In a white room-- no not the song by Cream.. But I digress, directly, and in great misdirection..
In a white room, mostly white, the window was translucent, or so one would hope (there was a marking from a sharpie that said "Call me, I'm horny.." but that's of no importance to this story).
Actually, wouldn't that be weird if the window was like, bricked off? Like it was a window still but it was covered or something, and that was just considered the norm. What if people or cats were looking at each other, for like a long period of time from opposite sides of the window, how would they know? You know how cats stare at you from windows, and its like, "What? What the hell do you want?"
I mean, it just seems interesting.
For the sake of later references, in another room the movie, Billy Madison was playing-- atop the television, a copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy.
In this white restroom, two shampoo bottles were in the midst of a great surge of conversation. Well, a prospective exchange outside of what could be a great surge of conversation (whatever that means). It was an average restroom, suffice a wet towel covering some soggy papers regarding various legal matters and a couple grapes lying on the floor. The closet door was half-open revealing a wooden broom and a cream bucket with some swiveling, aqua design.
But these shampoo bottles were really into what various topics in the sphere of their varied discussion. Let it be said that there was nothing irregular about "French Toast Watermelon" and "Detroit Breeze" chatting each other up on a bathtub ledge in the afternoon. In fact if anything it was quite nice, because Sean, the asshole conditioner, well scratch that, the conditioner that was an asshole, was fast asleep, and could therefore not bother anyone with his incessant hounding.
The bathtub ledge was clean, but kind of dirty if that makes any sense, but this story isn't about ledges. Who cares for ledges anyways? They certainly are hazardous, if not a great place to fall to a horrible demise. If someone falls off a ledge and rises in the air, but then lands back on the ledge, what kind of strange scientific system would have to be in place to cause this miraculous occurrence? That's pretty miraculous, like supernatural samurai stuff, or like, Jedis.. I mean, if I saw that, I'd be like, "Damn, that was cool." Anyways..
The shampoo bottle French Toast Watermelon liked to call himself FTW (kind of like.. well you get it). He had woke with his cap up, and was half full. FTW had a bag of 99 cent potato crisps which he opened promptly, "Hey Breeze, you want a chip?"
Detroit Breeze had a dark, grey ooze to his color.. whereas FTW was bubbly red with bread-remnants and cinnamon swirls. Breeze was near full with his cap always down. A blind woman bought him by accident; she was the tenant, obviously she rented out more than a bathroom. Breeze bobbed a bit, "How in the hell did you get a bag of chips?"
"Well its not rocket science Breeze. Know you've only been around for a couple days and all.." FTW's lid flapped, "I got in my rental car, removed the ceramic penguin from the driver's seat, pulled a razor and a mirror from the dash deciding to shave real quick-- then the nerve of Earl, the ceramic penguin, he had to shave too, and we both took the morning piss out in some park. Boy, did that almost get us arrested.. but I learned that there's more than one way to make a water-slide.
"Anywho, from there I drove to the local convenience store, greeted the clerk, bought a 99 cent bag of chips and a fourty-four ounce soda, made a Taco Bell run for Earl, and came back here."
There was a slight breeze which passed through the open bathroom window causing the bland curtains to ripple. This breeze annoyed Breeze who was metaphorically floored, "Dude, that doesn't make any sense."
"Your telling me, you'd think Earl would just reach in the dash whenever and shave when he wants-- Oh, and I swear he's been doing rituals in the backseat with taco-bell sauce packets, I'm talking evil shit."
"No I mean.." Breeze switched to low concern, "Wait.. Your.. not talking mild sauce, are ya?"
"I'm talking fucking caliente upholstre, Breeze. I don't know what to do, I can't just ask him to stop, I like the smell. But I don't want no enchiladas with floating entrails coming at me when I'm listening to soothing, pop music and passing on through the expressway. Its a matter of safety." FTW finished off a chip, its salty remains oozing inside of his bottle-like body.
"Damn." Breeze was still metaphorically floored.
"I mean, I rent my rental car out to him, and all he ever talks about is the relevance between occult and Mexican dining. I don't see it. He needs to get his Kiss tribute band reunited and stop with this stuff."
