Ethereal Theater of the Absurd, Part 5

We get a little misguided sometimes, and that's ok. We try our best usually . . .


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE

Guimond/ETHEREAL THEATER 16
YOU’RE NOT THE FIRST TO COME TO ME WITH ENCOUNTERS WITH
THE FUNGAS. MAGIC MUSHROOMS ARE NOTHING BUT DRUGS THAT
BLOOM FROM COWS’ SHIT. YOU WERE DECEIVED. SORRY. I AM THAT I
AM AND THAT MEANS THE ONE AND ONLY GOD.
“No, it can’t be true. I felt truly healed from the shroom, and the God within in-
troduced himself. In the mirror my face shape-shifted to all faces, every face, and I knew
that all is one--I knew it! No petty, tyrannical ego-mirage can strip that knowledge of
gnosis from me, that song of tag you’re it and now we’ve found you and now you know
and all is gnosis and all is good and all is God and all is healing and all the tears are saved,
the tears of God’s song, the All-song, even me!” Ernest stood, naked, and sobbing from
the remembrance. Out of the edge of his eye Janice was smiling and counting her money.
Ernest allowed his rage to gather again before resuming.
“You, false God, cannot take that knowing from me. You imposter! You big fat
otherdimensional baby, sittin’ there all retarded and smug, tuggin’ your dick, shittin’ your
diaper. How dare you judge me. Fuck off!”
BLAH BLAH BLAH. GOD IS GREED. WHERE’S THE CASH?
“How ‘bout this. I challenge you to a writing contest. If I win you let me into
heaven. We’ll summon some deceased former writer to judge. I’m pretty fuckin’ con-
fident I’d kick your ass.”
PLEASE STEP ASIDE. YOUR EX-WIFE IS HERE. MAYBE SHE HAS
CASH FOR GOD.
“What the fuck,” Ernest whispered. He spun around, and sure enough, Sarah
Guimond/ETHEREAL THEATER 17
Carnation marched toward them, hacking asthmatically and huffing for breath, as in life.
She lugged a stuffed duffle bag and puffed angrily on a cigarette. “You whore,” Ernest
hissed as their eyes met.
“Whatever, loser,” Sarah said, forming an L with index finger and thumb, and
gluing the gesture to her forehead for dramatic effect, as in life. She plopped the bag
down and unzipped it. Naked she stood, belly a bit more Buddha-like than Ernest re-
membered, and something new and disturbing to his sense of once-connection: a bloody
gash below the navel, clotted but red and angry, the mark of violence.
WELCOME DEAR CHILD. DO YOU HAVE CASH FOR GOD?
“Of course, God,” Sarah said. “I’m not retarded.”
APPARENTLY YOUR FORMER HUSBAND IS.
“Sarah!” Ernest said, eyes fixed to her wound. “What happened to you?”
“Like you ever gave a shit.”
“Sarah, what are you saying? We had great times. I, I taught you how to drive.”
“Yeah thanks for nothing, Ernie. I was a just battered kid and you promised the
moon to get in my pants.” Sarah took a deep, hateful drag from her Virginia Slim and
blew smoky spittle at Ernest’s face. “You said you’d be a famous writer and I believed
you. I had big dreams, Ernie. A nice wardrobe. Trips to Europe. Gourmet dining in the
best restaurants. We ate hamburger helper, Ernie! Hamburger fuckin’ helper! For two
goddamn years I fucked you and waited for the money, fucked you whenever you wanted
till I got smart and woke up one day, so sick of fucking a loser.”
“You fucked Ricky on the side. You left me to become a whore.”
Guimond/ETHEREAL THEATER 18
“You couldn’t provide for me, creep, but I hung in there till I walked in on you
jacking off to the Olsen twins one day.” Sarah faced God now. “He’s a sick, pedophile-
pauper, God.”
HA HA HA. MORE PEDOPHILIA CHARGES. GOD IS ENTERTAINED.
Ernest threw his hands in the air. “But the Olsen twins aren’t minors anymore.”
Sarah walked right up to Ernest and ashed on his dickhead. “It was their fuckin’
slumber party video, sicko. They were nine years old,” she huffed. “Monster.”
Janice, done counting her stash, threw her wizened arms around Sarah. “Oh, dear
child. We’re bonded by mutual victimization. The monster tried to rape me.”
HA HA HA. GOD HASN’T LAUGHED THIS HARD IN MILLENIA.
Ernest sat down, resting his chin on his knees. “Sarah, you know I did my best for
you, working at that shitty restaurant to make ends meet, fucking you whenever you
demanded, even when I was too exhausted to think straight.” He spoke to his toes now.
“I paid for your modeling school. I held you as you cried at night. Your stepfather was
the monster, not me.”
“Please Ernie, spare me. I was seventeen and vulnerable. You were twenty-nine
and should’ve known better. Not the Prince Charming I thought you were.” Sarah whis-
pered to Janice. “I’m sorry this sick beast tried to rape you. Thank God that God is here
to protect us.”
YOU LADIES HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR FROM THAT LITTLE PERVERT
ANYMORE. I SEE THAT YOU BOTH HAVE CASH FOR ME. GOD LOVES YOU.
“Uh Sarah,” Ernest said. “Can I have a cigarette please?”
Guimond/ETHEREAL THEATER 19
She flicked her burning butt at his balls. Ernest flailed self-protectively, then
retrieved the nearly spent smoke, and sucked hard at the remaining nicotine. Once fin-
ished, he looked with despair at the commiserating women. What did I ever do to deserve
such misery?
YOU FAILED TO MAKE CASH FOR GOD. YOU BURIED YOUR GIFTS IN
THE SAND.
“Uh, excuse me God,” Janice said.
YES, MY CHILD?
“I have a hundred and twenty thousand dollars for you.”
WELL DONE MY GOOD AND FAITHFUL SERVANT. YOU MAY ENTER
PARADISE PREPARED FOR THOSE WHO INCREASED THEIR TALENTS. As the
angel-choir returned and heaven’s hands lifted her up by the armpits, Janice looked at Ern-
est a final time and cackled. “Have fun being a sex toy for demons!”
“Is hell really for the poor, Lord?” Ernest mumbled while watching Sarah count
money from her bag, a child-happy look on her face, her lips mouthing the numbers, lips
that he had kissed in tenderness, in lust, in hope, in frustration, in boredom.
THAT SHOULD BE CLEAR ENOUGH TO YOU NOW. HELL IS FOR THE
HOMELESS, THE RABBLE, THE LAZY GOOD-FOR-NOTHING TYPE-B PERSON-
ALITIES WHO WILLINGLY CHOSE SOCIETAL TONE-DEAFNESS AND FOL-
LOWED THEIR OWN HEART’S MUSIC, RATHER THAN TAKE THE PROGRAM-
ING, WORK HARD, OBEY LAWS, AND PRESENT CASH TO GOD.