Overlord L'Orange: Observations of an Average Citizen, Installment #107; "Silkies"

       

     Overlord L’Orange has a secret.

     Well, several various and sundry secrets, really, but this is one of them: it’s not his real hair.

     The Overlord is actually wearing a Guinea Pig (otherwise known as a “Silkie”) on his head. Being extremely vain, through trial and error the Overlord discovered that the Silkies make the best possible hairpieces, even though complicated in procedure, as they need to eat, drink, and relieve themselves periodically. The Overlord solved these issues by keeping his current Silkies addicted to opioids, making them perfectly happy to just hang out all day (or night) on the top of his head. He owns a few in the same color family at any given time, and can interchange them on days spent longer in the public eye.

     He has been doing this for so long now that the Silkies have left little divots on his scalp, one for each tiny paw, and fit snugly into place with the help of a little Velcro closure. With their heads curled to one side, near his forehead or sometimes the nape of his neck, their long silky locks can be blow-dried and styled by a certain few celebrity stylists (who have to sign non-disclosure agreements, just like all his wives). The right amount of opioids keeps the Silkies curled up in place indefinitely, warm and cozy on top of the Overlord’s head.

     Potty time was tricky, until the Overlord commissioned small catheters made by his own physician, that can be neatly tucked behind one of his ears, and then run into a small bag underneath his shirt collar, held in place by a little duct tape. The Overlord likes to joke to anyone who will listen that the entire world is held together by duct tape. More than likely, his world is.

     Feedings for the Silkies are done twice daily, at morning and night, and at night they are laid to rest in small gold satin beds within a large cage, to ensure their own social time as Guinea Pigs, and also for breeding purposes, as one of the Overlord’s greatest fears is running out of Silkies, as you might imagine.

     The Silkies have adapted to this routine over time, and have assimilated over generations, knowing no other way of life as better or worse. Contrary to popular belief, they are not abused (except for being force-fed the opiates) and oddly enough are actually cherished by the Overlord, and not just-for-wearing purposes.

     Overlord L’Orange got a lot of flack for not having a dog or cat when he moved into the White House, but he could not publicly reveal his love for Silkies, for obvious reasons. At bedtime, after they’ve been removed from his head, and had a little time to “come down”, the Overlord brushes them with a golden brush and sings them a special song that he made up himself. It goes:

Silkie, Silkie, Silkie-smooth,

Smoothly Silkie, Smoothly-smooth.

Silkie, Silkie, Silkie-smooth,

Smoothly Silkie, Smoothly-smooth.

     As his wife sleeps in a separate bedroom, or separate house, this does not create a problem, or cause a rift of jealousy, as the Overlord is much more dedicated and respectful to his Silkies than his wife (or even his mistresses) any day of the week.

     The Overlord does not like to admit his fondness for the Silkies, as this might make him appear weak to other foreign despots, such as Putin, Kim Jong-un, or Nicholas Maduro.

     “I love you, my sweet Silkies!” the Overlord coos, as he turns off his bedside light. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you!”

     The Silkies huddle together inside their golden cage, hoping they won’t be chosen as the next living hairpiece, but also being addicted to the opioids, they look forward to it.

Rancho Tarzanadu: "Miss Linda Discovers the Green Vortex"

     Miss Linda was washing dishes (one of her least favorite things to do) when she noticed the Green Vortex in her neighbor’s backyard. She squinted her eyes and locked her gaze on it...it was shimmering and glimmering and spinning in the Southwest corner of their backyard. She had never seen a Vortex in person before, but knew immediately that that was one. She compared it to falling in love; you don’t exactly know what it’s all about, but when it happens, you know it — there’s no denying it, you feel it with every fiber of your being and every nuanced aspect of your spirit...it beckons you and casts a spell. Well, that is what the Green Vortex did to Miss Linda. It beckoned her. And cast a spell.

     It was an inverted undulating round window leading to a deeper tunnel, all sparkling gold and green in the late afternoon sunlight. It was like a psychedelic kaleidoscope of intricate leaf patterns containing the secret to the constellations...it struck Miss Linda that it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen in her life.

     Her neighbors were not at home. Yet.

     She would have to act fast.

     Miss Linda knew of a way into their backyard. The brick wall separating their properties got lower and lower in height toward the outer edges of their backyards, and ended with a four-foot wall that she could easily scale, even while wearing a dress. Of course she wouldn’t normally do this, but she had never before seen a spinning Green Vortex in their backyard before, either. She had probably just enough time to examine it more closely before they came home from work. 

     She was not on the best of terms with them, as they were very loud. They had three screaming children who never appeared to grow up or get any older, and they threw loud, raucous parties blasting bad European dance music (Miss Linda’s least favorite kind of music, except for maybe Country and Western music...it was a toss up). Miss Linda had complained to them several times about their loud disturbing ways. They were from somewhere in the Middle East, and Miss Linda could not for the life of her pin down their dialect. At this point she couldn’t ask them where they were from, even though she was dying of curiosity, because of all her noise complaints. She did not want them to think she was prejudiced against them because of their country of origin; she was merely prejudiced against them for their loudness. 

