From the Mouths of Animatronics

Today in Los Angeles, a dazed HellCat wandered around the city of Hollywood, running errands and blinking her eyes a lot in hopes of bringing some clarity to life.

I ran to the Kinkos and discovered that the file I had sent myself was "corrupted," and I had to abandon my mission of printing the finest script ever written (entitled "The Love of Ella and the Prince," written by my Young Storytellers writer). I felt the sting of the aborted mission, and went to the post office. Nothing could stop me there! I have a key to my post office box, and an arm to pull the mail out with! Ha! What could get in my way? Next to nothing!

I discovered that a giant box could, actually. It was heavy and sitting right in front of the PO box. I couldn't move it, and it was big enough to make the stretch to my box awkward and potentially messy. I managed to pull the Netflixes and the magazines out, though, and returned to my car, slightly renewed. I had tricked the box! Ha HA! It could not fool me, nor could it keep me from obtaining the pieces of paper with my name on them.

My overheating car sputtered and coughed over to the Target. I had a wide variety of items to acquire. Among them were wrinkle remover spray (have you tried that shit?! It's amazing!), scissors for the kitchen, and a pretty notebook and pen for an 11-year old girl (something princessy, you get the idea).

I meandered through the Magical Land of Everything, and found a green peacoat that looked amazing on me (if I do say so myself). I also tried on a pair of black stretchy pants, hoping that they would suffice for workout gear. Only then, I caught a glimpse of myself in the nasty lighting that I deemed to be "icky" and quickly ran out of the dressing room without taking anything with me. I feel that, in those situations, abandonment is the easiest way to forget that you still have some sculpting work to do at the gym.

I wandered to the school supply section, and was amazed that crayons are only .45 cents! Incredible! And the scissors were reasonable, too. A pretty notebook was laying on the shelf, and I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw that it was on the Clearance Table. I gladly gave it a home in my cart, and trudged toward the toy section to see if there was anything pink in it that would make my Young Storytellers Writer smile.

I rolled the cart down the main aisle, straining to see what wonders were held in each section. Suddenly, my eye fell on a Pound Puppy. I loved mine as a wee HellCat, so I walked over to one and stroked its head. Amazingly, the puppy moved his head up and started making happy puppy noises! Oh for joy, he was alive! Or, at least he had fresh batteries. I looked down the rest of the aisle and noticed that everything else had "Try Me!" stickers on their boxes, so I began seeing what is available for our nation's youth in way of talking stuffed animals.

There were beautifully-colored birds, little farm animals, plush duckies, and crazy monsters. And, to my surprise, an entire section of the aisle was dedicated only to Furbys. I remember being fascinated with the creatures years ago when they were the Hot Christmas Toy to get, and so I pushed one of their little tummies in and waited. The little black ball of fur moved his eyebrows, and his little beak opened and closed, as though he was whetting his Furby pallette to speak. Then he said:

"You'ra happy to see me?"

He sounded kind of like he was half Italian, half mentally disabled. I decided he was cute, so I leaned very close to the box and said, "Yes!"

The Furby wiggled his ears and smiled. He was pleased with my answer. I clapped my hands with delight. Then, I looked to his sister on his left. She was grey and had an adorable pink beak. I pressed her tummy.

"You-a and Me? We friendsa, yeah?"

And I was about to repeat my previous affirmative answer when I wondered what happens to a Furby when it is told the truth. I leaned close to the plastic package and declared, "NO."

The little pink beak frowned. The sparkling blue eyes closed halfway, and her little ears drooped. I had upset the tiny grey Furby. I had taken her dreams of having love and friends and spat upon them. I might as well have taken her box off the shelf, urinated on her, and then let out the talking Tyrannosaurus Rex so he could rape her and eat her carcass all while roaring and saying "I'm king of the dinosaurs and have stubby arms!"

I felt bad about myself. I realized that I am not ready for a pet, since I apparently have no soul. And the worst part was, I am not alone. I looked at the rest of the Furbys at rest on the shelf. They all looked as though they were coming to terms with someone who just told them no, they were not their friend-a. All droopy ears and sad eyes. The entire goddamn shelf was crammed with Furbys who, given the chance, would have committed suicide or acquired a semi-automatic weapon and taken the entire store out.

It was heartbreaking.

I wanted to take little grey Furby home and try to convince her that even though sometimes people say No, that doesn't make the whole world worthless. I wanted to show her Disneyland and ham sandwiches and how to kiss with tongue, and although that last item might make the authorities haul me away, I thought even that might be a good lesson. The world ain't perfect, but there is an awful lot of beauty in it.

Like Santa Claus. Except here in Cali, he calls himself Tom.

thanks, Tom. g