Free Ticket To Nowhere Chapter 9

A Stark Mystery

P.G. Barnett
Dec 27, 2019 · 5 min read

The horde of flying monkies seemed as if it was growing by the second. Actually, it was getting bigger by the second.

Having never been a genius with spatial orientation — I failed parallel parking three times — I really had no idea how much time we had before they rained monkey poop on our heads.

No, I’m serious. Stop laughing. The last time the trooper just shook his head, passed me and recommended I ride a bicycle from now on.

Anyway, here I am standing in the middle of a freaking cornfield that had been rotted by Dorothy’s evil collective consciousness and now me, Fred, Rambo Lion A.K.A. Gwen’s not so hot lawyer are about to become monkey chow.

Wait a minute. No, really wait a minute. Freeze the frame.

That’s it, leave those monkeys and their flapping little wings suspended in the air.

Stark needs a little second to clear his head and think. What Stark really needs is a shot of Glenlivet, and maybe a powdered doughnut or two, ah but you pays your money and you takes your choice.

Why the heck did I just say that?

Never mind. Back to becoming a monkey’s soup de jour.

Putting aside for a moment thoughts of my stellar performance at Karaoke night at the Pilot ten years ago when I got a standing ovation of one because I was the only one sober enough to stand up, something Fred said or said Fred, no Fred said it, I’m sure of it, got to me to thinking.

Collective consciousness. Everything’s connected.

Dorothy is corrupted, probably narcissistic as hell. Most evil world domination plotters and plunderers of fortune and stealers of McDonald’s Monopoly game pieces are.

So I’m willing to bet that these flying monkeys are just people who’ve been duped by her to do her evil bidding.

I know this because I learned about flying monkeys in psych 101. It was the one day I couldn’t go to sleep in that class because of all those uppers my roommate keep feeding me telling me they were Skittles.

Last time I checked Skittles came in more colors than just white.

But I digress.

These flying monkeys, now suspending in the air (isn’t makebelieve so grand?) looking like a backdrop to some kind of weird zoo exhibition, weren’t real monkeys.

How was I going to be sure?

I was the Karaoke King. Gwen had hired me for my specific skill set. I guess that’s why she didn’t want me, Fred and Rambo lion to take the helicopter with her to the convention.

This was a test of my skills.

She wanted to see if I could handle these psychologically corrupted monkeys.

First test eh?

Bring it you pony-tailed Judy Garland lookalike. I bet you clicked your heels on poor Toto and then buried the poor fuzzy looking rat in the back yard on the other side of the pool cabana huh?

Get ready big D, I’m about to lay some Billy Joel on your butt.

“Release the hounds!”

“What? Do you think your Basil Rathbone or something? What the heck are you going to do about them monkeys heading our way Snark?”

“Watch and learn Freddy my boy. Hey, king of the jungle. You wanna step back and let the professionals have a wack at this?”

“Do something Snark. They all look hungry.”

“Pipe down munchkin, I’m about to release the Kraken on their butts.”

“Pirates of the Carribean?”

“No, Clash of the Titans.”

“Depp did a much better job.”

“Are you two going to talk favorite movies all day? Stark you’d better be right about this. This costume’s a rental and I’ll have to pay dearly if those monkeys get close enough to start flinging poop at us.”

“Okay, okay. Deep breath I can do this. I can do this.”

“For the love of God stop talking and start singing!”

“You may be right, I may be crazy, whoa but it just might be a lunatic you’re looking for. Uh, uh…”

“Snark they’re starting to lose shape. It looks like their turning into humans again. Keep going man, keep going.”

“Turn out the lights, don’t try to save me, you may be wrong for all I know but you may be right. Ah, remember how I found you there, alone in your electric chair.

“Look, they’re all human again. You did it, Karaoke King. You are the master of the terrible song and what’s even more surprising is you did it sober. We didn’t think that was even possible. They all just fell out of the sky and they’re all walking this way.

“I hope none of them are talking this way.”

“Say what?”

“Never mind.”

“You did it Snark. You broke the connection.”

It didn’t take long before my munchkin buddy, the Rambo Lion and I were completely surrounded by a throng of folks, each stumbling around a lot which I found interesting.

They all looked much like I did after a three-day marriage to the gin and tonic sisters.

Suddenly Fred pointed to the sky, “Look oh Karaoke King. There’s the boss’s copter. Look the banner unfurls.”

I am Gwen De Toit The Best Writer Since Hemmingway and I Beat Him Even On An Off Day. Follow Me. This Way To The Convention. We Have Work To Do. Well done Snark.

The least Gwen could have done was give us all a lift out of this stink hole called a cornfield, but noooooo. We’re left to slog it out on foot with a bunch of male and female groupies following us like we were Whitesnake or something. And they were all chanting, which was starting to get on my last freaking nerve.

“Snark, Snark, the Karaoke King. Snark, Snark the Karoake King.”

I finally whirled around and faced my merry little band of followers.

“It’s Stark. My name is Stark. Does everybody around here have a hearing problem?”

Every one of them cupped their ears and replied, “what?”

I turned back around and sighed, “figures.”

Continues in Chapter 10:

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8

Let’s keep in touch:

© P.G. Barnett, 2019. All Rights Reserved.

Out of Ideas, Out of Time

A place where collaborative stories go to lose momentum and…

P.G. Barnett

Written by

A published author enjoying married Texas bliss. Dog person living with cats. A writer of Henry James stories and thoughts about this crazy world we live in.

Out of Ideas, Out of Time

A place where collaborative stories go to lose momentum and disappear in a tiny dust devil in the middle of the desert.

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