AIRPLANE LAKE LIBRARY TREE
by that gargantuan jackass, Alex Reynard, who wrote the wrong prompt by mistake and now has to shit out 1000 words as fast as pssible





Once upon a time a man went to his local library to pick up a book on getting rid of crab lice. His pubes were itchy,, you see. Upon entering the rotundra, he stapped in his tracks, perplexed as all get out.

"WHAT IN TARNATION!?" he said, aloud, with his mouth.

Inside the big round room with fuckloads of bookshelves, a great big fucking tree was growing out of the floor. And there was a paino. And a little white haired kid who looked like Killua from Hunter x Hunter was playing it. Also there was no roof. And there was a lake around the piano. And there was a crashed airplane in the lake. And some birds.

The little white-haired kid looked up from the piano, where he had been playing Rachmaninoff's famous symphony, Booty Booty Booty Booty Rockin Everywhere.

"Excuse you," he said to the man with crabs. Who was also fat.

"SHEEEEEIT, BOY!" the man with crabs who was also named Fred said. "What t'hell done happened to this place? The head librarian's gonna pitch a fit! And the poor janitor! Whoo-wee!"

The white-haired kid gave Fred a look of exasperated contempt at his blithering yokelness. "For your information, I'm God."

Fred narrowed his eyes in a gesture of skeptitude. "Oh yeah? Huh. Well allright then, Mister Smartypants, what number am I thinking of?"

God rolled his eyes. "12. It's how old you were when you lost your virginity to your gym teacher with the jowls, Miss Hogsnart. Also your favorite television show is Desperately Seeking Susans rerun, you have never cooked anything more complicated than a TV dinner in your life, and you accidentally voted for Ronald McDonald in the last presidential election somehow."

Fred shat his pants. And was in fact so impressed he vacuumed it back up again. "Well fuck my sister!!!" he ejaculated in bewilderment.

"I would prefer not to," said God.

"You mind if I ask you a few questions, O Lord?" asked Fred.

God, visibly irritated, shut the cover over the piano keys with a CLUNK that reverbererated in the circular room. "Go ahead. It's not like I have anything better to do."

"Whay are you here?"

"Cosmically, or in this current material location?"

"Uhhhh..." Fred put his fingr in his nose. "The second one."

God flinched and reflexively wiped his hands on his shorts. "I wanted someplace quiet to play the piano."

Fred tilted his noggin. "So you chose a li'berry?"

"Yes."

"Awright. Then how come there's a plane here?"

God glanced over at the twin-engine Cessna he had caused by Divine Will to plummet through the rotunda's domed glass cieling two hours hence. "I wanted to let in some sunlight."

Fred nodded. "I can see the logic in that. And the tree?"

"I wanted some shade."

"Yessir. Makes sense. And the lake?"

"Trees need water."

"Oh yuh, indeed. And the birds?"

"Birds like trees." Quicker than you can say Jack Robinson, God's tongue shot out and ensnared one of the circling doves. With nary a squawk, it was recoiled back into the supreme being's craw and vanished down His holy gullet. "That all you got?"

"Naw. Gimme a second though." Fred furrowed his brow and concentrated. He made a face like a microwave cooking a potato. "Oop. Gotta drain the snake." Hoisting his trousers, he skedaddled out of the round room for a moment. Back in the central portion of the library, the staff and patrons went about their business, unaware of the celestial visitation going on not twenty feet away. When God resumed playing piano, they thought it was Muzak.

Fred hustled his meat to the men's restroom. He unzipped in the handicapped stall, since there was room to stretch out and do some squats. He sighed loudly with bliss upon commencement of his urination.

Then he wiped off his hands on his shirt and went back to talk to God again.

God was in the middle of starting a solo rendition of Marc Andre Hamelin's Circus Galop. His fingers screeched to a stop upon sensing the presence of Fred. "Did we have a good time in there?" he asked.

"Oh hell yeah! Man, that Miller Lite goes right through ya." He made a swooshing gesture with his right hand to illustrate, like a bobsled gliding down a mountain.

God glanced over his shoulder. "XYZ," he observed.

Fred stared in bovine incomprehension.

"Examine your zipper."

"Excuse me?"

"You are experiencing a wardrobe malfunction."

"Huh?"

"The curtains are parted."

"What?"

"Your prisoners are escaping."

"Come again?"

"Moses has parted the denim."

"Whaaa...?"

"Your pants are undergoing a C-section."

"Uh?"

"There's a peeping tom in the underwear bush."

"Nope, not catchin' yer drift there."

"You are presenting to the world your BVDs."

"Erm..."

"Your pantsgina is dilating."

"What th'?"

"The pod bay door is open, Hal."

"My name's Fred. Understandable if y'all forgot."

"Your Levi's are yawning."

"Huh?"

"Your tulip is in bloom."

"Huh?"

"Ali Baba has Open Sesame'd your trousers."

"Huh?"

"The crescent moon is out tonight."

"Huh?"

"YOUR FUCKING PANTS FLY IS UNDONE AND I CAN SEE THE YELLOWED PROTRUSION OF YOUR UNDERWEAR, YOU CATACLYSMICALLY UNEVOLVED DUNG HERDER."

"Huh?"

"Your barn door's open."

"Oh!" Fred's cheeks flushed and he turned around out of modesty. "Why didn't you just come out 'n say so!?" He struggled with his Vienna-sausage-esque fingers to raise the zipper.

God beheld him attempting this task for a solid forty-seven seconds, thinking, 'I choose to stay in Heaven, because even I live in fear of what I have created here on Earth."

Beaming with accomplishment at having ensconced his unmentionables once again, Fred turned back around. "Oh! I finally remembered what I was gonna ask you!"

God rested his chip upon his folded hands. "Fire away, monsignor."

"Why did you create Democrats?" Fred asked, out of genuine bafflement.

God paused to compose himself. "Because when I created the sun and moon to give this world light and warmth and seasons, it created an addiction within your primitive minds to the concept of duality. To the concept of two dueling opposites, forever in flux. This fixation has bubbled its way up through every aspect of your culture. Sometimes with variations of three or four, but most commonly presenting as a tendency to view all things through a lens of 'good' and 'evil'. Naturally, when you lot attempt to govern yourselves, you will naturally and unconsciously assemble into two camps, each thinking the other is the 'evil' side and yourself the 'good'. And while on paper the two political factions most familiar to you allign with the complementary virtues of innovation and tradition; compassiona nd pragmatism, in practice there are few substantial differences, as both sides mirror each other's tantrums and excesses."

Fred paused for a moment. He considered. Then he nodded sagely, pretending as if he had understood more than two words of that. "Well hot damn. I thought they were just for shootin' at their lawn signs from my pickup truck."

God caused a species of turnip to go extinct in Cambodia out of frustration.

"Hey! Before I letcha get on back to y'r business, ya mind curing these crabs I got?" Fred exuberantly thrust his crotch towards the Allfather.

"Yeah, sure, why not?" God said, and so the deed was done.

Fred's mighty itch subsided for the first time since the Denny's glory hole shenanigans last Tuesday that had gotten him in this whole mess. "Hallelujah! Thanks, Lord!"

"You're welcome. Now if you don't mind, I was in the middle of something. And you smell like pork 'n beans."

"Oh right, right. See ya later, God! Play me out with some good ol' Merle, wouldja?"

God snarled a bit but obliged with a few bars of Today I Started Loving You Again.

Fred went home and took a forty minute shit while thinking of Susan Sarandon's hooters.

The End.


