The Pink House
The novel I’m working on is tentatively titled The Pink House. It’s a revised version of the now retired Burp Factory with the same premise as a school to either learn how to have fun in life again (for those who have found themselves too serious) or to learn how to bully (to elbow their way to success). Here’s a brief snipet of today’s political climate. Um, er, ah-hem a political debate . . . Marlon is teaching this class how to bully.
The television popped back to life and this time it was two politicians in debate. They were recognizable because in fact it was the presidential debate. The moderator had a clown nose and party hat on. She cheerily announced, let the games begin! What do you think of each other’s hair? One of the men smiled warmly and then said that igloos were shaped like helmets. He then took scissors and snipped the loose strings hanging from his jorts. The other man shook his head. As he rolled his eyes his false eyelashes fell. This irritated him even more. He most definitely believed that all dogs should have the opportunity to learn to drive. That comment roused the other man as he waved his scissors in the air and threatened to cut the air. Only dandelions should have that privilege. The man being threatened snickered. He reached into the tin pail beside him and threw a handful of confetti. He perhaps was not amused by the rising tide, which had now reached the tops of his Mary Janes. The clown moderator snapped the fingers of both hands and said that she wished she had finger cymbals. Both men stood silent. How would you tackle a tackle box? The man with the scissors said that he would put a stop to the over consumption of blue string. With each word he snipped the air. The other guy wore a sly smile and nodded. You see, if there wasn’t so much dessert, then we could cut spending on ant rodeos, he proclaimed.
Marlon turned to look at his class and noticed the color running out of their faces and eyes glazing over. Jacob tugged at the neck of his t-shirt as beads of sweat rolled down his cheeks. He tried to maintain his composure in the eyes of his teacher. Sunshine rested her head on the desk. She wasn’t even watching anymore. It was too much for this group who were new to bullying. But Marlon pressed on because they needed to build up their tolerance. He fast-forwarded the program to the last question. The moderated asked, what do you propose to do with the melting of raspberry popsicles? Popsicle juice was running down both of their arms. The man with the confetti had the colorful speckles covering his hand like it had been salted with sweet sprinkles. They immediately took to slurping and biting their popsicles. No biting! The moderated rapped. They sucked the color right out of the ice. Once the polar caps had dissolved the man with the scissors was declared the winner.