Amusement For The Masses free porn video

Okay, the first part of this story is true, right up to the point where I aproach the girl. All the conversation is as I remember it, not verbatim, and my friends aren't as big of assholes as this makes them seem. Some names are changed, two aren't, HappyWoods is fabricated. Anyway, I decided to make an alternate tg ending to a small, odd portion of my life, I hope you enjoy. ================================================ Amusement for the Masses by Alan Teague Bittig "Mom! Do we have any coffee left in this house," I scream, digging through the cabinets and pulling down ancient, dust covered cans of beans and tomatoes that never seem to get used. "I think that Tommy used the last of it yesterday morning," she shrieks back. Now that's wonderful. I fumble through another shelf and then give up. "Do we have anything cafinated at all?" I ask. "Tea or Coke or anything?" "There's some raspberry tea above the stove." "Kay." I pull it down and grimace. It's some cheap store brand, loser tea, probably tastes like a pleasant mix of tar and water. Never the less, I am tired and I have a big day ahead of me. I throw four bags into a coffee filter and add several twigs of dried mint. I start the machine and throw my weight into a chair. Click...click...click, the pot brews the dark reddish drink. Somewhere in the distance a shower runs. It's too damn hot in here. I can feel the sweat bead on my face. Ten minutes ago I got out of the shower, I feel filthy already. I grab my forehead and try to count off my daily morning headache. A stupid meditation trick I read in some book. 10...9...with each number the pain is supposed to diminish. I give up after counting down twice and pop three tablets of aspirin. The pot stops and I pour the concoction into a large mug. "What I need," I mutter, "is a goddamn cigarette." I walk outside, carrying the steaming cup. It is cooler out here, not to mention the fact that a slow, tepid breeze is blowing. I sit on the front steps, drinking and smoking. I'm starting to feel good. My mother walks out, slamming the door behind her. "Be careful today," she says to me, her black skirt billowing in the wind, "don't be stupid." "We're not going to Atlanta anymore anyway. We're going to HappyWoods." "Oh, good, Jack's mother must have talked some sense into him." She pauses to scratch her chin, then continues, "those country roads are awful, I wish you were taking the interstate." "Don't worry about it. I'll be fine." "I know." She pecks me on the cheek and leaves. Once again it's just me and the odor of flowers. I love the morning, the fresh smell and the pale sky. I just hate waking up for it, not that I had to this morning. I sit for another five minutes before a white car pulls into my driveway. It is my friend Jack. I stand up and sluggishly migrate towards his car. He is waving at me, making obscene gestures and shouting for me to hurry up. "Com'on man," he says, "it's almost eight." "Yeah, yeah. I'm coming." "We gotta get on the road!" "Uh-huh." "Hurry up." "Goddamnit, would you shut up, I already said I was coming." "Okay man," he says, a shocked look taking over his face, "I'm sorry." I get into his car and we pull out. "Whered'ya get the new wheels, man?" I ask. "I woke up yesterday afternoon and my car was gone so I asked my mom where it was and she said she'd sold it to buy a new one." He smiles. "So I get the Saturn." "God! Your family goes through cars like we go through razors or something like that." "I know," he says with a grin. "It almost makes me sick." We laugh. By this time we are moving at thirty-five miles an hour, burning the gasoline and adding an additional pound of pollutants to the air. I turn around and look at his back seat. An acquaintance of mine, some guy named Chuck, is curled up on the blue apolstered seats. He is asleep. I turn back towards Jack. "We're gonna meet some girls today, Grey," he says, laughing lightly and accelerating. "All we gotta do is wait around until they get in a line and we get in right behind 'em." "Uh-huh," I grunt, "and you don't think that'll scare them." "Not at all, man. Fine girls go to HappyWoods with the sole intention of getting picked up by nice guys like you and me." "Right." I'm not sure I believe him. In my experience amusement parks are populated mostly by families, old people, and middle-school girls. I also feel a little pathetic. How many eighteen year old guys need to drive ninety miles just to get close to a woman? This, of course, brings up dark images of Amy. I'm about to cry. Suddenly, my melancholia is disturbed by a grunt from the back seat. I turn around to talk to Chuck. "You seem a little tired this morning," I laugh, trying to hide my depression." "Yeah, I have a hard time getting up." "Ha , I know what you mean. I just didn't go to bed last night." "Shit," says Jack, "aren't you a little tired." "Uh-huh, but I just took a couple of caffeine pills. I'll be okay." "Whatever," he