Edward made his way towards the door. Unfortunately, he did not have a key. So he knocked. However, he was already inside. He looked around. What he saw was what he had seen for the past 17 years. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. This was the Laurentien Cabin. The cabin on the box of pencil crayons, nay, on ALL Laurentien pencil crayons. Outside, the ground was under a blanket of snow. With hills for pillows, heck, why not complete the metaphor - and the trees being the common "morning erection".
Inside the cabin, Edward was confused. It wasn't his fault though, he was born that way. He scratched his forhead, but it didn't do much good. Except for upsetting the nest of some fleas and tics. He was tired. However, there was no bed. He knew that, of course, being the owner of this cabin for the past 17 years. What good was owning such a cabin, though, if he was locked inside? He began to wonder why he was locked inside. And this brought back.... THE MEMORIES!
He began to sing:
Oh once I was a prosperous man,
Oh what a life I had,
A brothel is what I ran,
Oh, I was such a cad!
Funny, how life turns out,
The paths that you must choose,
I was always considered a lout,
And now I've lost all but my shoes.
His song was interrupted by a little flatulation. It was then that he lost his chain of thought, thus rendering him incapable of continuing his song. Chain of thought was not all he lost, though. He remembered his girlfriend. Ah, yes, he felt the urges of more musical meanderings coming on:
As I peer into my soul,
I see a thing that causes fright,
That makes me want to climb a pole,
But nay, I have a fear of heights!
That thing that I see that scares me so,
Is a girl to whom I gave my all,
If only she were not such a ho,
I'd have more left than these four walls.
My life is nothing, now that she's gone,
If I could, I'd opt to die,
But who would be left to mow the lawn?
Not she, hee hee, and certainly, not I!
His song was finished. Or, at least, he thought it was.. that was what was important. He contemplated his mortality. Sure, he considered death in that last verse, but look around! The cabin was in serious need of some interior decorating. Or just some interior. Just then a cloud of depression hovered over his soul. He knew this for the devil that it was, so decided to fight it with happy thoughts of his now distant childhood. And the next song began:
As a kid I grew up right,
My parents loved me so,
They were nice saying "Go fly a kite",
Such affection, they did show.
On my 5th birthday they got me a knife,
And play with it, I did,
Until my best friend lost his life,
And that is when I hid.
Actually, this cheering up idea wasn't working out as well as he first thought. He remembered that hiding did him no good, since he was found and put in an institution for seven years. That, of course, is where he met Bingo - his lifelong philisophical teacher and mentor. Bingo was a spider. But not just any old spider, he was a special spider. Bingo was a retarded spider. Retarded in the spider sense of the word, since he could talk, and other spiders, could not. However, he couldn't spin a web if his life depended on it. And thus he was ridiculed and ostrasized for his entire spider-childhood - forced to isolate himself in the institution where he met Edward. That didn't make life any easier for him. Because Edward would always hug him, and squeeze him, and call him "George". When in fact his real name was Vincent. Bingo was his alias, the one he was forced to adopt when being searched for by the spider-mafia, but that's another story. The tears began to roll down Edwards face as the memories faded into the present. He remembered, in song, the philisophical teachings of Bingo- Vincent-George (the third):
When you find you cannot win,
Then, obviously, you're gonna lose,
Instead of crying drink some gin,
And realize that life's a ruse.
And when all is said and done,
The coffee pot is empty,
Reminding you, you haven't won,
So you'll settle for some Ice-Tea.
Somehow this didn't make Edward feel any better. It seemed that the philosophies of Bingo sounded more plausible (not to mention sane) when he was doped up on Dramamine. One of which, went like this:
Understanding the woman is quite easy,
Depending on how many you have screwed,
But whether they were chaste or sleazy,
Screwing one too many is quite crude.
Actually, upon reflection, that one really didn't make any sense. I guess the Doctor shot him up one too many times that day. Really, now that he thought about it, his whole philisophical base would have to be reexamined.. something to do when he had more time. But time he had not, for life is too short.
And his was about to end, as the first nuclear missle hit the Laurentiens. The brightness of the blast blended well with the brilliance of the sunlight reflected off the snow. That was the day life on earth ended, that was the day that Edward, died. We would tell more, but what more is there to tell? He's dead.. get over it.