The door wrung open. Detroit Breeze fell on the floor, "Shit, my back!"
"You don't have a back." FTW replied.
The blind tenant appeared in the doorway, casually dressed and similarly confused. The two grapes began rolling towards the doorway screaming, "FREEDOM!"
The tenant felt around the sink and grabbed a bag of plastic cups with some swiveling, aqua design. The grapes just barely made it out the door as the woman made her exit.
Sean had came to from the other side of the bathtub; his bottle completely white, his cap an invigorating blue. "Oh great, you two sludge bottles are still around. Another day ruined, I wish I would've never woke up."
Breeze got serious, "Don't even start today with me Sean, I've got back problems and I don't need your shit."
"You don't even have a back," Sean replied.
FTW spoke in unison with Sean, "He thinks he has a back."
"Don't start in this FTW," boiled Sean, "Your in over your cap."
Breeze was pissed, but then again that was part of his scent, "If you want to disrespect me in my bathtub then your on! If you really wanna do this then this shit will go down, Sean."
"You've only been here two days, this ain't your turf. Bring it on." Sean mimicked.
"I'm through playing with your bullshit. This ain't no bubble-bath, your in shit-storm shower territory now, bitch."
Sean wasn't amused, "You'll be crying for your manufacturer when I'm done with you, sludge bottle."
"Oh great.." mumbled FTW. "Where's Dr. All-In-One when you need her."
The all-in-one conditioner and shampoo bottle rang from a shelf above, "I'm up here talking to a bar of soap named Nancy about lather and middle-age crisis."
"Ah." FTW moaned.
Meek collision ensued in a battle of mass-produced plastic shells. That is until the door opened again, revealing Earl with a newspaper and gaseousness.
The ceramic penguin wobbled his way to the toilet, pulled the shower curtain over the ensuing battle, and took a seat on the crapper with his paper. The penguin's voice was dull and slow as he skimmed the news, "Hmmm, seems an endless tide of darkness will descend upon us next Tuesday.. I thought the newspaper knew about television."
The clashing of plastic changed to the sound of unsheathing swords. The sound of metal clashed loudly against each other as Earl flipped pages. Breeze could be heard yelling, "Onguard!"
Earl chuckled in delight, immersed with an article, "Wow.. I guess not everyone on that girls' varsity team is a girl."
Earl's cell phone started ringing, he picked it up. The conversation went frantic fast. The ceramic penguin put his cell away, wiped swiftly, washed his fins, and pulled back the shower curtain in panic.
From inside the shower Sean and Breeze had stopped their deathly duel abruptly. Two hideous enchiladas with red eyes and fangs floated from the window, lettuce and cheese dangling from their half-eaten remains. The Mexican food screeched like dying banshees.
Breeze inconspicuously played dead, which worked quite well. The enchilada krasues looked at his color (or lack thereof) with disgust.
One of the enchiladas lunged at Shawn tearing through his plastic. Shawn screamed a battle-cry, stabbing the tasty, demonic Mexican food in retaliation with his rapier. Sean passed out in some sort of catatonic, conditioner shock with his life-force in a trail of swiveling, aqua design.
From outside the familiar sound of an engine started up. Earl's eyes widened, which was quite unnatural as he was made of porcelain, "Watermelon French Toast, the demon enchiladas are taking off with the rental car you rented out to me!"
The other enchilada lunged at FTW and missed as he dodged brilliantly and with the best of his left, his right, his "A's" and his "B's." FTW sliced the enchilada in half with his katana, killing it. Then FTW bellowed out, "Could you please repeat that Earl?"
The tenant was outside in the living-room, banging on a tom-tom with a box-fan while eating macaroni. Nobody asked questions.
Earl grabbed at the other enchilada, "Repeat what? That enchiladas stole your rental car I'm renting out to you?"
Earl caught the other demonic food barely and tripped. The penguin squeezed the enchilada to death as it bit into his flipper. As Earl fell into the tub, his orange foot whacked Breeze.
Breeze let out a cry, "Oh ow! My back!"
"You don't have a back!" FTW replied.
It was then silently agreed upon, by the vast majority of consciousness in the room, that Detroit Breeze did not in fact, possess a back.