Embrace the Almond Joy

The ShowroomTRANSMISSION103: Ah, no man, no one is alive.TRANSMISSION106: Are you fucking kidding me?TRANSMISSION103: No, it's just a fucking mess.TRANSMISSION100: He's alive.Online: An elevator later...My name is Hillary Hurst."Your name is Hillary Hurst." The intercom alerts the rest of the shoppers.I'm in a showroom."You're in a showroom."Exiting the elevator I find myself looking at furniture at what are described as 'Rock Bottom' prices."Rock bottom prices, ya'll."There are other shoppers with me who don't seem to be in any situation even close to mine. They don't notice the intercom and look as though they haven't even driven past a funny farm."We all like to drive the mean streets once in awhile." I now realize that it's none other than Barry White relaying my thoughts to the showroom shoppers.There is no way to quench panic than arriving in the surreal. I remember a time I got caught shoplifting. I was scared out of my mind, until I realized it was an elderly woman who had tackled my friend and brought on the arrest."Them ladies of the octogenarian-type will put a fix on you, fool." What the hell is Barry talking about?I used to blame the bottle for my problems, but now as I walk passed a sofa and loveseat on fire, with shoppers lifting the price tag and succumbing to flames without a wink...I think this was all pushed on me."Damn, that booze." You said it Barry.I move to push the woman to the floor as her green and white plaid skirt catches, but am thrown from her with the same force I used to push her down."Them women won't let you push them around."I'm on the floor, propping myself on my elbows, watching the woman continue to shop in flames. I think it is only her choice of sofa that is burning."There's some hotties up in this bitch, bruther!"I look to my left at the patio furniture. Beautiful teak dressers begin humping it, their drawers moving in and out in sexual rhythm."The rhythm of the jungle, ya'll."It's amazing, the feel of an ottoman trying to mount you - because that's what's happening right now."That ottoman sure know how to fuck."I roll out of the way and look up in time to see an Oriental lampshade come crashing towards me. I roll the other way into bedding that engulfs my entire body and now I'm screaming as it tightens on my body."Damn, the bedding is fucking you."I wake up in the showroom and the bedding is to my left, smoking a cigarette and singing "On the Road Again."I look around and find that the showroom is empty of customers, but in total disarray.I prop myself up, and ask the bedding how I was."I've had better."I begin laughing and reach into my pocket for a cigarette. There are none.I get up and find the rest of the furniture is also in the Valium afterglow of sex - they're acting like furniture.The dresser is standing still, drawers closed, waiting for someone to buy it. The sofa-sleeper is waiting to be tried out by the next flaming human being that happens to check the price tag.Normally, after being fucked by furniture, I try to figure out what in the name of Jews for Jesus is going on, and that's what I decided to do.Apparently, Barry is no more and therefore, I don't have this damn narrator around repeating my thoughts.I walk to the linoleum thoroughfare and begin looking for an exit or bathroom, or whatever amounts to where Oz is hiding.I'm clicking my tongue now in enjoyment. There's nothing like reality to confirm that you're totally batshit.I've now walked the linoleum thoroughfare five times, inspected behind afterglow bookshelves and have found no exit on either side of the green spotted yellow brick road.The elevator I came in is no longer here, as well. Which really works out into a nice Twilight Zone. I'm figuring I need to wait a half hour, lose my mind more and some voice will tell me what lesson I'm learning.I just hope it isn't that smug bastard Rod Serling.