Bettie and Paige and the Star-Crossed Turkey King left the post office days ago to attend to the party. They stood around the punch bowl in that punch bowl kind of gloom as they chatted very pleasantly with Galloom and Soom.
Gather round the punch bowl, underneath the spot light, gather round the punch bowl and drink until your pants are tight. Gather round the crackers, and the grapes and cheese, then when you eat quite a bit you don’t even have to say please. Gather round the table, where the name tags are, they are so you know yourself and know who the others are. Gather round the sign in sheet, and the pen on string. If you don’t put down your name, you won’t get anything.
Bettie, Paige, Turkey King, and Gilloom and Soom, occupy that corner of the world-expanding room. Cyclops asks them if they please, asks them if they know, have they seen the TV set, the one playing his favorite show.
They talk about the last night, the lineup was alright, and then they start to argue and their words combine to fight.
There is a punch bowl and there is a cash bar and there are good and bad things to be said about last night’s TV programs. Cyclops follows the conversation like watching a roller coaster. He would say a thing or two also, but he’s not much of a boaster.
Soom and Gilloom drink their drinks like perfume. They sip like they spray and they carry a tray. They smell good too, and they drink thinks with the kind of odor that makes you exploder.
Bettie and Paige want to file the crackers like letters and packers. They tell the Star-Crossed Turkey King to stamp their glasses before they glug them.
Soom and Gilloom see that Cyclops has gloom. They clink and they think he has nothing to drink. “Let’s pour you some party, let’s pour you a drink,” and they do, with the big scooper spoon in the punch bowl.
Cyclops grabs the cup with his extra hand and it is cold and he sees the bits of fruits floating like war carnage. He has distant thoughts, but still he takes a sip. It makes him warm, it rests him calm, and he has to have another, and another and another.
He has a few drinks to do, a few too many and a few too few. And then when you ask him, he has to say “Who?” And you would too, and so would you.
Drink until the TV is forget, drink until the room is quaint as living room, drink until the paint is dry, until the plants are sky and the floor is a war. There is an old song when you drink the punch bowl exactly that long.
I went to war
And then I changed my who
I went to living room
I fear it is so true
But you can only sing loud if you are not really that proud. And you can old sing so blue if there isn’t another voice to challenge you. And there is a voice to challenge Cyclops and his singing woo-hoo. The big voice comes from the roof of the view, won’t cost you a sou and sounds like I.O.U. It doesn’t say please, and it doesn’t thank you, it just breaks in the sound like verbal kung fu.
The voice came from the speakers, and not a moment too late or soon, “The special guest speaker is now approaching this very room.”
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