<<you, the woman on the hospital bed, dream. we enter your brain through your left ear canal. circling around the wrinkly pink bowling ball, we bounce off the side of the right eyeball and get tangled up in the cords coming off of the rear. let us untangle ourselves and go look at Sleeping Beauty’s dreams, what do you say? inside your mind are images of a friendly faced, ashen blonde haired man speaking to you. you and i travel here as one. we watch the light float. we see fleeting images of you and the friendly man dancing and embracing. you walk down a hall with the friendly man and there is slow piano music playing. a beautiful young boy with long blonde hair runs toward the man and you. the boy is caucasian pink colored like his adults and resembles you both. he smiles, calls you, mom and the man, dad. the boy jumps into your entwined mom and dad arms. you all smile and hold each other and sing and dance. happy songs, round and round. suddenly there is a flash of lightning from above and the sound of thunder crashing down. the friendly man’s smile turns into a mocking glare. he stops he dance. the man raises his arms to the sky and starts to chant loudly. it sounds like something horrible from a James Joyce novel. you and the child drop to your knees and cover your four ears. the man screams a new song,>>
“Hamburger, Hamburger, one. two. three!!! Hamburger don’t you mess with me!!!”
<<the man shrieks and the world shakes. the ground opens up between in front of the three of you. the hole in the ground becomes a seemingly bottomless pit. out of the pit rises a humongous hamburger with eyes on the top bun and human legs protruding out of the bottom bun. the hamburger is wearing a type of human male undergarment, commonly know as tighty whiteys. the no longer friendly man cackles, grabs the child and jumps into the hole. you scream out to the child, “Thor!!!” and to the monster, “No! Bring back my baby!!! Damn you!!!” the hamburger laughs. it is a huge and deep monstrous laugh. then the hamburger dances, shaking the ground. shaking his tighty whitey covered bottom bun.>>
<<now you dream of who you were. of how you came to be at this hospital. you dream of a woman on a different bed. the woman’s name, your name, is Finnegan. and you wake up screaming. you wake up sweating and out of breath. you wake up alone in your blue room. Finnegan the Cook, you glance around the room, looking for something or someone. you see a glass of dirty water with several paint brushes soaking in it, a half finished drawing of a hamburger monster from the dream, piles of dirty clothes, and a child’s toy on the floor of the hallway. Finnegan, you climb off the bed and grab a bottle of whiskey from thin air on your way into the hall.>>
From thin air? Am I Magick the Drunkening or something?
<<ok it was next to the paintbrush water jar. let me embellish ok?>>
Artistic license over my life, given. Check.
<<you nudge mountains of toys over to the sides of the hallway so that you can stumble through. you take great gulping swings from the bottle as you teeter past your missing in action son’s playthings. you…>>
OK. Bring it down a notch. Mmm’kay?
<<fun killer. a door on the left is open and you enter and flip on the wall switch to illuminate a bathroom. you rest the whiskey bottle on the countertop and turn on the faucet. Finnegan in the mirror turns a bar of soap over in her hands and uses the lather to wash her face. her face, your face, is attractive (for a human face) and free of makeup, as you do not care to wear it that often. you have large bug eyes, a couple ear piercings through each ear and a lip ring. after washing and drying your face you take a shot of mouthwash from a free bottle on the counter. mirror Finnegan swishes the minty liquid around and around. trying to kill off the bad evil germs from sleep and cheap whiskey. you squeeze toothpaste out of a hipster brand toothpaste tube onto a toothbrush adorned with a cartoon character known as Jerry, Agent Octopus!! in mid brush you freeze when you notice the note written on cardboard and left next to the lamp on the countertop. the note was written in black sharpie on the back of some cardboard torn from a box of diapers. it reads:>>
<<you drop the toothbrush and crumple the ‘dear Finnegan’ note into a ball as you make angry fists. fists like these are useful for slamming repeatedly against mirrors, until they scatter. then the fists can be used to beat against bathroom walls until they crumble. the walls grow holes which remind you of your dream. so you make more. the crumbling drywall is useful for soaking up the blood pouring from the cuts on your hand from the broken mirror. always an upside Finnegan.>>
<<ok Finnegan, you are a bit out of control in this part your memory, and i would hate for you to dwell on the pain during your hospital rest, so let us take a break from the Cook and see what our other hero, the Dishwasher, was doing around this time or near after.>>
Gee, thanks for the break…
<<do not ever say that i did not do anything to you…errr…for you…>>