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Columns > John Zinkand - Improvise

Published: 2008/03/22
by John Zinkand

The Trenton Smedley Experience

Trenton Smedley peered over his pear-shaped shoulder. He was at the big rock show, or it appeared that way at any rate. There were people milling about outside in the parking lot all around him, but he felt very detached from it all. His pear-shaped shoulder started looking more peach-like and the people grew smaller. Suddenly he was King-Kong Smedley. But instead of mashing buildings and crushing little humans beneath his enormous sneakers, he was making a concerted effort not to crush the unassuming minions far below. But he kept growing and growing, higher and higher, until his head was way up in the atmosphere amongst the flying birdies and fluffy clouds. He looked down at his impossibly tall legs and thought that yes, he seemed slightly detached from what was happening all around him.

He blinked his eyes and snapped back to the earth in a flash and was normal size again. But now the people were gigantic purple rats walking around erect like giant rodent humanoids. And in their mouths were pointy yellow teeth. Very pointy, indeed! Trenton reached out his hand and put it into one of the creatures mouth and cut himself severely on the spear-like, urine-colored humanoid rat-tooth. Wine flowed freely from the large gash on the back of Trentons hand. The purple rat-people scurried in towards him, clawing and scratching at one another; all trying to get their putrid muzzles close enough for a sip of the deliciously free alcohol fountain spewing from poor Trentons wounded extremity. This managed to mildly freak Trenton out. Not to mention his hand was not just bleeding wine, but it hurt like a son of a bitch. He leaned back, white hot rage and anguish rippling across his face in waves, and let out a gigantic growl. ARRRGGGGRRAAAWWWLL!!!!!!! Most of the strangely colored rat people were startled by this and shimmied away from him quickly, but one hobbled right up to Trenton. He was an elderly old rat-man with curly strands of gray hair popping out of his ears and muzzle area. He was wearing an old-fashioned suit with bow tie and moving along slowly and awkwardly, cane in hand. He carefully took off his bifocals, looked deeply into Trentons hazel eyes and spoke.

But all that came out were whinnies as if the old rodent was actually a horse. That was it!! He was a horse in rat-peoples clothing! They all were! Suddenly Trenton Smedley was riding on top of one of the thousands of horses galloping all around him. They moved together as one gigantic, pulsing, herd hooves pounding into the grass and soil of the vibrant green field. The horse he was riding upon was very warm, and Trenton suddenly realized he also had no saddle. Trenton smirked and thought to himself, I actually do prefer riding bareback. The scruffy horse fur was warm and it itched his supple leg meat. Strands of slippery sweat dripped on to the fur causing it to stink and fester. With the heat of the horse increasing and the stench of the stinky wet fur overpowering his tender nostrils, Trenton knew at the very bottom of his Cajun-blackened heart that he needed to get off this train. He needed to deplane. He had to jump off the bus, Gus.

But instead of jumping off anything, the horse he was riding on grew and surrounded him as it morphed into a large bus. It made an awful noise, this horse-changing-into-a-bus process!! The entire event was so loud with its screeching metal, whinnies, and explosions that it made a venomous tear leak from the corner of Trentons bulbous eye. But it was quickly over and a strange and peaceful calm washed over him like a gigantic, warm, wet nap. He cleansed the fried chicken grease and spicy smoked rib sauce of his soul in that peaceful moist towelette. Leaning back in his bus seat, Trenton thought that all of this soul cleansing was making him ravenous. Where could a handsome young man like himself grab a bite to eat around here, anyway? Spying the top of a magazine in the seat-back pocket in front of him, Trenton leaned forward and pulled out an enthralling issue of Steroid Power. Visions of burgers, hot dogs, steak, and pie rumbled through his brain as he leafed through the magazine and gazed upon page after page of glistening, over-worked, pulsing, and rippling muscles.

As he flipped the page in the magazine, he suddenly realized he was no longer seated; that in fact he was now standing somewhere on solid ground. Where exactly, he did not know but he crosses that bridge when he comes to it, dont you worry. The page he was peering down upon had many pictures and they were all strangely familiar. There was an image of a bus driver smiling happily as he drove a busload of unnaturally enthusiastic, happy looking people pictured in the background. There was a beautiful, glossy picture of a galloping steed that almost took up an entire page. The next page had odd pictures of small purple rats dressed in human clothing. He also saw a picture of a sprawling California vineyard during a captivating July sunset. Clumsily, Trenton dropped the magazine. It slipped out of his hand and spun slowly towards the ground, serenely like a feather. But when he reached down to pick up the magazine, Trenton found that it had disappeared. He stood up and looked around the parking lot. The big rock show should be starting soon and Trenton was getting anxious.

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