My mind soars out of my body like an eagle made of magic and jet engines, propelling my girthy consciousness deep into the throbbing portal of tomorrow. A world of my own imagining waits on the other side. It is like a version of Disneyland designed specifically for the mad monk Rasputin.
I am a conductor on the train of my psyche as it chugs through the rolling white hills of my dreams. The train is red, white, and blue and says PSYCHO TRAIN AMERICA on the side in neon yellow lettering that reminds me of a Dokken album cover. On the right we pass a dormitory full of people you can have sex with whenever you want.
"They're all retarded." A cloud whispers to me.
"Mildly." I say, the candy-colored sun bright on my cheeks. "Mildly."
You can train them and that's all that matters. For today's special it is not a tall drink of love with thick glasses, puffy lips, and weird stares. I am a seeker of adventure through the undiscovered country of my subconscious. I shovel more coke into the furnace and the train chugs faster. The puffs of varicolored smoke from her stack spell out words like "PONY" and "JEWS" and I laugh simply because there is no one around to tell me I can't.
"Retarded," mouths a cloud with an accusing shape like a pile of cottage cheese.
With a twist of my wrist I send it back to the hell that spawns all weather patterns. Bluebirds and doves gather around me, chirping and smiling in the hard-mouthed way that only a bird can. I snatch one from my shoulder and bite deep. They all taste like the sweetest cream-filled pastry and you can eat as many as you want without getting fat. A bright red cardinal hops obligingly into my mouth and he tastes like lemon cream. The robins are butterscotch. Their screams are a honey glaze like you might find pooling beneath a baklava.
"Choop, choop!" The train hoots merrily and I envision a smiling face on the old engine. My will is made manifest and I lean out from the engine room and laugh and open my mouth with the train to the wind so that birds fill our mouths and bellies.
"Ramming speed!" I laugh and the train giggles like a child.
We chug past a broad field of sunflowers turned to the sun and they sing a sweet song to us as we pass. Their chorus is joined by the babbling of a brook that runs through them. Bumblebees flit from flower to flower, grotesquely fat and laden with pollen. They pause in their endeavors to gape in awe at the majesty of the passing train and its handsome conductor. The baby bees wave to us and I wave back.
"Hurrah!" They cry.
"Remember to eat your greens!" I holler down to them.
They laugh riotously at my joke because it cannot be any other way.
At last we - my beautiful train and I - pull into Sleepyshade Station in the bustling gingerbread town of Cinnamon Meadows. With a final happy "choop!" of the whistle I bid PSYCHO TRAIN AMERICA a fond farewell and step down onto the platform.
No sooner have I set foot in the cobbled thoroughfare of Bumbledown Lane than I am greeted by the mayor of Cinnamon Meadows. A crowd of apple-cheeked children follows behind him bearing baskets and satchels of gifts carefully prepared by their friendly but simple parents. The children cheer and press their gifts into my hands. I am overwhelmed with wrapped parcels of spiced roundmeats, apple bakeups, tangy yeoman's cheese, salted parsnip crunchers, twists of molasses toffee, and painted clay jugs of fresh-pressed ginger cider.
"Hail and well met." The mayor exhorts to me with a tip of his velveteen hat. "I hope you find your visit to our humble town fond and fancy."
The mayor presents me with the key to the city and explains that with it I can unlock any door in all of Cinnamon Meadows.
"But, fine mayor," I implore, "I have come long and far over the jumping hills to seek out a homestead at which I can rest my weary feet and nap the nap of gods."
The mayor nods knowingly and turns to point at the strange thing that hangs in the sky over West Cinnamon Meadows. It is a castle and it is in the sky! I marvel at the ingenuity of the thing, so simple yet so magical. It is like the cover of a Dungeons and Dragons novel come to life.
"That castle was owned by the wizardly brothers Tumblebear and it is they who have put it in the sky." The mayor explains to me with frill and pomp. "Now it is vacant awaiting a new master to fill it up once again with things and people."
"Thank you for the tip I will inquire with the realtor." I toss a coin to the mayor and he bites its face to test its authenticity.
"Ouch blimey that hurt." The coin comments and the children laugh.
I struggle with the tins and bindles full of good tidings over to the realtor who is a giant lion with white hair and green-tinted glasses.
"I wish to see the insides of the castle yon." I say to the lion realtor.
The lion smacks his lazy cat chops and opens an umbrella.
"Come now hold onto my tail," the lion advises me with a yawn.
I grab onto his tail as he floats into the air under the umbrella. It is magical like so many other things in this land of my imagination. We are carried by the wind and sorcerer's powers up to the castle in the sky. The tour of the castle is a whirlwind of amazing sights and sounds and even smells.
The lion shows me the tower of Dairy Joe and its milky ghost. It is a spooky place but the ghost isn't so bad once you get to know him. Then the lion takes me through the hall of cowboy oddities where I marvel at everything from a three-handed cowpoke to a lasso that can turn into a bridge.
"It has forded many rivers for the cowboys." The lion realtor explains.
There are also wondrous apparatuses of magical design that have been left behind by the departed Tumblebear brothers. There is the bubbling cauldron of grisly grub and the chamber of the ninety vaginas, and that's just the start. There is an entire section of the basement filled with jars containing colonies of miniature people preserved in amber. The entire rise and fall of a civilization in fossilized tree sap. The lion realtor hurries me past one of the towers from whence my prickling ears hear strange moaning and slapping of flesh.
"So are you interested in purchasing the house I mean the castle?" The lion asks me as he settles onto his haunches.
"Yes it's great. I love it. How much does it cost?"
It doesn't matter what the lion says because I am the master of my own imagination and I can just reach into my pocket and pull out all of the golden coins I need to pay my way.
"Here are the golden coins you demanded." I say, handing a fat sack of coins over to the lion.
"Put the bag in my mouth I don't have hands." The lion replies.
"How were you holding the umbrella?"
"I just don't know the answer to that." The lion shrugs and I cram the graham into his mouth.
I am so happy to have finally bought a floating castle. I know that I can sleep well in my bed of kings and tomorrow I can hire servants and invite royalty to visit me. A giant parrot flies up and lands on my shoulder and caws because he hasn't learned to talk yet.
"I will name you T.C." I tell the parrot but I know I will eat him soon because parrots are the rarest and most delicious bird of all.
Hey muffinheads, there's a brand new installment of Daily Dirt available for you to read at your leisure. If you like the words that fall out of my head then give it a spin!
NFL teams may soon be lining up to bid on a man who can destroy defensive lines as thoroughly as he destroyed his own child's balls.
One roommate's art-fueled movement goes terribly wrong.
The Something Awful front page news tackles anything both off and on the Internet. Mostly "on" though, as we're all incredible nerds.