The Pie-Eyed former-bibliophile was flabbergasted, which was new for him. Drunk?  Awkward? Socially maladjusted? Oh, he was plenty comfortable with these. But in this moment, he was straight-up flabbergasted.

“Goddamn boy, what’re you lookin’ so flabbergasted for?”

“‘Cause you says,” a youthful forehead was slapped by its own palm, “youhadda shackkup with a witch. A witch?!”

Absalom bellowed, “Oh yes! There’s no two ways about it, Susy’s a witch! Hell, she has to be the witchiest witch I’ve ever come across in my time!”

“You mean with a cauldron and potions and brum-stick and all?”

“Well, not exactly.”

Pie-Eyed was making the most of his ever-dwindling faculties to figure out what the hell Absalom meant. He lifted his drink to his lips, hesitated for a moment, and then drained the entire thing. “Wait! Wait! Did she have magical powers?!”

“Yes and no.” Absalom chucked to himself. “I mean, we can get into all sorts of discussions about ‘magic’ and of what it is composed. Access to supernatural realms? ‘Any sufficiently advanced technology,’ is that it? The ability to astound, to create scenarios that push the limits of imagination? Artistry? The ability to realize to turn an idea into a tangible product? Do any, or all, of these constitute magic?”

“Uhh…”

“So we’re coastin’ on fumes, and I swear to the Maker that we sputter to a stop right in Susy’s driveway! No damn brakes or nothin’! The jalopy croaks right in the driveway.”

“It, it,” Pie-Eyed paused to burp, but continued, “it was kismet?”

“It sure seemed like it at the time.” Absalom sratched his grey-goin’-white stubble and flagged down the bartender in the hopes of getting some peanuts. “There we were, a carful of over-eager youths, sweatin’ testosterone and hankerin’ booze. And what was before us? A cabin that looks more like a palace, set woods that look more like a national park, with bonfires lightin’ up a keg-party that looks more like Saturnalia!”

“Betcha couldn’t wait to get outtathat car!”

“I’d take that bet – I stayed right where I was, didn’t unbuckle or nothin’.”

Once again, Pie-Eyed was flabbergasted.

“I know what you’re thinkin.’” Absalom swooped in with a preemptive strike. “How could I sit in the car with the prospect of inebriation and fornication mere yards before me? Well, I’ll tell ya,” the old-timer took a rip of Pepsi. “It’s `cause I knew about Susy’s reputation. I’d never met her before, but we ran in the same circles. And the word was that she was a goddamn man-eater. A seductress. A master of cardiac-vivisection. After I’d made the call to see if we could crash at her place, I told my crew that I’d be sleepin’ in the car and encouraged to do the same.”

“They lissen toya?”

“Hell no! The car’d barely come to a rest when those monkey-brains were already runnin’ towards the coeds, practically unzippin’ their flies as they went.”

Absalom Fabliaux, ever the consummate gentleman, slid the bowl of peanuts to the Pie-Eyed intern. When a passerby attempted to filch a peanut, Señor Fabliaux grabbed the interloper by the collar, growled that the “Yuppie Scumsucker better drop my friend’s nut,” and then dispatched him with a firm shove.

Pie-Eyed was grateful.

“So, wuddya wake up inna morning? Allyur friends hanged over and witthur pants down?”

“I wish. At about three in the mornin’ I wake up to find my buddy Urie frantically bangin’ on the window, screamin’ for help.”

“What wuzzit?!”

“To quote Urie: ‘You’re right, Susy’s a witch – she’s turned our friends into fucking pigs!’”

—-

Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE!

I’m going to show you some of the ways I’ll be keepin’ myself entertained over the next few days. Then, you (as an ever-faithful contributor to the Spaceship OL passenger-community), will hit up the comments section and do the same. Before all’s said and done, we’ll have had a nice round of digital show’n’tell.

Break the glass and grab your Emergency Word-Weapon!

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