this week on the exciting chronicles of garth -- garth himself enters into a dream state to gather a fabled pair of rock'n'roll'n moccasins!! how entertaining!? how daring!? how fresh!?
garth, shoeless, walked towards the dais.
perched atop the stone dais was a pair of soft leather moccasins of an unusually yellowish color. garth had traveled far in this dreamworld to get to these moccasins -- he had crossed under the techno-color dream sun that spat droll beats across a land with no echoes, he surfed along the low e-string as hendrix's tremulous fingers tremolo'd, he had even managed to not eat the pralines and dick ice cream pouring from Benjamin's cream-fountain mouth.
he had traveled far and he had thought of many things including the pun "garthfield the cat" which made him chuckle, and he had thought of "garth vader" and breathed ominously, and finally he had thought of having a fine home in his "garthic castle" and was done with puns for awhile.
he had even pretended to be C-3PO dragging his feet across the sand until he missed his little buddy and kept on walking towards the ominous cave.
it had been a long, cartoonish dream and these shoes would finish it and they sat there, peacefully in the cave at the end of the dream desert of which Garth now stood.
slowly he dropped his hockey mask over his face from under his fedora. he loosened his shoulders under his brown leather jacks and mentally compared the bag of sand in his hand to the weight of the perfect, dream shoes. He let a little sand out and with tongue to lips he reached forward and gently swapped them.
turning around in relief he clutched the shoes to his chest. and with hardly a noise a giant boulder dropped from the ceiling right on top of him.
bde bde bde bde ... that's all folks! (porky pig slowly rubbed his trotters together with a sinister smile stretching his face -- his day of reckoning had been triggered. the fall of peoplekind near.)
party on wayne | blonde ale | 7% abv