Chapter EightMature

Of course, as I turn my head to further appreciate the view, what do I see but my magic cowboy hat floating out of the window. And to add insult to wildly potential injury, I need to take a massive dump.

Apparently my shark Frankenstein goulash monster insides have rearranged into a semblance of a functioning human physical structure. I don't have time to peel off the gimp suit and find out for sure.

I frantically pull levers and punch buttons. I twist dials. My reasoning is if they can make a fucking Happy Meal generator, they sure as hell could make an emergency ejection seat slash parachute in the event their car takes a 17,000 foot plunge. I never read the manuals for these things.

The windshield wipers go berserk. The radio volume is amped on high enough to shatter bones.  The climate control system alternates between Africa hot and North Pole frigid. The trunk pops and I see a dead body and the spare tire shoot out, ballooning into the sky under a parachute. What the—? I shrug. A man with a career like myself, dead bodies with parachute rigs are bound to pop up anywhere.

But nothing miraculous happens. I resign myself to my impeding death. I've been lucky. Died more times than any other man and been turned into some weird ass near immortal gory hybrid being of impossibility, thanks to that cowboy hat.

Wait! As long as I have the cowboy hat, I'll survive anything! How come I didn't think of this earlier, I don't know. I blame the MSG high from all that junk food. I give myself a facepalm, breaking a nose I didn't know was there. The gushing blood obstructs any clear view as I search frantically for the now dear talismanic headgear.

I finally spot it. It has migrated to a wedge of geese heading south. I hurl myself out of the car and make swimming motions towards the cowboy hat.  If this doesn't work, I hope I remember to yell KAMIKAZE! before I hit the ground. When the breast stroke isn't successful, I try the backstroke. The dog paddle. I perform an Eggbeater transitioning into the Flamingo that I conclude with a Rocket Split. 

Fuck! The hat is no closer than it was. The geese vee into another vector and the hat swirls into their wake. My stomach rumbles. It gurgles and leaps and spasms. And my newly formed asshole rips one. Violently. I feel as if I have been slammed by a truck. I shoot across the sky, trailing something I really do not want to think about, much less describe. 

Riding the sonic boom, I am laid out like Superman, the brim of the Super Duper Magic Cowboy Hat titillating my outstretched fingers...


The End

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