New content every morning!

Liberace Pollock Sandwiches

I studied Sam’s gait each time he approached check stand nine while he tugged out beard hairs one whisker at a time. His left leg was shorter than the other so Sam was outfitted with a custom steel toed chukka boot with a thunderclap balance heel which stopped him from tea kettling.

‘The Terminator’ had just dropped in town so most of the lipsticks thought this was supreme badass. Whisker work boys had no opinion due to complete panic concern over seismic pus activity within their pimple face zones.

We were both sticker name tag temps filling in at Circuit City during peak surge pockets in holiday hustle bustle months but mainly red coats kept us near the locked cages in the back pulling heavy electronics or denting major appliances for bimonthly scratch n’ dent sales.

Our warehouse manager Christopher Columbus (the other one) would go missing for days allowing complete matrixed chaos to squirt between the costumed polyester testosterone kids. The hourly brats respected Christopher’s commitment to this vacation grift so they never revealed to upper starch suits that their noble supervisor put off a death scent of retired fish sandwiches and beer when he opted to appear for the weekly creation of work schedules.

Cashiers always kept their heads down just to end the day without incident. If a seasonal bank face got into chit chat parties with the other cashiers it would create core memories that they could not risk wasting memory space on. Sam and I were rovers which meant we bounced between the public stage and the hidden warehouse giving us absolutely zero additional credentials over anyone else on the rubberized floors. Our conversations were greenlit to flow due to our status as rovers so I took advantage of this although I wish I hadn’t.

Sam would always wear the same orange argyle sweater to work every day, every season for three years I had been working alongside of him. Most complainers stalled formal complaining when they incorrectly assumed it was a cultural commitment Sam was required to enact.

I had gotten used to the stunning onion fire grinds he dropped whenever he moved. A nice work around for body odor suppression is a minuscule dab of mint jelly in one nose hole with a powdered hot mustard mixed in for a visceral pick me up during end of shift droopy moments. The key to using my homemade jellied heaters is application must be in your primary snot shooter as you will need the other for air lock vapor draft cooling systems. It’s science.

My first glide into Sam’s sweater interrogation took place when the upstairs break room was vacant. I opted to pitch a comedic sizzler to break the static on my introduction into the important wardrobe matter that most hourly sandwich inhalers burped about under the watchful eye of the company’s buzzing fluorescents.

‘So, which one are you Sam? Bert or Ernie?’ I tossed it and then let off allowing the joke to sail effortlessly across Sam’s spirit.

Sam gazed up from his snack of lemon chutney bars with an angel glimmer in his dead brown eyes and whispered back while ghost signing a slanted cross midair, ‘I thought nobody cared. This sweater belonged to T.R., he was a …a friend of mine’.

At this point I checked out but I do remember a smattering of key points which should not be documented as I have been advised that jury deliberations are still ongoing but YOLO.

Sam was a featured performer on a public access television program out of Winnipeg. He was a revolving player who gained a side circus grouping of spastic fans that adored him. Sam was a cross-dresser who entertained as a roller skating out of tune piano playing Liberace. His best friend who also frequented The Pollock and Pollock Gossip Show was Tailwinder Randhawa or simply, T.R.

T.R. aka Chainsaw suffered from debilitating gout which was uncovered after a televised blood bath four winters prior. Tailwinder was a chainsaw juggler who enjoyed duets with Liberace to the point that they were being requested monthly and recognized on the icy streets of their hometown.

On Valentines Day, Sam arranged a dynamic triple friend smash up arrangement which he had never attempted on any public access program in front of so many hidden viewers.

T.R. did not practice with his chainsaws due to his smug nature and firm belief he was the best. Adding to a complex stew of bad luck, T.R. had just pulled himself together from a two-week rum soaked bender held in his crunchy vacation studio near Fresno.

As cameras transmitted their raw practice sessions leading up to the Valentine Jubilee that Liberace and Chainsaw were setting up to do, Chainsaw experienced crushing joint pain collapsing both of his legs mid-saw juggle. Liberace had just run his choreographed kickflip roller skate warm up drills when a raging chainsaw sheared off a portion of Liberace’s left heel.

I do recall that I pushed myself back from the carpeted meal table at this point while grabbing my Thermos filled with tomato soup and dropped the curtains on that robust conversation.

ABOUT THE ARTIST

Berthed from mischievous leprechauns near technicolor shadow lands surrounding Honah Lee, Theodore Wallbanger rides mysterious sparkle railcars bursting with crunchy cotton candy clouds dispatched from slippery erotic massage vixens who rage pillow laugh hourly within a splintered transportation module that screams along butterscotch wonder tracks forming vibrations for audiences across Sugar Hill Mountain.

Image generated on Magic Studio