The Land of the Cheddar Monster Vivisectionists

-¿What do you want that’s so important that we risked the wrath of the Nazi’s to get here? -Mr. Powell said, a little too egregiously and dressed a little too much in his pajamas-. And, ¿what’s the matter with your mazard?

Kris touched her scalp and felt a high coup coming on, but it was just the dummy grabbing a pie.

-Ummm... ¿How was your escape from Nazi Germany? -Kris tried subtlety.

Mr. Madero let out a thunderous burp that shook the foundation of all of their senses.

-¿Did you just ask us about Nazis and then fucking burp? -Mrs. Powell was all-red and all-furious.

-Now, now, dear -Mr. Powell look at Kris as he made a circular motion with his finger next to his ear-. Nobody is bringing up anyone’s sordid pasts.

-It’s Mr. Madero.. I mean, I was asking about Nazis, but Madero burped.

-¡Oh, again with the dummy! -Mrs. Powell was running out of deep-fried Fallopian tube.

-Mr. Madero has been burping since he broke the escalator...

-¡Now a dummy’s ruining our freaking house!

-He’s done everything. Except for slitting my camel’s throat. That was Lindy.

-¿¡Mr. Sparkles!? -Mr. Powell cried out in agony.

-This is all very vexing -Mrs. Powell said, passing a hand through her ruby red slippers-. Not only is it vexing, Kris, it’s also a desperation teetering on the brink of World War II.

-I think your mom brings up a good point - besides that she’s nuttier than a pre-occupied France -Mr. Powell had forgotten about Mr. Sparkles-. And that is: ¡I thought we took care of this shit last night at the school!

-¿Excuse me? -Kris said-. We threw this shit under the bus last night.

She was getting so agitated and, at the same time, Mr. Madero was getting so pissed, that the resulting horror was Zorro-rific.

-“¡We’re moving to France!” “¡Oh, it’s so occupied!” “¡It’s so horrible!” Then, ¡¿why did you fucking go!?

There was a moment of silence as everyone, even Mr. Madero, stared at Kris, fearing for her sanity. And then everyone, including Kris, stared at Mr. Madero, trying to believe he was alive.

-I think someone needs some serious shock treatment -Mr. Powell said, obviously still tense about all the Nazi talk.

-¡No! She’ll be a good boy... er, girl -Lindy said and punched Kris-. Kris is a team player. That dummy did move - and, in a way, it didn’t. And it did talk and I don’t think that Kris was moving her lips.

“You’re about as much help as a Frenchman in occupied France, Lindy”, Kris thought, sitting down to pay some bills and to agitate.

-So, ¿are we now all convinced just how fucking stupid you two are? -Mrs. Powell asked with rabidity-. I think that incident at school last night alone is sufficient evidence.

-But, Mommy... -Kris began, looking like she was going to bolt for the pies.

-We’ll get you a new camel -Mrs. Powell offered-. There’s no school tomorrow. We’ll go down to the local camel buyer and put in a bid for two.

-¿Two? -Lindy’s grin was on fire- ¿You mean one for me? ¿Where’s my bowie knife?

-Mom, ¡you can’t be serious! -Kris insisted.

-Sure, we’ll get two camels -Mr. Powell said, looking at Mrs. Powell and making a circular motion with his finger next to his ear. He moved to his wife and put his arm around her-. Honey, ¿aren’t you supposed to be creosoting your belief in the ethereal right now?

-Another camel. ¡Two camels! ¡Now that’s a seguedilla! -Kris told her mom. Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Powell were necking maniacally, like a pair of humpback giraffes.

Poised on the sidelines, Lindy was waiting for the moment she could jump in and start pecking her sister into yesterday.

-You believe me, ¿don’t’cha? -Kris asked Lindy-. It is a seguedilla, ¿right? ¿Not a supernatural anesthetist?

-Yeah, I think so -Lindy responded like a dude who’d gone to Baja and had his eyes put into a Mince Dummy Pie for Kris.

Kris looked like she had just seen a full bag of entrails. She looked at Mr. Madero and he was - pardon the expression - getting up and walking.

-¡What the...! -Kris was in a state of alarm and her buzzer sounded loudly-. ¡Lindy! ¡Hey, rat’s ass! -Kris couldn’t help it-. ¡That fucking doll moved!

-¿What makes you say that? -Lindy said as she strummed a banjo.

-Well, my vocal folds, and the space between them...

The dummy - meanwhile - grabbed a sack of potatoes and was swinging them over his head with the force of a Mike Cuellar forkball

-No, ¡woop!, nothing, okay, can’t, ¡ha-ha! -Mr. Madero was speaking in tongues and he didn’t even have one-. ¡This is my destiny, you claw-toothed whores! ¡My destiny! ¡Do you hear me, fez-wearers! ¡I’m ALIVE!

-But... hold on -Kris may not be Dolemite, but she was does not eat Dole® pineapple-. Let’s make this clear. You’re a dummy. ¿Am I right so far?

The dummy was getting unexplained erections and was acting despicably:

-YOU are the reason I’m alive -He said to Kris in a voice that sounded like Andy Kaufman reincarnated-. YOU were the pallbearer for my aunt’s iguana.

¿Pallbearer for his aunt’s iguana? ¿What the hell is that referencing?

But Kris couldn’t repent what she couldn’t remember. She had once been a pallbearer for a Pomeranian named Spitz, but she didn’t remember seeing any ventriloquist dummies at the services.

-I forgot to thank you -The dummy continued as if anyone knew what the fuck he was talking about-, and I also forgot to bill you two jackasses for my services.

The Mein Kampf Kids looked in horror at the disparaging dummy and, at that very moment, Kris crossed over the river of her brain to where an idea lay.

Paper. Everyone needs paper, just like everyone needs balsa wood.

“If I was a pallbearer for a Pomeranian -Kris thought- then I could’ve been a doorman for a Dalmatian.”

She looked at her own hand and grabbed it. She treated it like a zymogenic grifter from Grand Rapids.

The paper and balsa wood brainstorms were now on hold in her hands.

-¡Fuck this shit! -The dummy growled. It didn’t sound like he was going to quit his cussing any time soon, but Kris was already looking forward to the silence.

She could learn a language in the silence. Or she could pummel the dummy into paper pulp. Or she could speak in tongues in an alien voice:

-¡Cathartic martyrs and odd fellows loan sharks to kerrang!