There Was This Crazy Dream Once.

There Was This Crazy Dream Once.

[ NOTE: This is a piece that I was ready to submit to our local island fish-wrap in response to our friendly neighborhood city council who at the time was considering passing a ridiculous "noise ordinance" that would've made Folly Beach as quiet as a doves fart. It was never submitted however, because, thank goodness our communal representatives at the time, came to their senses and instead, compromised and passed a very acceptable policy for all concerned. Considering that they are at it again, I thought it only appropriate to resurrect this piece one more time.]

(December 31, 2008, Any bar Folly Beach, USA)

“3……2…..1…HAPPY NEW YEAR!!”

Hugs are exchanged, couples kiss, and tossed confetti fills the air as party horns rein in the New Year as the old one exits stage left.  The familiar opening to “Aude Lang Syne” increases as voice after joyous voice joins in unison. Laughter and greetings of “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” rise above the music, an emerging sense of new beginning’s  is felt throughout the festive establishment.

The sounds of toasting glasses and the popping of corks is suddenly interrupted when windows shatter loudly as diaper wearing ninja monkeys come crashing through them landing on their feet and pulling crescent shaped swords from the sheaths on their backs.  Other ninja monkeys come repelling downward from the ceiling, others crawling up from the beneath the floor boards and one hastily shuffling out of the bathroom pulling up on his diaper, a small strip of toilet paper trailing on his heel. Still, more sword wielding monkeys appear from an abrupt burst of smoke as the double doors to the bar slowly swing open and from it, emerging from the breaking mist with whip-cracking ninja monkeys clearing a path for him, is the familiar and terrifying sight of the notorious heavy breathing masked figure universally recognized as Darth Vader. Party attendees freeze in fear as their widened eyes follow the caped villain as he stops directly in front of me and hands me a note. I read it aloud:

“The Folly Beach City Council hereby warns you and your friends to stop hollering, laughing and singing as you are in violation of the recently passed noise ordinance 36-08. We are at least 50 feet from your gathering and can hear you. Remember, just because you live on Folly doesn’t mean you have to be folly, so cut it out already!”

Before the contents of the note could be absorbed, however, a startling, unexpected bolt of lightning strikes between Darth and myself and rising from yet another bursting smoke screen is the hideous, repulsive figure of Melinda; my tall, thin, knuckle-dragging, braces-wearing, second cousin from my childhood who would repeatedly beat me up for my lunch money.

“Melinda?! What the hell are you doing in my dream?” I asked her.

“Shut up and read this loser…” she orders, slapping yet another note against my chest “… or I’ll kick your sorry...” was all she managed to get out as she was promptly interrupted in mid-sentence by a flying round-house kick from my girlfriend, Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Cover and Victoria’s Secret model Marisa Miller. Melinda is sent soaring over the bar and crashing into a wall of various colored liquor bottles. “Why thank you, sweetie.” I uttered to my bathing suit beauty. She winks and smiles, slipping her arm into mine.  I smile back then look down and read the note thrust upon me by my now half-conscious second cousin:

“Hey dog bait! Guess who just uttered his way to a $500 fine and no less than 30 days in jail? You just don’t get it, do you skank spanker? Ordinance 36-08 also makes it illegal to even “utter” in public. You uttered. I heard you! Have a Happy New Year in jail, you moron!!”

Diaper clothed monkeys walk around the stunned crowd collecting party blowers and snapping them in half.  “But it’s freakin’ New Year’s Eve!” I bellow, enunciating my point with a thunderous slap on the bar. “Oh boy. Oh boy. Now he’s mad.  Now he’s mad. Oh boy.” A cowering Darth Vader mumbles over and over, fumbling and twisting his hands while looking nervously down at his shuffling feet.

“Wait a second.  Rain Man is Darth Vader?” my friend Kyle asks.

“Yes. Why, yes he is.” I reply.

 “Dude, you dream weird.” Kyle adds, not uttering.

(A FLASH OF LIGHT AND FAST FORWARD ONE HOUR LATER)

With our hands fastened behind our backs and shackles around our ankles, all party attendees are led out in single file from the bar and into a Folly Beach Department of Public Safety paddy wagon. Ninja Monkeys stand alongside, as we amble up a metal ramp that leads into the back of the truck. They crack their whips, snapping orders. “Shut up! SILENCE! No UTTERING, damn you!”  Crack!

With my mouth taped shut to prevent any further outbursts or uttering’s of protest, I weakly make my way up the ramp when, to my left, I notice a small, huddled group of seven. They stand next to the truck watching as everyone continues to file in. They’re arms folded in authority, wearing only slippers, bathrobes with the City of Folly Beach emblem on the lapels and guacamole green facial masks. As the thick, steel doors clang shut, I peer out the barred windows of the truck and notice the tallest of the group as he reaches up and grabs an extended pull-chord hanging from the lamp-post above. His squinting, beady eyes find my drooping brows. The trucks engine begins to rev up as a devilish grin appears beneath his moustache and as the truck begins to slowly pull away, the tall, hair-lipped mayor-wanta-be yanks downward on the chord with a strong sudden jerk and every street light, neon light and even the light from the stars and moon above are instantaneously extinguished.  

As the cattle truck filled with dejected citizens rumbles away, the eldest in the pack of joy kills speaks;

  

“Thank goodness! Can we go back to bed now? I got quac dripping here!”

“Yes…” the tall one orders “…Let us all return to our slumber now.”

With his malicious moustache covered smile breaking through the guacamole mask, the tall one can be heard patronizing to the tune of “Turn off the lights, the party’s over…” as he and the six others sleep-walk their way back to their chambers in city hall.