It’s back to Star Town, and keep track of Star Town and Cyclops is a woman like his old love Dingy Bahsome. But Dingy made her escape and Cyclops comes back wearing a cape and she had to cross a whole landscrape before arriving at the parking lots. When she got there, she just wanted to strut her struff, but the other people of the town tell her that they’ve had enough.
“We’ve had enough,” said Rack and Zack.
“We’ve had enough,” said Soom and Gilloom.
And they keep on saying so, down the line and who are they looking at? They’re looking right at Cyclops.
But Cyclops isn’t listening to them, near or soon, or far or aloon, she’s just strutting her stuff, and it’s tough to strut your stuff when it is all so new from Surgery War.
Now Cyclops is down to twenty-four eyes, but that still is plenty of eyes for looking back so she does look back if that solved anything. Just a wink to get them to think.
Cyclops still had a carrot nose, but the rest of her was much more Brancusian, just like Dingy Bahsome was. Cyclops had provided photographs and specifications at Surgery War. She had made plan charts to guide the surgery war surgeons of war. They had done their best under a mess of the tent and moved this from here to there, and took away so many extra eyes, to graft their smoothness and liquid into the skin of bones and other things so there was a bit of eyeline all over the new and improved She-Cyclops.
And what Cyclops let out for now was a whoop, “Now that I am she, it is time to party.”
And her first round of party binge attracts a little media attention, and the next round gets her a little more. She drinks and has sex and that gets her first in a few church bulletins but a little more night clubbing gets her into a company newsletter or two, and then she gets on radio in a slurred voice, and then she makes it to a podcast with a vomit, and then she’s on U-Tube, with that messed up morning after, and then she hits the networks, where it might just be time for rehab.
When She-Cyclops drinks too much booze, the media follows, as if she were news.
The flash of the flashbulbs, and she knows she is a one. The whir of the cameras so she knows she’s having fun. Reporters in their fancy clothes stand by to call the shots. And there she comes out swinging to shew them all what she has gots.
Cyclops is the darling of media with a little more carousing, with a little more aroundings, Cyclops turns the tabloid pages with some hints of illicit motion she will make the transmission.
There are the stories at ten and at eleven. Most reporters tell you she ain’t going to go to heaven. Story on page one and continued on page three. She’ll go as far as you can go in the land of the free.
She-Cyclops has dark glasses upon all of her remaining twenty-four, so nobody knows what’s inside of her doors. She wears the latest style of Lessess and Tessess as she gets in and out of so many messes. She has to look her very best, that is the answer to every test. She has to hide her real feelings that keep the media on her ceilings.
There’s a lot to being a star. Cyclops finds this out, and that gives her tender feelings for the new long lost Dingy Bahsome. It is hard work, as hard as a lead weight strapped to her back, and she carries the load down every snapshot road.
“Now that I have all of your attention, let me just tell you all how…” and she Cyclops looks all around, “how much I am drunk. Hah, hah – get it? How much I am drunk!”
When the media finally goes home to polish their reports and sit on the pot, Cyclops feels all her weary eyes, and only wants to shut them, but then comes the sunrise.
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