63

Honk


Ride the goose. You gotta ride the goose. I grip my leather saddle, and tip my plastic cowboy hat.
I’m taking it slow.
I’m in no hurry on my goose.
The goose is on the loose. 
We’re in the water,
Riding high on the 7 seas, just me and my goose.
Riding upon the clear sea of unlimited gold fish.
A sea that shines brighter at night then day.

It’s time for  the shampoo.
I break it out.
Lather the goose.
Get dippy in the water to rinse and then again to bathe with the egg she laid,
That I’m roosting. 

We bathe together, the goose, the egg, and I. 

We ride
 

The egg: forever unpoached


It sits between me and the leather saddle.

We’re riding along like the ultimate breakfast sandwich

From top to bottom the breakfast sandwich is as follows:

Me (a true Mac is 100% whole wheat)
Egg of goose
Leather saddle (basically thick cut bacon)
Goose (merry Christmas girl)



“Welcome to Thursday” says the goose
“It’s happy hour”

I ordered a Bloody Mary and shared it with the goose.

It would be our last cocktail that day.

The goose cradled me and started to fly.
It was not long after when we found the technology.

The technology was just beyond this door, and how we found the door is another story.

how we found the door

We were on our midnight prowl. Ol’ GW Goose, and me goosedamnit.
I was feeling the vodker and it was feeling me.

 An evening of crisp weather, stiff drinks, and extra large laughs. Little did we know that we were neatly nestled beneath the smooth blanket of deception. Slinking home without a care in the carrot field, it happened. 

The lonelys snuck up. 


The Lonelys were a gentleman’s club that weren’t too gentle. They had a very special way of taking your things.

Like I said, we were coming home from the Chinese Restaurant, where I had ingested a large quantity of vodker with my goose.  

They circled us quick.


They shouted one by one:

“I pronounce your wife dead!!
The world is out of water!
Your car is out of gas!
What’s rape spelled backwards?
I will boil your goose in your tears!”


Little did they know I was champion of the toe nails.

I had won..... first place.

They knew not who they fucked with.

I unzipped my overgrown shoes and unlaced my socks. GW goose held her breath....

The Lonleys continued.

“Nobody loves you!
It’s the smell!
1000 cavities!
I’ll tell your dad your gay while I have sex with him, and it will come as a shock and then I’ll tell him that he’s gay!
We don’t take your insurance here!
The line starts back there!
You’re going to outgrow all your friends!
I will burn you little man!”

I faced my quarry with an amazing yawn and addressed them all with my most authoritative tone of bored indignation.

“Gentleman please all questions and comments will be reviewed upon the end of our engagement, it is now business time and you’re all invited to the meeting.”

I paused for the dramatic amplitude of silence.
the noise floor was low, waxed, and ready to dance.

“The meeting, i continued, is between my foot and your butts.”

A small looking guy the color of sandpaper walked over to face me. He chewed his gum menacingly. The ultimate leader of lonesome cowboys.

“Draw” he said pulling out a box of ancient whispers. A challenge not often accepted.

No time was wasted by me on this night.

I began to inhale, a trick I had learned from the goose many seasons ago, diving for megapearls.

The man’s gum came flying to his front teeth so fast he got a noise bleed. A split second later he was face to face with a 4 foot bubble of my design.

The goose joined in

With a sudden change of air pressure and a sickening squish, the man was inside out quickly becoming a bubble of his own.

He was so big and stretched out you could see through him.

I raised my toenail and a soft pop was witnessed.

I directed the mess (the sodden squishy body juice) towards the unfortunate heathen’s compatriots. 

They were showered in liquid homie.

“Pop goes the butthole” I said smacking one of them on the rear end.

He started to cry.

I scooped up the box of ancient whispers and stowed it in my purse.
“Next time you mess with us you’ll get the sonic honk”

As if on cue the Goose growled menacingly and said, as she said to any and all who crossed her path,
“do you know where to find the door?”

A question that only means anything to anybody who’s something.

Silence.

I straddled my goose bareback. There were no laws about flying drunk on an equally inebriated goose. 

We were about to take off when a leathery man spoke up.

“The door is not a door but passage.”

He was leathery due to his leather pants, t-shirt, and vest. Not to mention his socks, wallet, and rhinestone encrusted 30 gallon hat.

“A passage of perception.”
He added hastily
“To a hingeless universe.”

The goose cocked her hairless eyebrow zone.

He looked at me. 


“Ride the goose your majesty, ride the goose, you gotta ride the goose.”

Without their leader these guys were acting bizarre.

“What do you know of the technology?”
I whispered though no air passed through my lips.

“Vastness. It is not empty but vast.

Ride the goose

Ride the goose”

It echoed from a 10 year old dream as we flew away.

The goose was determined. This was her sequel, staring the goose on the loose.

The real part 2.

It had been foretold by father goose, lord of geese that someday a door would make itself clear.

And upon ringing it’s metaphoric doorbell, the veil between us and reality would be left at its threshold. Revealing great planes of bounty that would greet us omnidimensionally. A mental macrohug from the skeleton of the universal goose. 

It was written in the Goospel that he who crosses the threshold would gain conciouness knowlege of the unconscious mind.
 


We assumed we had been targeted as fortune seekers and started to giggle.
there was more to it.
More to it then an abundant night on town. 

 

Thank you goodnight.