He wasn't altogether sure what had happened. All that he did remember as that he suddenly had to sit up. Surrounding him was death. It also happened to be his family. That it was his family he was quite sure.
He always knew that his mother had black and soiled lungs. The proof now sat quite freely before him, dangling upon the artifical Christmas tree. It wasn't the Christmas season, by the way. It was late August. No one had ever bothered to take the tree down. "Why should we? We'll only have to put it back up next Christmas." No one in the family was very good at sticking all the parts of the fake tree up. The only reason they even had a fake tree was because they hated having to bother with a real one. I suppose they intended, right from the beginning to leave the tree up all the time. "It looks nice," said his mother each and every summer. "Don't you think?"
He groaned at the prospect of having to go out and buy a new tree: If having it all melted wasn't bad enough, his mother's lungs has smeared tar all over them. He had always known that her chain smoking was going to be detrimental to the entire family.
His Father's bladder was unusually small for a man his size, thus the reason for the frequent trips to the wash room. He could spot it a mile away. Actually, he couldn't, since it was so small. As to where the rest of his father had went, he was unclear.
His older sister's diaphragm was unmistakable. A tear appeared when he remembered, as a child, having played with it during those boring summer afternoons. It usually took the role of some sort of alien invader. G.I. Joe and Big Jim worked together and in the end, the evil destroyer of feedom and peace was destroyed and set packing back to its home planet with it's tale between its legs.
There was the fat aunt of his's plastic leg. She claimed that she had lost it during the war, fighting for the resistance. According to her eighteen German soldiers had sprung upon her and her three comrades. Grenades had been thrown and machine gun fire filled the air with lead. No one came out of it except for her, and she was missing all of her teeth and a leg. Her husband, however, claimed that she had lost her leg in a strange sewing accident and lost her teeth during sex. He would explain no further.
There was his older brothers head. Still smeared with his infinitely stupid smile. What a goof, was the only epitaph he deserved.
His younger sister was a slut. She admitted it freely. "If the world is going to label me a slut merely because like sex, then a slut is what I am." SHe once did it with a small pony. Her reproduction parts now lay dripping and oozing down the wall. He halfed hoped that whatever had blown her apart had also given her a tremendous orgasm. She had always said, "I wish to die screaming, "Oh baby, deeper deeper."
Grandma looked the way he had always remembered her: Quite still and lifeless.
Grandpa said that she had once been quite lively. "There was no stopping her," he would say. "She would just keep on going." But then cancer turned her brain into mush. Grandpa would always turn to an elder during this point in the story, and say that all the cancer had done was make her act as if she was having sex all the time. They would laugh.
Grandpa's underpants and socks had somehow been blown right through the top of his head.
Surrounded by his lifeless loved ones, the man now wondered at how he had managed to survive completely unhurt. Fear suddenly rose from deep within. "What if I suddenly snapped and killed them?" Je asked himself. "Then I blanked out and woke up all back to normal?" He laughed at the absurdity of this thought. Never the less, he did run away and joined a circus, becoming a clown named "Stickerhead."
Three children saw him on America's Most Wanted and called the police.
Sadly, however, by the time the police arrived, Stickerhead was dead. Eight people had jumped him and bludgeoned him with a various assortment of dairy products.
"Damn Stickerhead," said the officer in charge and then moved to Barrie.