MAURICE

Posted on June 9, 2012 by Hobart Fowlkes

“See that guy selling pretzels?”

“Who said that?”

“It doesn’t matter.  Listen to me.”

“Where are you?”

“Shut up and listen, this is life and death stuff I got for you here!”

“What the fuck?”

“Did you forget your meds today?”

“Shit!”

“So, see the guy selling pretzels?”

“Yeah?”

 

“He hates you.”

“Hates me?  He doesn’t know me.”

“Everyone knows you, and they’re ALL watching.  Listen to me.  Stay away from the pretzel dude.”

“You’re right.  I see the way he’s looking at me.”

“Dude, he’s the one responsible for everything!”

“Everything?”

“Your mother, your landlord, that guy over there riding his bike, your upstairs neighbors (who are vampires, by the way), and have you noticed that funny itching sensation on the backs of your arms?”

“Well, er, now that you mention it, I do feel a little itchy.”

“It’s the mold.”

“What mold?”

“The invisible mold that is growing all over your walls and your furniture in your apartment.”

“Invisible?”

“That means you can’t see it you idiot!  The vampires planted it.”

“Huh? What? Why?”

“Your mother.  She called them after a long conversation with your landlord who hates you since your apartment is rent-stabilized. He wants you gone.  It was the pretzel guy who gave your landlord the mold idea.”

“Why does my mother hate me?”

“It doesn’t matter but see if you can remember an incident involving a porno magazine when you were 14.  Remember?”

“Uh, kinda.”

“Well, so she called your vampire neighbors and asked them to plant the invisible, radioactive mold in your apartment.  They also planted a microchip under the skin on the back of your neck as a favor to the CIA one night while you were asleep in front of the TV (The X Files’)  They track your every move, because they know how smart you are and how capable you are at disrupting world affairs.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you!  But that’s not important now.  The mold.  The itch.  You can’t go back unless you kill the mold.  I would also consider doing something about the vampires but first kill the mold to stop the itch.”

“It’s getting worse!  The itch is worse.  It’s spread.  All over!”

“I know.  Its the mold.  You dont have to move out.  You can stay in your rent stabilized place but you must kill the mold.  There is only one way to kill it.  Pine-Sol and Seagull Shit.  Half and half.  Mix it in a bucket, and cover everything.  Walls, furniture, everything.  Let it dry for two weeks.  The mold will be dead, the itching will stop and you can move back in.”

“Seagull shit??  Where do I get a bucket of seagull shit?”

“Dude!  That’s not a ‘my problem’ that would most definitely be a ‘your problem’.  But I wouldn’t waste time.  Their already making plans to take your stuff.  It’s the pretzel guy, he’s instigated the whole conspiracy.”

“But I have never even seen that guy before today!  How does he know me?”

“Maurice?”

“How do you know my name?”

“I know everything, you loser!  I live in your brain!”

“Huh?”

“Maurice?”

“What???”

“Remember when I asked if you took your meds this morning?”

“Yes.”

“Did you?”

“FUCK!!!!  Shut up! Shut Up, SHUT UP!!!” shrieks Maurice while simultaneously smacking himself on the head.

He covers his ears loudly singing, “Lalalalalalalala!”.

“My meds,” he thinks as he continues his self inflicted cacophonous onslaught, and the incessant banging on his head.  “I will never forget my meds again”.