[Segment starts with Perfect Tan, by Machines of Loving Grace]
Kagy: Hey, welcome back. We were engaged in a little test, Springhill. I want to see if you're even paying attention to my questions, so I ask you: Springhill, What time is it? Caller Twenty-Five, What time is it?
Caller 25: When are we as American's going to realize that there isn't such a thing as racial profiling. It's not political correctness when every terrorist is ACTUAL a Muslim! I hate this PC crap.
Kagy: Wow. Poe's Law in action. Before I hang up on you, Twenty-Five, are the Gay's unnatural? I'm testing a theory.
Caller 25: 'Course they are! [click]
Kagy: Ladies and Gentlemen, Poe's Law states that without a show of humor, it's impossible to tell the difference between parody and fundamentalism. Fortunately that statement has enough multisyllabic words so I'm exempt from backlash from the listeners of whom it applies. Caller Twenty-Six, what time is it?
Caller 26: It's Two-Fifteen and a girl I once knew has fallen under the curse of Benjamin Franklin.
Kagy: Alri-i-i-ight.
Caller 26: She was only twenty-two and we scoffed at a shine you could only find by turning this blue screw two quarters to the left before the secret doors would open. Inside we found all manner of tributes from book about the Free Masons to scented candles. I even found a DVD set of Akira Kurosawa's 1954 classic, Seven Samurai. We knew it was an earnest shrine, as if a man wished to show the strangeness and wonder of the modern world to a country's founder.
Kagy: What happened.
Caller 26: We were cocky; especially her. We sang and drank that night until the glass around us broke. It wasn't a tribute, but a cynical terror. We were bullies, the two us, and while intoxicated she formed herself in sacred shapes as a blasphemy to the church of genuine worship. Neither of us are certain how the curse came about. Perhaps some trap left by the shrine's creator. An ancient Egyptian trick of some sort. No matter the method, we both began to go mad. After leaving, there was word about a boy or girl who killed themselves floating in the air. No one told us, we just knew. She began to rave that it was her fault, but I remained vigilant to reality asking for further proof of the boy or girl's original existence. As I drove her home, it was apparent to me we were both losing our minds. We would share illusions of grotesqueness in the shadows. The corner of our vision filled with severed body parts and maggots. The electric lines became something sinister with no indication. I would constantly remind her that there was no screaming head caught on the windshield to witch she would always ask, 'if it's not real, how do you not also see it?' [pause]
Kagy: You still there.
Caller 26: Sorry. I...I just miss her. She is still alive, but succumbed to our rotted imagination. Despite the damage to my faculties, I still remain resolute. Reality is my God, and I, it's humble servant. You see, it takes care of me. She was always too confident to bow down to anything greater than herself, certain that she was in control of herself at all times. That's the real tragedy. If the visions remain, it only because she's certain it what she wants to see. I tell you this as a warning, Ms. Kagy. If in your travels of Springhill in the night you should come across an old brick building and find a shrine of any sort, please. Pay it respect measured by the care that went into it's creation. [he hung up]
Kagy: Wow. That's quite some story. Uh...David is signaling that we need to cut to commercial. I'll talk to you in a bit.
No comments:
Post a Comment