says, then turns on the stereo and off we fly, seventy miles an hour down a rural South Carolina road. Up hills, down hill, across long dank swamps, everything a pale, unhealthy green tinged with a mild, morning mist. I roll down my window and light another cigarette. I smoke too much, that's one of the reasons Amy left me. The radio beats on, blessing us with 'The Morning Rush', which is essentially two idiotic good ol' boys pandering to a tasteless audience. I hate the south east, or at least this little piece of it, which is all I know. Everything is so tacky, so fake. From the hypocritical bible thumpers to the mindless rednecks. It all grates on my nerves and makes me sick with frustration. I'm thrilled when the station finally starts to break up. Jack wastes no time adjusting the dial, coming upon a country station. "My god man," I shout, "why are you stopping on this!" "I like this song," says Jack. "Why?" "It's like the ladies trying to expand country beyond the audience of just stupid 'necks." He starts singing, "it's perpetual bliss." "My god, these are the stupidest lyrics I've ever heard," I shout. Also, the lady sounds a lot like Amy, which is depressing me. I punch the dashboard. "Hey," shrieks Jack, "Don't do that, there's an airbag in there." "Oh," I mutter, "I'm sorry." Everyone is silent for the next hour. * * * The parking lot of HappyWoods is so incredibly American that for a second I don't want to get out of the car. It's frightening how bland and yet at the same time tacky it is. The long rows of silent, locked cars sitting under the long rows of silent, dimmed lights. Ten in the morning and the place is already packed. What is this world in which we live? Who are these people who can drive to an amusement park on a Wednesday morning? Don't they have lives? Or are they all like me? "Come'on Grey," says Jack, "drop the long face and let's start having fun." "Kay," I say, and start across the parking lot with yet another cigarette in my mouth. "Hey Alan?" asks Chuck, "why the hell does everyone call you Grey?" "Because," answers Jack with a laugh, "he always looks so goddamn depressed." "S'that true?" "Uh-huh," I answer, "but sometimes looks are deceiving." "Whatever," says Jack, "but trust me, if your always looking like your about to cry your never gonna get a girl that isn't like Amy." "What makes you think that I don't want another girl like her." "I don't know," Jack muses, "but damn you were a perfect couple, always walking around looking like the pair of you was about to kill yourselves." "Shut up man, would'ya." I'm not in the mood for his abrasive personality this morning. Jack is one of those people who is fun to be around and really, if you give him a chance, a smart and sensitive guy, but most of the time he acts like a complete asshole. He may be my friend, but there are days I just want to knock his face in. I'm feeling better by the time we make it to the ticket booth. The warm sun and the humid breeze has forced some life back into my fatigued, overly depressed body. I start to smile. To prove to my friends that I'm in a jolly mood I ask the ticket agent if HappyWoods is the home of Mickey Mouse. She snickers, my friends laugh. "No!" She says. "Donald Duck then?" "Nope." "Yo, man, I think its Snoopy," says Chuck. "S'that right." "Not at all," says the lady. She is starting to get aggravated, I'm holding up the line. I sigh and walk into the park. We wander around for a few hours, riding the roller-coasters and looking at the amazing numbers of ultra-fine girls. "Damn," Jack keeps saying, "I think I'm in booty heaven." "Do you mean that in the eighties sense or the nineties sense," I say with a laugh. "I know man, aint that weird," adds Chuck, "it's like, back in the day booty was the butt but now its sex." Basically, we have several hours of inane conversation punctuated only by rides on crappy roller coasters that shake the hell out of us. We are standing in line for the Thunder Run when we see the witch girl for the first time. "Look at the Maralyn Manson freak with the black nail polish," whispers Jack, his face turning red with hidden laughter. "I see her," I grunt, trying hard to conceal my disgusted look. She is the epitamy of a freak. She is wearing black fish-net stockings and a frock like sun-dress. Her hair is parted down the middle and pulled up into two ponytails, one on each side. The left one is jet black and the right one is orange. Her tounge is pierced, not to mention her eyelids, her nose, and probably other parts of her anatomy I do not want to see. "Don't stare at her like that," says Chuck, his face maroon, "she might put a curse on you!" That's all we can take, and break out in loud, earth shaking peals of laugheter. The which glares at us, which only causes our laughter to increase. "God," I say, "I thought they only came out at night." "I guess not," laughs Jack. Our car comes and we leave the witch behind, standing on the platform and glaring at us. I