WALKING ON THIN ICE

Double cross:

“Why did the chicken cross the road?”

To get revenge for the road crossing him.

So, we going to Mexico, or Guatemala?

“Who knows? It’d be nice to see Guatemala after Mexico.”

We’re going to Guatemala, have some guacamole. Guatemalan guacamole.

I used to have a radio show at the institution, and between visits with the psychiatrists, they’d get me a microphone, and I got to be everybody.

“You never told me about the institution.”

I’m telling you now. You know why Freud said there’re no jokes?

“No, why?”

Because he was the joke.

“That’s a good reduction.”

Yes, ma’am.

“But you’ve never been in an institution. You’re lying.”

I have been in an institution.

“Yeah, penal.”

Yeah, also in the cubicle farm institution with the suits.

“Are the suits like straight jackets?”

Oh yes. So’s the desk, the briefcase, sniffing the boss’s ass. Good beta behavior to the alpha dog. Sniff sniff.

“How do you get out of the institution?”

With a passkey. Yes, I knew how to pass as sane. I walked out the door. They weren’t even sure I was there. Maybe I’m not… completely. You can just call me Some of Smith.

“You think you’re incomplete?”

Oh yes. We’re all incomplete since the Big Bang blew us apart. It was all Oneness and hunki-dory-ness before. Until the Big Bang blew us into life units. I’ve been trying to reunite with the Universe ever since. And we can’t until sub system collapse at the End, when the Universe sucks itself back Up, into One Big Pre-Puddle.

“How do you know you’re incomplete?”

I have this aching inside, this not-rightness, this lack of inner peace and satisfaction.

“I think it’s The Planetary Scream.”

That could well be. We’ve all been painted by Edvard Munch.

Why did the chicken cross the road?

“To make chicken pot hole pie.”