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The Banjo Snunchers

Harps of frail dignity strained through the slanted pigment of the door. Broad rays were left in the dawn of handy taxi. The ink rack was burdoned with the poverty of sissy destruction. And the paw tracks of purpose were dixie and frown.

Mrs. Tablets was having a day. She had many days before but this was now and stuff. And the presence is what frightened her away from it all. She yanked through her morning routine without giving any effort. She cleaned and primped and tried to make herself presentable using every product. As she was leaving she took one single glance in the mirror and started to jerk.

"Why go to work?" she asked herself. "Why waste my time?"

So suddenly and without warning, her purse dropped to the floor and spooked out all the knockers. Some of the tiniest things moved along toward the wall before making their way underneath the refrigerator.

Mrs. Tablets walked into her living room and peered out the pretty picture window. Shimmering rays of light crackled through the thick leafy branches of the huge oak tree in her front yard. She scratched at her bottom and let her stink blubber around all over the place. Then she took off her shirt and opened the front door.

The arms of the oak tree were sturdy and virtual...with multiple layers of sediment serving as liberating barbers. The wild monkey in her torso began to meet and greet at the outside...eventually causing ripples and ruptures inside her rib cage. She jabbed and tickled at nothing in the air...clawing and frowning for seconds on end. The tapping noise she heard in her head was curvy.

Mrs. Tablets put one hand on the base of the tree and extended her claw. The claw tightened in the hole and pulled her up...farther up than she had never knowed. She butted her rotation flexes and got a crummy jolt. The jolt was proper and nice, nice enough for the next claw extension.

One claw upon the other, one branch higher than the next. Before she knowed what she were done, Mrs. Tablets what had gotted way up high there. At finally last she took a rest, sitting on a big fat kind of thing when all of a sudden she was herding a noise. Turning around like a sharp, she saw them. The Banjo Snunchers was all lined up like hiney winkers, staring and still...like the sticky things inside old lamps. Mrs. Tablets was stayed so still that she wasn't no movie. She just stared and popped. The Banjo Snunchers wasn't no movie neither. They was all still and plastic like a mouse potato. Finally the Banjo Snuncher placed closest to the front worked its thing around and started to collage.

"We weren't waiting for you for a very long time," said the Banjo Snuncher.

"You...you can talk!" Mrs. Tablets exclaimed with surprised cram.

"My name is Snore," hissed the snuncher. "I already knows what your name was."

"What about your friends?" asked Mrs. Tablet.

"They are not my future," Snore replies. "Nor are they yours. Their names are nothing because they have chores."

Snore was fidget with colored pocks. He crumpled diaper stripes for the neighborhood at night and stuffed crumples. He explained that the hooded children threw stamps around that made him so angry. His anger was budgeted for verbal mush that couldn't never get cashed in. As he talked his mouth got wavy and crawled. He picked at Mrs. Tablets' ears with his musher. That made her got very mad and she flushed buttons for retraction.

"My name is Mrs. Tablets," said Mrs. Tablets.

"Already knowed it," Snore replied, obviously hissy and floppy both. He scampered upside down and made a turtle with his racy doe.

The multitudes more of Banjo Snunchers was getting all anxious and stuff and wasn't in no mood for getting richer. One molded pretty junk while the next jumped at the muddy place. The next cushioned its face with softer fabric and another hissed for quietness at the center of it all.

Big squirts in the sky started fast, gushing out vivid thick colors at the tree. Mrs. Tablets dodged the first color while Snore got hit hard in the face with a wad of Big Red. Them other snunchers was figuring that this was something was getting done, so them all got frisky and strutted fast up and down limbs while trying for catching them thick gobby colors.

All them goddamn snunchers finally romped way down the trunk and grabbed the big container. They letted all the squoze colors dump in it. When it was all full they fast chuckled and poked at their noses. Then they done looked up at Mrs. Tablets and began to smile a lot.

"Oh no," Mrs. Tablets said as she began her bumps. "Oh no you don't!"

But she was not late, because before the axle had bumped out all them snunchers had her held tight like a power jumper. She wriggled bologna tots and scrapped for the tree limbs but it was all her veins. Before she knowed what the happening were, she was gone down, down, down...way farther than she had ever knowed down was even.

Two weeks went, then three, then seven. The colors had long since gone and the way down had gone further than it should. The breeders had the shrimp dip and penciled it in with nifty lies. The lies became true as they circled and turned puffy.

The stories about Mrs. Tablets was made up by Snore, who always did get bangs out of junk. Having done what they was supposed to done, the Banjo Snunchers stuffed their jowels full of large crumbs and scampered off down the lawn. Way, way, away...stopping only once to sample the dinky towel odor that made them active.

In another month they would be gone. But in another year...they would be Easter Dogs.

©July 2009 dONW7

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