Mr. Nacho and Thee Chaotician Of Green Saturday

The television blared from inside a cramped living room that smelled of pets who had passed, a man sitting on his couch watching intently. He had on dirty slacks, generic tennis shoes, thick glasses, and a loose fitting shirt. His hands digging through a half-eaten bag of chips. He was in his thirties and his name was Donald Nacho, recently unemployed, long-time emotional eater weighing in at 187 pounds, and avid microwave collector.

There were so many old microwaves which littered this man's kitchen, microwaves of all shapes and sizes. There were black microwaves, brown microwaves, white microwaves, piled microwaves, sleek microwaves, fixed microwaves, broken microwaves, and mini microwaves; enough microwaves to repel any visitor but the most curious sort, and those were the type of people an esteemed, yet very depressed man such as Mr. Nacho- did not associate with.

Mr. Nacho slouched on his tacky couch unaware of the outside world, in a state of suicidal thought accompanied by the many misfortunes in his life. Some nights ago he had made Thanksgiving dinner, in hopes that his family would return to share it with him- they did not, and so his fridge was filled with leftovers, all which would garner Mr. Nacho's attention before his acting on his inevitable demise.

On the television appeared a stocky, sharp-dressed man with a blond and brunette on the sides of him, all three individuals smiling widely. The man spoke exuberantly, "Well hey! Hello! The name's Todd Cunningham, ever eat ham? Hey! I'm the man in your t.v. I'm running off with your daughters and I'm not even close to they're age. Hey! Woah! I'm Todd Cunningham, how are you doing today America?"

"I'm.. depressed." Donald barely replied, as though the television would here him speak.

Todd appeared now with a cigar in his mouth and a beer, stationed outside a bunch of new cars. The brunette was in the backdrop crying; the blond was standing with Todd's arm around her still smiling but now with a ponytail.

Todd puffed his cigar and took a drink of the beer he had in his hand, "Well, woah, hey! That's great America! Have a beer! What do you think about the American dream there Shepherd Doggsworth? Hey!"

Shepherd appeared from the side.. he had on light brown slacks and a sweater vest. His long face seemed to have this fixed, excited expression, "It's incredible Todd, I'm blown away by what's all accomplished here. Seems like there's not one homeless person in the street, not one war that's unnecessary, not nothing that's wrong with this great ol' America!"

"Hey zippee hoo!" Todd jumped up, kicked his heels together, then puffed on his cigar again; the brunette next to him was smiling like he had promised to marry her. "Lady liberty is great for the kids and the adults! Woah! Hey!"

There was a repetitive knock at the door as the abnormal television program went to a commercial break.

Donald listened to intently to the narrator who had caught his ear, "Feeling depressed? Hurts doesn't it? Thankfully, we here at Monetal have gotten rid of the chance that sedation would get in the way of anti-depressants main intention, inducing stronger suicidal feelings. The way our new Deathitroltrin works is simple, we increase your reduced functioning by eating at the central nervous system until you are such an imbalanced zombie that you simply go mad with the need for suicide. Five out of five dead people agree, Deathitroltrin gets the job done."

Donald decided he would get up and answer the door, thinking about the rope he had in his bedroom closet and how it would compare to an extension cord. He ventured to the kitchen through the mass of his microwaves. Mr. Nacho opened the door to find a peculiar visitor standing in front of him.

The visitor was in his early 20's and wore a black leather trench-coat, decorated with spikes, red paint, and chains. He had short black hair, a black top hat, and black circular glasses with red cross-hairs on each lens standing out against his pale skin. There were black jeans, a black shirt with a red, tribal chaos star, and long black boots underneath his open trench-coat. He had a cane with a steel sculpted, large chaos star, identical to the one on his shirt, fixed at the top of the cane with red painted tips.

"I've come to stop you," The young man spoke intently. "I can't let you do it."

"Who are you?" Donald asked confused and frightened.

