When It Comes To
Andy . . . By Bernie N'Helle
Andy woke up to find himself obsessed
with pop culture. He would spend all day and all night trying to
connect himself with it. He had no idea of what talents he had. He
felt that the only talent worth acknowledging makes its' home only on
major labels or his glowing plastic tele-view device.
When it came to women, he put his
baseball cap on backwards and prepared to turn into a sex crazed
gorilla. Letting one side be lost to the other side of his mind, he
was taken in by the billionaire supported pseudo revolutionary dance
music on offer. It seemed to him the easy way out, as he already
could not conceive of an individual direction to travel himself. On
offer not only was music, but a culture built upon a two-dimensional
brand. Being two-dimensional himself, Andy took pleasure in
mimicking the dancing creatures, using every opportunity to dry hump
those he did or did not know.
When it came to sex, his favorite
artist, Laddy Glue Gun, a female impersonator from Gwynedd Wales,
called every shot. Whether it was poking the anonymous sex target in
the face or losing your head heart or sanity on the dance floor, Andy
was taught step-by-step how to integrate into the pseudo culture of
brand oriented patterns. It comforted him as he found whatever hole
he could stuff with whatever type of mind-controlling Disco Sticking
device. Mostly he wanted fill the mouth hole so he wouldn't have to
listen to what the other gender had to say. He was drunk and
entitled; ordained by Mother Munster, an obscure character from a
canceled TV show.
When it came to children, Andy promptly
donned a wig and moved away to avoid paying for his mistakes. Plus,
he had his custom thought stopping brain programming rhythm music for
teens to drown his rational thoughts in so he could go back thinking
he was entitled to frame the entire world with his personal feelings.
When Andy was pursued for child support, he donned the costume of an
Italian-American fifties street thug with slicked back hair and fell
off of a piano.
When it came to diseases, Andy was rife
with them. His favorite song, “Just Prance,” informed him that
he should throw all brain power and caution to the wind. When he
contracted an especially vicious strain of virulent gonorrhea he took
it as a sign to start waving glow sticks, taking ecstasy, and posting
the same message on YouTube over and over.
One day, Andy died. It didn't matter
because he was a robot.
THE END
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