forget about her after a minute when Chuck spits his gum into the hair of some old lady in front of us. It's not something I would have done but still, it's pretty damn funny. At two we sit down for our over-priced, under-cooked lunch. The score is now ten to seven to zero. I haven't aproached a single girl. "What's wrong with you, Grey," asks Chuck, "why aren't you getting close to all the fine asses walking around." "I don't know, I guess I can't eat the peach." "Oh-no!" shouts Jack, "not that crap, god I hated that poem." "Yeah," I mutter, "well so did I but I think that I'm alot like that guy." "Shit," laughs Chuck, "we all are sometimes, I mean hey, I like mermaids and all, but...." They laugh at my expense. "I've always been turned on by women with hairy arms," snickers Jack, "and I have this odd, secret desire to be a crab." "Just forget I said it, okay," I grunt, and then I stand up. I get out of the seat, rise from the table, and at that point things get bizarre. That moment, that one, shining hellish moment in all of beginningless time, is the moment I see her. * * * Her hair is a short, beautiful chestnut color, pulled back into an intentionally messy little stub. It's held up with a subtle and very tasteful black hair tie. Her lightly tanned shoulders are almost completely exposed, slipping daintily into her shirt. She is the image of perfection. From twenty feet away I can see her blue eyes twinkle and her red lips bob with each point she makes. "That girl in the white shorts," I say, "I have to go talk to her." "Okay," says Chuck, "she's got a couple friends, I hope." "I don't care, I just need to talk to her." I start walking faster. "What's with the sudden burst of confidence?" asks Jack. "I think it has to do with the fact that she is without a doubt the most beautiful woman I have ever seen," I reply. "I bet your hoping she has hairy arms," laughs Chuck. "Shut-up. Will you please stop mocking me!" "What're you gonna say to her?" I hear Jack say. "I don't know yet." "Well you better think fast, she sees you following her and she's stopped," says Jack. He and Chuck are laughing. She stares directly into my eyes. I stare back and smile. She pauses for a heart-breaking moment, and then blesses me with her perfect smile. I feel a sudden, invigorating burst of confidence, and continue to close the gap. I stand in front of her, taking in each inch of her perfect figure. "Um, hi." I manage to say, a moronic grin on my face. "Hello," she says, her eyes digging into my soul. "Umm, where are your friends," I ask idiotically, even though I can see them standing behind her. She shakes her head and starts to walk off, my world collapses. Then everything changes forever. The witch girl walks up. "Hey assholes," she says. "Hey bitch," laughs Chuck. The girls hear him and turn around. They see who we are talking to and come back. I'm unsure whether they are going to support us or her. The paragon girl's eyes are filled with anger. "Hey," she says to the freak, "your the girl who spit on my shoe." "Yep. And you're the girl who was laughing at me." The witch doesn't seem to worried, and as if to make her point she spits on the girl's shoe again. "I was laughing at you because your a freak," says the beautiful woman. "Yeah," says one of her friends, "someone who dresses like that is asking to be laughed at." "And I spit on your shoe because your little shit without any respect. Girls who dress like you are asking to be fucked!" "What the hell are you saying that to her for," shouts Jack, "I've known a lot of sluts in my life and that girl isn't dressed like one!" He's right, her aperal seems more than apropriate for a theme park. I notice the way my loved one is looking at Jack and decide to stand up for her as well. "Why the hell would you spit on the girls shoe," I say to the witch, "that's like a major insult." "You people don't seem to have much of a problem insulting me," the witch mutters, "so maybe I need to get my revenge." "Yo, what the hell are you talking about," shouts Jack, his pale white neck turning bright red out of a mix of anger and amusement. He's a big guy, not to mention a thug. I didn't doubt that he would hit the girl if she provoked him enough. "This," she says, and with a wave of her plastic jewelry covered arm and a flick of her wrist things go black. I feel a tug, a pull, a shot. Nothing feels right. For a moment I am flying, then my vision returns. The witch is gone, in her place stands another copy of myself. "What the hell, what the hell, what the hell!" shrieks the girl's friend, and then, as if it was the opening monolouge, we all start screaming. I haven't been cloned, not at all, instead, in front of me, stands my official body. I look down and almost faint. I see only a the tops of a pair of breasts, and leaning forward, a woman's body. I scream. * * * "So what the hell are we gonna do!" shrieks my body. "How the hell are we gonna solve this problem." "Shh," I urge her, "be