“Good morning,” I mumbled, trudging to the table in a half-sleep, half-awake state; however, the coffee in the pot beckoned me forward, the smell of its hot steaming grounds wafting through the air and teasing my nostrils. Suddenly, I felt myself coming alive.
“Good morning,” my wife replied. “Want some pancakes?”
I was going to answer but then my teenage son, Justin, walked into the kitchen—or at least I thought it was him.
“Good God!” I exclaimed, my eyes widening. “Is that you, Justin?”
There was someone there, yes I knew that, but there was also a huge growth on his forehead that hid most of his face and, therefore, made me question the identity of the person behind that freak blemish.
“Yes,” Justin mumbled. “Man, I have got one doozy of a zit.”
“A zit?” my wife screeched. “Is that what that is?”
“Yes,” Justin replied, then his head leaned forward and I could tell he was having a hard time holding it up; the weight of that super zit made it hard to keep his mug level.
“Are you sure it’s a zit?” I asked.
“Well, yeah I guess,” Justin replied. “What else could it be?”
My wife and I leaned closer to have a better look. The entity on my son’s forehead was at least eight inches round, was red, and I guess it could have been a huge zit. It was warped at its edges, overlapping much of Justin’s eyes, and sagged slightly to the bridge of his nose.
“Does it hurt?” I asked, moving to the side so I could see Justin’s eyes on either edge of the huge base of the acne monster.
“Well kinda,” Justin said and then he yawned—when he did the zit kind of bounced like a mutated boob, wrinkles forming and then smoothing out from the bob-and-weave motion. I noticed a one-inch crater in the front and center like a mini volcano, and I wondered in terror what it was going to be like popping that son of a bitch. Then I noticed something else; inside the crater was an eye.
“Oh my god there’s an eye in there!” I screamed.
“What?” Justin and my wife asked at the same time. I didn’t answer but leaned closer and when I did, the eye followed me as I moved. Suddenly, something wriggled out of the crater next to the eye . . . a pair of fingers. My wife stood up, grabbed my arm, and we both stepped back.
“What’s going on?” Justin asked, taking in our expressions and wondering what was happening with his head. I was going to tell him just what was going on but suddenly a pair of hands sprouted from the boil like a flower eking its way out of a dirt pyramid. The hands were followed by arms, then a head, a torso, and finally the entire body of a man shot from the blemish and flopped onto my kitchen floor. Needless to say, we were all stunned.
“Hi!” the man exclaimed, jumping up and brushing off his suit. “I’m Zak Payjak, the host of TV’s Tire of Fortunates! Want to spin and see about winning that vacation to Jamaica?”
“Huh?” I replied, stunned. It actually was Zak Payjak and I wondered how the hell he was able to cocoon himself into a skin lesion on my son’s forehead and then erupt onto my kitchen floor like a mutated lava flow. I looked at Justin; he was alright, just a little stunned and the zit was gone, now reduced to just some flaps of dead skin straddling his cranium like a deflated balloon.
“That’s right!” exclaimed a voice. We all turned and saw Lanna Right, Zak’s gorgeous sidekick on the show, erupt from the middle of our kitchen table. She tore the tablecloth off and revealed a huge tire, just like that one they have on TV.
There were a few awkward seconds as Lanna in her diamond-studded glistening dress, and Zak in his smug charm and suit stared at us. We stared back. There was silence but then suddenly Justin grabbed the tire and gave it a spin. Our eyes whirled round and round as the tire stopped at a slice that indicated Jamaica Trip.
“I’d like to buy a vowel,” said Justin, looking beyond me to the window. There, out in my neglected lawn, were mowed some words into the tall grass.
“An E!” Justin exclaimed, and suddenly a small gnome smoking a cigar and wearing a green elf suit appeared from behind one of my cheery trees and mowed several E’s between the other letters on the lawn.
“I’d like to solve the puzzle!” Justin said. “It says, ‘mow me please!’”
“That’s correct!” Zak yelled in glee, and Lanna clapped her long-nailed hands while jumping up and down as if she really gave a shit. Suddenly a limousine pulled up into the driveway next to the lawn.
“Hop in Justin!” Zak and Lanna yelled as an imaginary audience suddenly cheered, “because you’re going to Jamaica!”
Justin stormed out of the house with Zak and Lanna and they were off within seconds. My wife and I were left to ourselves, the scene exactly the same before Justin had come into the kitchen.
“Sure,” I replied. “I’ll have some pancakes.”
“Coming up,” said my wife.