     Her neighbors on the other side of her house were Republicans, and had helped vote Overlord L’Orange into office. She was definitely prejudiced against them, even though they were almost always quiet.

     Anyway, Miss Linda decided to go for it.

     She scaled the low wall, covered in thick ivy growth. She had scaled this wall as a child many times...it felt natural to her. Not like trespassing at all. 

     She straddled the wall, listened carefully for any sounds or movement (her neighbors didn’t have a dog), then jumped down onto their property. 

     The coast appeared clear.

     The Green Vortex was still silently spinning at the other end of their backyard. As she gazed at it she was drawn toward it slowly and steadily. It emanated such beauty, and what she could only term Universal Love. It was golden-green, filled with speckles of pure sunlight. It quenched her spirit the way an ice-cold glass of spearmint lemonade would quench her thirst on a hot Summer day. 

     She started to feel magnetically pulled towards it, like she was being sucked into the ocean with each ebb and flow of the tides.

     Miss Linda felt like she was vibrating. She started to involuntarily levitate off the ground a few inches (not like when she actively practiced her levitation skills). She felt supported by a current, or force, and felt almost like she was floating on salt water and being buoyantly carried toward the Green Vortex. She did not want to resist. She remained hovering a few inches off the ground, and was carried silently towards the shining green orb. Her vision relaxed and blurred, and she felt limp like a rag doll, embraced by this power.

     As she got closer to the Vortex, she heard several loud noises in her neighbor’s driveway — car doors slamming! The children’s shrill voices to each other, followed by their father’s booming voice as he attempted to usher them into the house. 

     Miss Linda fell out of her Green Vortex trance, and literally fell onto the ground, flat on her ass. Fortunately her ass was endowed with some voluptuous padding, and she fell onto the soft grass.

     She was somewhat stunned and confused, as you might imagine, but she got up quickly. The Green Vortex had disappeared completely. The loud family was now inside the house and making their way to the backyard — their favorite place for being extra loud, usually right under Miss Linda’s bedroom window when she was trying to meditate.

     Miss Linda high-tailed it over the low ivy wall, and safely back into her own backyard before the children spilled into their own yard onto the grass, shouting and yelling at each other, oblivious to Green Vortexes or Miss Lindas. 

Glittering Bird of Prey

You hover

above everything:

a self-described mythical creature,

glittering hot pink, extended claws and 

sharp, wet teeth, ready for the next unsuspecting human to trip into your clutches, bedazzled

by the outward show you painstakingly cultivate, with greasepaint, costumes, posturing, claiming to be the best at everything, always.

Gnarled from so much pain in your past, it eviscerates your present,

while innocent bystanders (the ones not desired for consumption) are tossed down your dark hole that some call a soul.

You have grown numb to everything but your own desires,

singular, fixated, adorned,

touting others “un-evolved” as you pillage indiscriminately,

swooping in tighter and tighter circles, cawing:

“Look at me! Look at me! Look at me!”

But not too closely.

Because that’s when things become distorted, ugly;

Nature is harsh. It’s kill or be killed,

every woman for herself.

Free and glittering birds of prey can’t afford empathy...it cramps their style.

“Fuck them!” you caw. “Fuck you!”

“Fuck me...fuck me...fuck me...

I will give you everything,

until I have bitten and licked and sucked your carcass dry.

I am a glittering, hot-pink, mythical 

creature. 

Human bonds are irrelevant to me, unless they are serving my needs, filling a cavernous hole

that is never filled –

I am a bottomless pit that I circle 

around myself, outside of myself, 

but the echoes leave me haunted and wrecked,

starving,

empty.”

Your talons clutch at the broken branches you land on,

your eyes dart and follow,

here comes another one — sucker!

Bat your eyelashes, rehearse your speech,

and do what you do best:

placating the void inside you for one more day, stirring up Drama

with one more piece of meat.

You advocate for freedom above all else,

but you will collect the bones

alone.

Overlord L'Orange: Observations of an Average Citizen, Installment #105

Fires are raging all over California and the Overlord says it’s our fault, because we don’t trim our trees. Even though these fires are not in the forest, but are residential. He says he will withhold funding to help us, because he loves to blame the victim more than anything else in the world. He hates California because the entire state despises him, except for the white supremacists, who won’t admit that they are white supremacists.

L’Orange flew to Paris over the weekend to “honor” the soldiers who fought in World War I, but he didn’t make it to the actual ceremony because it was raining, and he would probably melt in the rain like the Wicked Witch. His hair must be a hot mess when it’s wet.

There is a photo of him and other world leaders gathered in France, standing next to each other as Putin approaches them. Everyone else is looking at Putin skeptically, as they should, but Overlord L’Orange is grinning like a possum to see his lover approaching. His wife is dutifully at his side, probably relieved that his attention is placed on his new love interest rather than on her.

The shooting at Borderline in Thousand Oaks only happened four days ago, but it has been swallowed up by the fires and the Overlord’s insults.

I would post more, but it is too depressing, gas-lit at every turn.