quite, let's go somewhere with less people and talk about it there." I'm not completely sure what just happened, but I am sure that I don't want to discuss it on a crowded theme-park boulevard. Much too many people for that. We make our way through the park and come to the gates. None of us speaks. Our legs are shaking and our minds are blown. It is all too strange. We get our hands stamped and walk out into the privacy of the parking lot, where, huddled behind a brown mini-van we break into another fit of enraged shrieks. "I need another cigarette," I whisper, and reach into the pocket of my old pants to pull out my pack. I end up turning the entire pocket inside out, spilling loose change and my wallet onto the greyish surface. My hands still shaking I light it, offering them around. Everyone takes one except Chuck, who is no longer Chuck, but whose name I do not know. "What the hell happened," someone eventually asks. "I don't know!" I shriek. "Are we all switched?" I ask. Everyone shakes their head. "And are we all switched boy- girl?" Again everyone shakes their head. "I must be hallucinating," I say, "it must be the lack of sleep." "How am I gonna explain this to my mom?" whimpers one of the female bodies. Shit, I think, I hadn't thought about that point. I'm not forced to contemplate it long before a tall, lanky man wearing a youth group t-shirt walks up to us. "Hello again, assholes," it says, and I instantly realize this is the witch. I have a terrifying image of some Baptist type guy trapped in that odd looking body. I feel sorry for him, but not too sorry, I'm too worried about my own ass to care much about other people at this exact moment in time. "It's like this, kiddies," says the witch, "I wasn't really mad at any of you. I just thought you needed some sensitivity training." "So..." questioned Jack's body, "that means your going to change us back?" "Oh no!" She cackled, "the spell's permanent, I couldn't change you back if I wanted to." "Then...then...what the hell are you going to do," I shriek, my voice disturbing me more than the witch's words. "I'm gonna make the shift a little easier on all of you. Look at your wallets," and then she walked off into the hot, late afternoon haze. I stood shocked. Slowly, my body bent forward to pick up my wallet, holding it by the edge. Gingerly, he handed it to me. We crowded into a painful circle as I ripped it open. It was all messed up inside. The pictures in the middle had changed, half the money was gone. I flipped through nervously, finally pulling out my drivers licence. "What the hell," I shrieked. My picture was still the same, but it was no longer a South Carolina licence. "It...It..Who the hell is Alan Richerdson?" I shrieked. "I'm Carol Richerdson," my body said nervously. "Are you nineteen?" I asked. "Yes!" "I think my license is for you now," I said with a shocked and broken expression. She looked at it, then at the photos in the other pockets. "That's this body with my mother," he said nervously, his face coating over with a look of shocked fear, and that's this with my brother and shit...Oh my god, what the hell happened!" We stand, paralyzed with fear, the hot, blistering breeze billowing through the air, bringing us the scents and sounds of the park behind us. Everything shines with the brilliant, unhealthy glow of an overheated day. We are lost. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," shouts the girl wearing the blue bathing suit top and the cut-off jeans. "Why? I must be fucking nuts or something, this can't be right, this can't be right..." She falls onto the pavement, rubbing her knees against the hot tar. "Whatever it is, it's right, it's real," I say. As Nick said in 'Gatsby', "we all suspect ourselves of some cardinal virtue." His was honesty, mine is grace under fire. Ten-thousand alarms are wailing in my mind. "Look," I continue, "whatever comes next is what's gonna happen, but right now we all gotta calm down and figure out who and what the fuck we are." They all look at me. They need a leader, I'm not sure I want to be the one, but no one else seems able to step up to the occasion. "Now who the hell are you?" I ask, pointing at the hysterical girl who is now lying on the ground. "Jack." "So you must be Chuck," I say, looking at the girl with the long, dark hair. She nods. I look at the boys, staring directly into my alien blue eyes. "Figure out who you people are," I say. They quietly organize themselves, reaquianting themselves with each other. Everyone calms down. The sweat begins to roll down my forehead. "Okay now," I add, "we need to talk things out and just get a goddamn grip." I continue to stare at myself. "Are you from around here?" I ask my body. It nods. "Good, then where can we find a quiet, out of the way place to have a little chat?" "We can...I mean...the mall, no one ever goes to the mall," my body mutters, "I mean, everyone comes here or the beach." "Good, how far is it?" "Maybe a mile." "Can you lead