Chapter Two
Harold woke fully rested and with a huge appetite, but when he opened his eyes he suddenly felt queasy. "Still dreaming?!?!?!" He lifted his head and looked around a moment. It was that construction paper cutout dream again. He couldn't make sense of it. He felt awake. But it couldn't be...
"Morning Hairy" Marge was propped up on her elbows and looking over her paper sheets from the bed across the room from his. "You don't look so hot Hairy. You better get a shower and breakfast".
Harold just looked at Marge for a moment, then said; "Marge, what do you see right now?"
"Uh, I see my weird kid brother"
"No, I mean look around the room for a minute and tell me what it all looks like to you"
"Okay,what it all looks like to me is my weird kid brother talking weird and creeping me out in a crappy little motel dive that smells like week-old farts, in East Jesus, Timbuktu, six miles West of nowhere Colorado where I wish I'd never set foot, let alone had to freaking move to for probably the rest of my life, and where I'll probably meet some dumbass hayseed shitkicker and make a dozen bucktoothed, half-wit babies with 'cause that's how they do it out here in the sticks. That what you had in mind Hairy?!"Marge began sobbing quietly.
"Take it easy Marge. I'm not too happy about the latest little "life-shift" as mom likes to call it, either. But I'm talking just about how things look. Is there something a little "off" to you, like visually I mean?"
"Harold, I have no idea what you are going on about. Are you gonna take a shower now? 'Cause if you're not, I could sure use one. I feel like crap and it may be the best I'll feel all day so I'd at least prefer not to smell like farts on top of feeling miserable
An hour later they were all sitting together around a large table at the South Park Diner and Upscale Eatery (Known locally simply as; The Feedlot)
"Hmm, whaddaya think honey, should I go with the "Heart " or the "Triple Bypass" this morning?"
"Well you know, Frank. The "Murmur" looks a little lightweight. I'm not sure you can make it to lunch without at least three fatty meats in your morning."
Frank Sampson looked up at the waitress. He read her name tag- Piper.
"Well Piper, you heard the lady. I guess I'll invest in the Triple Bypass"
"Okey dokey,would you like toast or fries with that?"
"Oh… I guess I hafta go for the fries"
" M...hmm…, okay, fries. Would you want gravy on that sir?
"Gravy!!! Well hell yes I want gravy!" Frank looked over at his astonished wife. "Well honey, you know this job comes with full medical coverage. I'm sure the Ram-Jack Corporation won't mind puttin' in a new ticker once in a while for one their key employees".
"I guess your right, bon appetite' dear"
"Dad, this whole conversation is making me sick" put in Margaret.
"Honey! Lighten up. We're just having a little breakfast"
"A little breakfast! Dad…" Margaret looked over at her mother in exasperation. "Mom, what is this, slow suicide? I mean this is more meat and grease than he gets in a month back home"
"Now honey" smiled Greta Sampson "Your dad's a grown man, he knows what he's doing. An occasional fling never hurt anyone. Let your dad have a little fun"
"That's right sweetie" her father said "Just a little fling with the local honest country fare. Why, this is standard issue nutrition out here in the heart of America. These simple folk work hard, play hard, and eat hard, keeps em fit. Besides, I think you are making our lovely waitress uncomfortable, running down the food here".
"Whatever! I'll have a hard boiled egg, dry toast, and a black coffee please"
"Really? I mean of course… sure…umm… would you like gravy with that hon?"
Margaret just glared at the waitress.
After everyone put in their order, Harold leaned back and closed his eyes to think. The twins were busily filling out the inane coloring book/placemat with crayons that seemed as if they were made out of all wax and no color and had Chinese characters on the side. It was all too weird. The way everything looked, his parents behavior. He'd never in his life heard his dad order a meal like that before, and his mom of all people going along with it… to odd. Marge's grumpy attitude was the closest thing to life as he knew it but even she didn't seem to notice that their waitress looked like she had been assembled of scraps of wall paper samples glued together.
And what about the other patrons in this greasiest of greasy spoon diners? The group in the booth across the aisle from theirs was a freak show even for this colorforms nightmare. They all had impossibly round heads except for the really obnoxious fat one whose head more resembled a fat watermelon lying on its side and wearing an oversized blue knitted hat with a yellow pom-pom on top. And he seemed to hate the others. Every other word out of his mouth seemed laced with vicious commentary.
When Harold opened his eyes the waitress was bringing over a massive tray of plates. He looked down at his "eggs on toast" which of course looked like they had been stamped out of construction paper just like everything else. He watched warily as his family tucked into the paper meal. They seemed not to notice and to actually be enjoying it! He cautiously sipped his hot cocoa. Unbelievably, it tasted about right. He went on to the eggs and toast, not bad. He couldn't explain it, but it all tasted pretty normal. That was when he decided he must just be losing his mind. But he was hungry, so he reasoned that he might as well go nuts with a full belly.
Half an hour later the whole family was leaning back digesting as the waitress went off to get the check. Harold's dad suddenly sat straight up and got an amused look on his face. Then he grasped at his belly and Harold realized that it wasn't amusement, it was a grimace of pain. His dad began a long keening whine as he doubled over slamming his head into his own gravy smeared breakfast plate shattering it. He spasmed upright again and his eyes bulged white as the pupils rolled back into his head. He opened his mouth impossibly wide as Greta screamed, and a large red balloon covered in blue veins plopped out onto the table. He had vomited out his own stomach. He flopped forward as dead as a boot and then nudged forward six inches as a loud fart followed by a ripping sound announced that his colon had exited his rectum. torn through his pants.
Harold sat absolutely stunned. Thinking about it much later, the clearest memory he had of that terrible, tragic event was hearing the fat melon-headed kid in the booth next to theirs exclaim; "Wow! Oh man! That was totally awesome. Did you see the stomach thing! Ah man! I wish I had a video camera, I would play that over and over before I went to bed. I would never get tired of seeing that. That was too cool! And did you see the look on his family's faces. That was priceless!"
