Column: Pleakley's Afternoon

Pleakley Pow Pow,
Times Staff

I sit sucking on a lovely lil lolly laced with THC. It’s a spirally shimmering orb of sugar that’s sweetness melts my frustration at its stickiness. I’m sitting on a rock overlooking back woods and loving how mushy my thoughts are and that the silly tingles are starting to light up through all my nodes. It’s pristine - for a moment. Until the sacrosanct eve becomes suddenly shattered by pitchforks of terror tearing through the setting sun in the sky as a raging beast flings from the trees. With a blood curdling cry but egregiously minimal movement, I stand with sloppy slowness. Ah yes, I see it is but a chipmunk staring longingly at me.

That porcelain peacefulness, shattered, stolen and stomped on by the beast. Should I blame them? I almost have an answer, but the thought seeps back into the muck that my brain has slothed itself into for the moment. What it feels long enough to notice that you're yawning, I open my mouth to make contact. Perhaps I've learned to speak chipmunk, I have no way of knowing, I've never tried to talk to chipmunk. But before I can say anything, I feel it's ratty pompom tail meandering down through my itchy throat. I accidentally swallow, joyously, but still accidentally. I can feel the chipmunk scratching along, making records of my innards. I can tell they're searching for the spit-inbred soup of what's left of what I licked from THC lollie. I feel them cautiously slurping it up, The little chipmunk's mind, like mine, begins to mush itself into more deeper, thinner mush.

Ah, but lucky for the chipmunk (and unlucky for me) the chipmunk appears to be much more resilient than I am. It’s me vs the chipmunk. Only one of us is coming out of it alive. So I have a few options. 1) Fight the chipmunk for my own territory or 2) Give myself up for the chipmunk to go on and survive without me. I am after all 100 years old, and the chipmunk is clearly only a fresh college graduate. Who am I to decide that my life is worth more than the chipmunks’? After all, I have lived a full life. If I die now, the police will never be able to prosecute me for all of those crimes I committed.

After thinking it through, I have decided to fight this chipmunk.

For more articles by Pleakley Pow Pow, click here. To get in touch with this writer, email ppp@surrealtimes.net.

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