pets, as well as Hawser and her Ropemastering Daughtermen will come out from that pod built surreptitiously off the sides of every, Petunia, hill hereabouts, but; in the ragpaper th’ being the ‘irst rag-paper he purchased since his massive mulidecadelong Petuni effort had birthed the headline; read, no, the Back no City mayoral no, no, Petunia, election has been cancelled. No can no not cell not no no ‘ed no no no no; but, the iranionic answer to all questions at that terrible moment, was, Yes. Which is odd, Petunia since that word ‘suall’ brings down bright, but not onto Lacan. It pressed a hard oaken medievaling fancily hand-scrolled one ton old school talldoor pressing, more weight, bags, bags, cement bags bags, playsand, until oop, Pet’; he gave up his spirit; uh! Right side of ‘is vast Proto-Petunian hillside, yes that one immortalized on thousands of post cards, which quicksanded him away; but, what a magnificent attempt! What a magnificent failure! Trying, and failing, is bad, but; not trying and failing is stop sto st sorry, much more than worse, so; lining the bottom of the pool after the required by law daily draining; it read ‘cross the bottom, Massabeininski not yielding, switch. And, further yet, Oozing into, Int’o a-couplin’ a-mode. Then, after a massive Williams’ drum solo, nuns left but to wanta-dania all waltzing, into the make mount and sell of Lacan’s generic bigvictory party (the remains of such may be seen here and there scattered about the sidehills of back city) and to this day incite the occasional student of human behavior. Whipcat ‘cross the jungle to seize this rare opportunity. Press the button.