TWENTY-FIVE: PARTY OF THE SECOND PART

Both Bruce Jenner and Jack of the Weeds were racing around the party and dressed in tweeds. When they took a breather by the big refreshment stand, they met up with Dora and her demolition band. They were talking races, and tearing down the world, and when they turned they were surprised to see the thirty-eight eyes of Cyclops, boy or girl.

“Look where you’ve planted yourself,” said Jack of the Weeds.

“What race did you just run?” said our Bruce Jenner, at his usual speeds.

“What’s going down?” said Demolition Dora as the world around her seemed to melt.

“I’m looking for my living room,” said Cyclops, and that’s what he felt.

Somewhere was a living room, but elsewhere there was party. Somewhere was the sofa chair, but here it’s party hearty. Somewhere was a floor lamp, but it’s not on the dance floor. Somewhere is the coffee table, but now it is no more.

It’s like they only wanted the snacks and they didn’t care about living rooms and TV’s gone, but there was some singing on the songs and some very nice little bits of food on crackers and cheeses and all.

“Try this here snack, it’s good for the colon,” said Bruce Jenner.

“Dip in this dip, it’s straight from Poland,” said Dora, as if she knew something about the geography of recipe.

And Cyclops is a little hungry. It was a long walk home from surgery war, and there were no fast food restaurants on that road, no stands or low-hanging fruit trees, or bees to lead you to their honey. And Cyclops had no money anyway, so his hunger got the best of him, it got in the way.

He tries one snack and then another. The dipping gets a little out of control, and I think he bites a little out of his carrot nose.

“Good, huh?” said Jack of the Weeds, who is gnawing on seeds.

“I think you like those wafers,” said one of the demolition damsels.

“Mrf, mrf, mrf,” said Cyclops, his face full of food. He gets so hungry he wants to stuff some in his asshole, the mouth of his new groin face, but he wonders if that is appropriate in mixed company, and he is in mixed company because it is a party and there is a mix and there is company and bumpety and somebody and more.

And then, just when his mouth is as full as his ears, or full up to, the scratching and the screeching and the sound goes bonkers. It is that voice of PA God, it is the sound of the system, the sound of the palm tree leaves up in the air and standing tall as your hair.

Through the loudspeaker of sky way up yonder comes a voice: “There’s not much longer before the speaker comes on.”