"I came for the dinner rolls, so that you do not throw them out." There was a humble seriousness in the black-clad youth's voice.

"I'm sorry I don't know you." Donald explained, getting ready to shut the door.

"My name is Ernest, though it is not, and earnestly, on this lovely green Saturday, green being the fresh color of Summer grass and grass being a nickname for well, trees.. I guess it would be appropriate, if not adequate, well, appropriately adequate, to call myself Thee Chaotician Of Green Saturday.. and if not in equally important comparison, the pounds of green bean casserole occupying your fridge." Thee Chaotician boasted.

The Gothic young man pushed the door open with his left hand. Donald stepped back a couple feet, then sat on a couple microwaves stacked on each other seeing as the stranger was continuing his ridiculous speech. "Of course, I did not know it was you at first my good friend, avid toaster collector.

"But in the spirit of gouging oneself in respect of feasts alone, a more respectful token definition of the current disrespectful celebration, I would like to respectfully accompany you if not for three and two, hours and minutes, upon after-which if such a word exists, I will be leaving as spontaneously as I have arrived."

"..I collect microwaves." Donald replied hoping to hush the young man for a second.

"Microwaves.." There was a brief silence while Thee Chaotician thought intensely about the smell of strawberries while rubbing his chin extensively in order to produce a more philosophical presence.

"If all you want is food then take some." Donald got up. He went to the fridge and started pulling out leftovers of everything and placing it on whatever space he could make on his counter-top. He wanted this visitor in and out, then he would lock his door and turn up the volume on his television.

While Donald got out food and began putting it in dishes- the dishes in respective microwaves, Thee Chaotician ventured into the living room and decidedly sunk down into the couch; he pulled out a joint and a cheap lighter with the intention of celebrating this particularly green Saturday. With a light and a puff, Green Saturday had begun.

The television blared as a clock ticked loudly accompanied with a symphony of microwave beeps. It was a funny butter advertisement which combined with weed made Thee Chaotician grin. His leather trench made stretchy leather sounds as he repositioned himself on the couch so that he sat with a more rigid posture insinuating his ultimate attentiveness.

Donald came into the living room with two plates full of food. There was green bean casserole, turkey, gravy with ham chunks, ham chunks with green bean casserole, corn and mashed potatoes, those strange cranberry jello slices, dinner biscuit rolls, and a slice of pie filled with chocolate filling. Mr. Nacho smelled the sweet smoke but didn't say anything, not having the nerve to tell the stranger to leave.

Mr. Nacho made his way to the couch and handed Thee Chaotician a mass of food, "I guess you can stay here for awhile till your done eating.."

Todd was back on the television, now in the back of some sort of establishment or club. His suit a bit weathered and his eyes tired as he snorted a line of cocaine. There was a line of ducks walking in the background, two adult ducks and a chain of baby ducks.

Todd looked at the camera, "Well howdy how do ya America! It's Todd here, zip, wallop dee doo! Hoo! Just powdering my nose up a bit."

"Amazing, incredibly amazing." Shepherd said appearing in the background while mounting a giant duck.

Thee Chaotician, while munching on a buttered biscuit, offered the joint to Mr. Nacho who respectively declined. Donald was fixated on the strangeness of the television program. Seeing this Thee Chaotician went back to smoking taking a long, drawn-out drag.

The scene changed to Todd and Shepherd in an alleyway at night. Todd's suit was torn and tattered, his hair a mess. Todd was injecting himself with something, lying on the ground with a grim face. Shepherd looked on in amazement and shock, his left eyebrow raised.

Todd looked up again at the camera, "Oh hey, hi there, ho! I'm at the top of the ladder here, hey."

"Incredible. Absolutely stunning. I'm blown away." Shepherd replied in amazement.

Todd shut his eyes and stopped breathing. Shepherd stepped back in complete shock and awe. The television went black and added to the smoke in the room.

Thee Chaotician gleamed at Donald, "Maybe you should've collected tv's."

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