A Story Overheard at a Party as told by Elvis Presley

When the second hand strikes the full moon,
the carriage barrels down the hill,
the wheels flying off as it turns into a pumpkin.

Werewolves sit facing each other,
dressed in velvet vests, sipping cognac,
arguing over who gets to keep the glass slipper.

“I assume you’re being facetious, Rupert,
you must remember the night I won that slipper
on a bet with Lady Whisperloin
at the annual Breedlove benefit.” Nigel declares
as he puffs on a cigar laced with absinthe.

The carriage runs over Jack and Jill,
and proceeds to Satan’s Ball.

The distinguished guests rendezvous in the banquet hall
(disguised in masks of course, you can tell who is immortal by the glowing eye holes).

At the head of the table,
the well oiled neocons sit across from the French avant-garde composers,
bragging about which circle of the inferno they’ve reached.

While the bloodsuckers and Scientologists sit at the foot
namedropping famous false prophets they were once acquainted with.

The master of ceremonies, El Diablo himself,
wields his pitchfork and begins to carve the main entree,
who lays topless,
handcuffed to a silver platter,
with an apple in her mouth.

After dessert blindfolds are distributed,
and blood is thrown on the virgins.

Through the smoke machines and strobe lights,
I caught a glimpse of Poseidon
giving meaning to the life of an insignificant mortal,
piercing her with his feverish trident.

After awhile it gets pretty hazy,
but there was definitely a lot of buggery.

Or was that a different night?
I could be getting my stories mixed up, that party was crazy.
Who knows what happened to Cinderella.



Stackridge - Fundamentally Yours