us there?" "Uh-huh." "Are you in any condition to be driving?" "I'm okay." "Good, I'll meet you at the front gate. What do you drive?" "My parents' blue BMW." "Kay, leave your lights on, that'll make you easier to find." She nods and slowly stumbles off in the direction of her automobile. I turn to Chuck and Jack. "You can't drive like that, man." I say. Jack is overwhelmed with frightened tears and hyperventalating. "I know, man." "Let me have your keys and then get into the goddamn car." He gives them to me and slowly slides towards the passenger door. I unlock the vehicle and we all step inside. As always, I buckle my seatbelt, but find that it feels too weird. I take it off. "Damn man," I say as I start the car, "I need a cigarette like I've never needed one before." I toss the small black purse I'm holding to Jack. "See if there's any tobacco in there, and while your at it, find out what my name is." "Sure," she starts digging through the bag. I need to stay calm, I need to provide a voice of sanity. Looking at Chuck in the rear-view mirror I can see she is about to crack. They need me and so I ignore the myriad of strange feelings and the emotions of pure terror that rocket through my figure. I drive. "Here you go, man," says Jack, handing me a lit cigarette, "your name is Caren T. Bittig, but according to this birthday card in your purse your nickname is Blue." "Shit, Grey, Blue, what the hell is the difference. Who are you guys? I can't walk around in public calling a fine piece of ass like you Jack." "Shut the hell up man," Jack says with a sneer, "you don't need to talk about me like that." "Whatever." "I'm...my name is Rachel," says Chuck. "And what's yours, Jack." "Lynn." "Good, start using those names, if we're like this for a while we need to fit in." The words come out of my mouth tasting like bile, I can't believe what I just said. 'If we're like this for a while,' what a terrible thought, but right now it seems likely. I see the car with my body and honk. It pulls onto the main road, slowly leaving HappyWoods. The park vanishes in the smog and haze, and ahead, as we come to the top of a tall hill, appears the ocean. The water. I close my eyes briefly and try to ignore the empty feeling in my crotch. Nothing seems very much fun anymore. * * * As promised, the mall is deserted. We park in front of the Sears entrance and walk slowly inside, exiting the oppressive heat. Wham. I am instantly hit with the overpowering air conditioning. The temperature drops twenty degrees, causing my hair to stand up and my skin to ripple with goosebumps. Each bead of sweat caresses my skin. Now, like no time before, I can feel each curve and each swell of this strange and hellish body. I rub my forehead and try to ignore it. "My god," whispers Lynn, "I need to piss." "Well then do it." "I'm afraid to." "Oh shit, yeah, I can see why." The boys come up to us. I pull the one in my body aside, she seems to be the most together of the group. Maybe it's just because she wears my face but I feel like she has a lot in common with me. "How are they holding up?" I whisper. "I guess okay. Better than those two." She points to Lynn and Rachel. "Uh-huh. M'kay, now where can we go to talk." "There's a bunch of benches in the hall." "Kay," I turn towards the milling crowd of gender-bent children. "Come'on people, we're gonna be okay." We walk, slowly. My feet are sore and my head is aching, however, I continue to act like I'm normal. "Shit," I suddenly shriek, then, taking control, I shove my trembling hands into my pocket and force what I hope looks like a hard-boiled expression onto my face. Perspectives seem weird, but that's because I'm at least two inches shorter than I was before. "Let's sit there," I say, motioning to a row of empty benches next to a water fountain. "Look," says ex-Chuck, "I don't want to sit, I wanna get my old body back." I am shaken by his voice. Chuck, like myself and Jack, was and is a Northerner living in the Carolinas. The voice that comes from his body, however, is tinged with a heavy accent. It's frightening in many ways. It's wrong. "Kay, we can't do that, none of us know what the hell happened and that witch said it was impossible," I pause to tug the uncomfortable undershirt I am wearing, it seems to tight, like it's digging into my shoulders. I realize at that moment that it is a bra. I frown. "Let's start by getting your names." "Call me Don," says Chuck's figure, "that's what my license says I'm called. That's Joe, I guess," he continues, pointing towards Jack, "and she's Charles." "Ughh, my bodies a Chuck," I say with a frown, "that sucks almost as much as this!" "Shut the hell up," says Rachel, "nobodies in the mood for your inane comments." "Okay," I say, "but we have to get some kinda grasp of what we are and where we are and all that other fun stuff." "I don't want to!" shrieks Don, "I just want my figure back. I don't like this man stuff and I don't like this wet noodle in my pants and I