Take this evening's dinner party for example. Huddled around a trash barrel fire fed by shattered furniture were Alice and her companions. Though, I use that term loosely -- Alice was wholly disgusted by whom she kept company with in these desperate times. To her left was Greg. No one knew his last name, not even Greg himself. He seemed to know a thing or two about fax machines and other various pieces of office equipment, but that's about it. Considering the national telephone network and the internet were long-since destroyed, Greg was nearly useless. By shear luck, he at least knew how to cook. To her right sat the rotund Simon 'Yo-Yo' Ficklepuss. A skilled technician with a yo-yo, he could do amazing tricks that would spark intense applause from any crowd. Across from Alice slept Nurse Val. She'd been a pediatric nurse before everything went to hell. On more than one occasion since the plague wiped out most of humanity, her first-aid knowledge had saved a life.
This rag-tag group of oddballs had managed to survive on whatever food they could find. Thankfully, clean water was still fairly plentiful, so crops could be grown. Bartering had returned as the chief method of obtaining goods and services. Earlier in the day, the four survivors had started to prep a giant pot of bean soup. With some fresh peppers, spinach and garlic that Val traded for a bottle of aspirin, they'd hobbled together a magnificent and flavorful dish fit for a king.
Well, a broke and busted king... but a king nevertheless.
With ladle in hand, Greg began to spoon out the bean soup into each of his friend's mugs. Taking care not to spill a single drop, he served them with all the grace of a royal butler. When it came time to fill Alice's cup, she grimaced for a moment before extending her hands. This new world had yet to set with the former socialite. Oh, how she longed for a meal at Nobu or The Lion.
"You're welcome, Alice."
She cast a sharp glance at Greg as he poured the soup. Her hands suddenly burst with warmth. Admittedly, the aroma was appealing to Alice. Yet, when your taste palate is used to tuna tartare, lamb chops and expensive wine, good home cooking just isn't enough.
Alice pushed through her bean soup, as did the others. It wasn't long before the pot was empty and the sun was setting. Making the necessary preparations, the four secured their supplies in a safe location and turned in for the evening. Sleeping accommodations for Alice, no longer plush beds in fancy hotels with silk sheets, were reduced to sleeping bags in tents. Again, poor Alice tolerated her conditions as best as she could. Zipping her sleeping bag halfway closed, Alice rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. Val, with whom Alice shared the tent, also snuggled down for the night.
"Sleep well, Alice."
"I'll try."
As Alice drifted off to sleep, her dreams were soon filled with all that she so fiercely missed. Brentley, the heir to the MacGuffin underwear empire -- he was always up for a good time. Her little designer Cockapoo dog named Gianna. Unfortunately, Gianna was eaten by the cannibals on New York's Upper East Side just days into the apocalypse. The make-up and the hair stylists... the parties at Cannes. It was almost too much to bear.
And then, without any sense of warning, Alice let loose the most blusterous fart the world had ever known.
The sudden burst of gas woke Alice in a fit of agony. Her insides were filled with bubbles and knots. No sooner had the wind from her bowels spread around her legs did it steadily escape from her sleeping bag. The stench...
Oh, the stench...
It filled the tent like a damp, toxic fog. Nurse Val stirred in her own sleeping bag, then began to cough profusely. She sat up with a mighty fervor, gagging for air. With tears streaming, she split the tent's front flap open and escaped to the fresh air. Now crying herself, Alice had never experienced such ferocious gas in all her days. She watched in horror through the opening in the tent as Val ran towards Greg and Yo-Yo. The two men emerged from their tent and trotted back with Val. Wafting their hands to combat the smell, the three pushed their way into the tent. Yo-Yo gagged as he pushed out a few words.
"Alice... what the hell happened?"
In complete and utter embarrassment, Alice dropped her face into her hands and wept like a child. She sobbed in such a pitiful manner. How could life have been so cruel to her?
"It's all going to be okay," said Greg. "Don't you know what this means?"
Yo-Yo and Val giggled in delight, all the while trying not to pass out from the horrible fumes.
"We thought you'd never be good for anything. You were just some former diva with no talent."
As Alice continued to weep, Val leaned close and gripped her shoulder. Woefully, another deafening eruption spilled out of Alice's sleeping bag. The odor made Greg slightly woozy; his knees wobbled a bit before he found his footing once again. Yo-Yo, continuing to laugh hysterically, shook the tent's opening and pushed the gas out.
"Looks like you and me are going into show business!"
--------------------
And that, my friends, is how Alice and Yo-Yo, World Class Entertainment Extraordinaires, got their start. From Akron to Chino, and every backwater hellhole in-between, massive crowds would gather to see Yo-Yo and Alice do tandem presentations of magic and malfeasance. Their most famous act would come to be known as "Poot the Moon". With Greg and Val as their personal assistants, the four friends amassed a substantial fortune.
Finally, after all she'd been through, Alice was happy once again.
If you're lucky enough listen under Alice's bedroom window late at night, you can hear her sweet, sweet music.
"Back in the..."
*poot poot*
"High..."
*poot poot*
"Life..."
*poot poot*
"Again."
*poot poot poot*
*poot*
Admit it... you'll never listen to this song again without thinking of this story.
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