Ultimate Sacrifice 2: Minitaur and I head back to the car after a successful foray to Trader Joe’s for banana chips and cheese crackers. The shopping cart lists to one side and I have trouble pushing.
A deafening drone like giant bees descends on us. It's a posse of evil motor-scooter fanatics in faux Nazi helmets and black t-shirts. They halt about 20 yards from the store entrance, revving their puny engines and glaring, the pupils of their eyes like tiny, gleaming pinpricks of hate.
Other shoppers scream and scurry to safety, and a store manager runs out waving a gun. This only makes the posse angrier. I cannot seem to navigate the cart, which swerves wildly in my panic. The motor scooter gang lets loose at some unseen signal and bears down on me hard, a la “Mad Max.” Somewhere deep within me comes the superhuman strength to shove the cart to safety. Minitaur reaches his arms out and screams “Mama! Mama” as I meet my doom under the swarm of muffin-sized wheels.
My funeral is a very sweet affair, and Plosh remembers to include my favorite flowers, freesia, in the floral arrangements. My East Coast relatives finally make the trek out to California to sit shiva, which also gives them an excuse, at long last, to say nice things about me.
I'm not sure if this or the haiku is funnier, but I'm on the floor SCREAMING.
Posted by: Pam | April 26, 2004 at 07:36 PM
Blush, blush.
Posted by: Inland Empress | April 26, 2004 at 10:08 PM
In my version they are those stupid blade scooters. This is cute.
Posted by: Bec | April 27, 2004 at 09:07 AM