oh

“I uh… okay man…. Whatever that uh… means… yeah…” Man, those curtains sure were purple. Really… really purple… and stripey. But they weren’t like normal stripes, they were all zig-zaggy. Like… really fuckin’ jaggedy. And… was that double-knit? They looked really sturdy, man, like… really. You could probably hoist a fat man with those things.

…Dude. Duuuuuude, what if I tried it on that lady down the street? Get like…. A crane, and hoist that shit into the air, how far could I lift her before these curtains tore? I bet pretty far. Like, hanging her off the top of a skyscraper far… if dropping a marshmallow off the Empire State Building can kill a person, is dropping a fat lady off it like dropping an atom bomb on New York City? They should pass a law against that. Article forty-five thousand eight hundred fifty three article Z: The dropping of women of any race, sexual orientation or age of over 400 pounds off of skyscrapers is hereby forbidden. Yeah. If I ever were in charge of something, I’d pass that law… not before I’d pass a law requiring everyone to have fat lady-hoisting curtains. Everyone needs a set of that shit.

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I promptly flopped down onto her bed unceremoniously and started contemplating the crack in the ceiling there… it kinda looked like Andrew Jackson… wait. What if it really was Andrew Jackson? Or what if like… his spiritual successor put him there. What if his spiritual successor was one of the tiny people. Mini Andrew Jackson. He was probably beating my big toe to death right now because he was batshit crazy.