don't like the pimples on my face and I don't like the short hair..." she stops as an old man walks by. "Well how the hell are we gonna get it back?" I reply, my voice even but somehow betraying my inner fear. "How are we gonna do it?" "We're not," whispers Lynn, her eyes coated with tears, "we're gonna be like this 'til we die and then when we do we're gonna be like this in heaven." "That's a downer of a thought," says Charily, but we all know that it is probably true. "It's like this," says Lynn, standing up, "we're just gonna have to get used to it." Her hands are shaking and her legs are wobbling. "We're gonna have to figure out how to pretend we've always been this way and let our lives go on. I don't want to, hell, everyone knows that I was a big tough guy and this sensitive woman stuff is gonna suck shit, but hey...We all have to deal with change. Change is the only constant, everything gets the crap knocked out of it and gets flipped upside down and told to start over. "Grey, err, Blue, it's like you, you know, when Amy dumped you. What could you do, you moped around for a while but then you had to decide whether you could survive and keep living or if you just needed to end it all. That's what it's like for us. We have to decide. We can kill ourselves or get used to it." She digs deep into the pocket of her shorts and pulls out a single, shining penny. With the graceful, fluid ease of motion that made her a football star she tosses it into the fountain, muttering a wish. It hits the water with a gentle plop and sinks ever so slowly to the bottom. "See, that didn't work," she says between harsh bursts of breath, "we're stuck, people, and pissin' and moanin' isn't gonna change it." She sits down and bursts into tears. We all follow suit. Rachel stands, nodding to Lynn. "I know what I have to do," she says. We all know what it is, there is no need to ask. "I'll come with you," says Don, and together, hand in hand, they leave, abondoning us to the world of the living. I have to ask myself as the walk into the sporting good store and buy a knife, are they the strong ones or are we. Slowly, I watch as they enter the bathroom, still hand in hand, not caring, or perhaps knowing that it does not matter, that they are both in the men's room. Is they're choice the proper one, are they doing the right thing? I'm not sure, but I think that maybe I'll know someday. I'm not going to take such a drastic action until I am sure. They were sure, and I respect them for that, my conscience is much more jaded. "How long should we give them?" asks Charily between well masked tears. "Maybe a half an hour," I reply. "At least they've found there peace." "Maybe we will too." * * * The rest of the day is a whirlwind haze of panicked phone calls and poignant questions. "Why?" Rachel's mother keeps shrieking, "Why?" I know why, but perhaps it is too much for her to comprehend. At one point she approaches me, asking "did you see it coming Caren, did you know." All I can do is look at the ground and shake my head. The ride home is dark and quiet. Lynn drives, exceeding the speed limit by fifty miles an hour and rushing through stop signs in a fatalistic course towards hell. The wind rushes in through the windows, which we leave open even when the rain begins. By the time I get home I am soaked. Sad and partially destroyed, I exit the car under Lynn's hideous glare and walk up the steps to my home. The lights glow against the pitch black storm. I can tell that it is warm inside. From the flower beds waft an odor of peace. I open the door. "I'm home mom!" I shout. "Oh my god, thank you god, I was so worried about you when I heard about Rachel and that boy," whispers my mother, embracing me, pulling back towards the womb. "Don't worry," I reply, "I think that I'm okay." "Oh, good," she looks at my feet, "you know it's not your fault." "Uh-huh." "I'm just glad your back," she mutters, "you know your my darling child." "Whatever I look like?" "Of course, but why do you want to look any different, your such a beautiful little girl." "Sure I am," I whisper, and walk off towards my room. I'm to tired to be shocked when I see how much it has changed, I just throw myself onto my bed and flip on my television set. From the speaker comes the voice of the eleven o'clock news. "A bloody day at Myrtle Beach," claims the reporter. "A suicide pact in a public restroom at the Carlin Mall and a jumper from a rollercoaster at HappyWoods. Police are baffled as towards the motives of the two young people who killed themselves at the mall, however, the jumper, 16 year old Zelda Welsh, was heard to scream that 'the end of the world has come, the men shall become women, the women shall become men. Ms. Welsh is by all accounts..." I look up to the screen in time to see our witch jump. The poor fool, a religious nut, he didn't have much choice either. I close my eyes and go to sleep, dreaming of my masculinity. I'll worry about women things in the morning. Fin