Sunday, January 8, 2017

Heaven Overcrowded and Hell is Filled, Limbo Lounge is the Place to be Chilled

     Merle Haggard looked haggard, even for a dead man.  It had been a grisly couple years, with suicides, cancer victims, heart attacks, death by crashing, you name it--and the soul processing biz was showing strain at the edges.  It was almost like everyone on earth was dying or something.  Merle looked around at the Cloud Seven Lounge, where he'd held court ever since his demise.  There was a motley crew of misfits and movie stars, singers and writers and mathematicians, all drinking heavily and trying to relax, to little or no avail in most cases.
     Leonard Cohen sat at the bar, head hung between his shoulders, gazing at his gin and tonic and humming incoherently.   Right next to him sat a slightly fat and greasy looking George Michael, with a ver-r-r-ry confused look on his face.
     On a torn up red leather sofa sat Lemmy and Prince, intently looking at the cards in their hands.  Across from them on the other side of the square glass coffee table, on ripped up leather ottomans, sat Carrie Fisher and David Bowie.

"Give me two," murmured Carrie, throwing two cards down on the table towards David.  Bowie obliged and the turn went to Lemmy, who winked at someone in the distance behind Bowie, then Lemmy folded.

"M' out," he announced and got up, striding past the table towards who he'd winked at previously.  It was Cathouse Cathy and boy was she almost naked, thought Lem.

Just then there was a ruckus in the dark corner on the other side of the lounge.  The piano player stopped playing.  John Glenn and Arnold Palmer stood up to see what was happening.  Merle floated over to see what it was when there was a sudden deafening pop and a blinding blue light erupted from the corner, sending everything into an eerie slow motion sequence.  Several souls fled the lounge outright following the pop, but the remaining few witnessed something particularly important.  It was the rare occurrence of a 'palatial drift', when a soul from another plane of being is sent through to the other side, into Limbo.  The plane the soul came from could be heaven, hell, or even the state of life.  There had never been, however, a documented case of a member of the undead achieving this feat.

Until now.

The blue light had faded.  As everyones eyes became unblinded slowly, they noticed who the drifter was.  Nobody recognized him except Alan Thicke.  He took his hand off Florence Henderson's shoulder and pointed, shouting.

"Werewolf!!!!!"

Jens gaped at the room.  He was dumbfounded.  And that's when he wolfed out.

 

No comments:

Post a Comment