To the Artist's Page                    To our home page

To Nicholas Morgan's previous piece     To Nicholas Morgan's next piece

Pool of Sick

I had this demented dream that seemed a wee bit eccentric:

I was riding a bike down a gravel road that was spray painted yellow-green. I kept pedaling faster and faster because I knew I had to reach some unknown destination. The path had street signs that said, "this is you" or "you are here" and "don't leave the path." Each one of the signs had pictures taped on them from National Geographic magazine. I kept pulling my bike over to catch my breath, and to stare at the photographs. I saw this Dalmatian dog walk by. It was walking on its hind legs, and had on red cowboy boots. It walked up to me and started singing me an old blues song, while playing a harmonica.

"Nice job," I said to the dog, after it had finished.

"Eat my shit asshole," the dog said, pissing on my leg, and running off towards a purple cabin in the distance.

I was pretty upset with this. I decided to stray from the path I was on, and hunt this critter down. Just as I was about to peddle off the path, I heard a voice behind me.

"They'll cut your wiener off and eat you for supper," it said.

"What the hell?" I said, turning around.

It was an elderly lady, dressed in a black robe; she had pink sneakers on. She kept pinching her ass, and every time she pinched it, she repeated what she had said.

"What are you talking about?" I asked her.

She started spinning around on one foot, "they'll cut your wiener off and eat you for supper," she kept saying.

She was really giving me the creeps. I picked up a hubcap that was lying in the road, and threw it at her face. She caught it in her hand and it turned in to a chocolate cake. She started eating it, as she repeated her line over and over again.

"Screw you," I said, pedaling off towards the purple cabin.

What a fucking weird bitch, I thought.

I got to the purple cabin. I wanted to beat the crap out of that dam dog. As I got closer to the cabin, I noticed there was violet and gray colored flowers planted all around the place.

There was a pool on the side of the cabin that was filled with shit. It sure smelled like shit anyway. Tons of flies were buzzing around the pool, and the poop seemed to be boiling like lava. There was a blue elephant shackled up with chains next to this pool.

I tried to open the door to the cabin, and my hand got burned.

"This shit is pissing me off!" I yelled.

I kicked the door with my foot, and it popped open. I walked inside.

John Lennon, Jimi Hendrix, Robert Johnson, and Tattoo (that midget from that old show, 'Fantasy Island') were all sitting around a glass table. They had a mound of white powder they were chopping in to lines. They were all dressed in black, with high heel pumps on. Each one of their shirts had their name on it in red lettering.

"Want a line?" Lennon asked me.

"Sure, what is it?" I asked.

"Just sit down and join us," Tattoo said, pulling out an orange colored chair for me to sit on.

Jimi snorted an enormous line, and started mumbling something about witches.

Robert gave me a big smile. He seemed to be cooking some of this stuff up in a golden spoon.

"Please, please, help yourself," Lennon said.

"Is it cocaine?" I asked.

Tattoo started cackling and snickering like a pig, slapping his pygmy sized hand on his knee. Jimi started glaring at me with an evil look.

"It's a lot better den dat dare cocaine boy," Robert said, smoking a rock of it, from a turquoise glass pipe.

I snorted a big line, and my head instantly felt like a bowl of Jell-O.

"What the hell is this stuff? I feel like I'm floating," I said, grinning.

"We like to call it magical dust," Lennon said, while adjusting his glasses.

"You were born on the same day I died boy, that's why you're here," Robert said.

"Whatever, let me try and hit that pipe Robert," I said.

He passed it to me. I took a big hit, and started to cough, as this yellow like smoke came out of my ears.

"You been talking to that witch, haven't you mutha fucker?" Jimi blurted.

"What witch?" I asked.

"Don't play dumb with us you jack ass," Tattoo said.

"Ya, Mutha fucker," Jimi said.

"Look asshole, I don't even understand why I'm here, and I don't like your fucking attitude," I said, glaring back at Mr. Hendrix.

Jimi stood up, and blew a huge fireball out of his mouth. It came with in inches of my face.

"What's your problem asshole? You're being a buzz kill!" I yelled.

"It's ok Jimi, go in the kitchen and get the pot of water boiling for supper," Lennon said, giving him a reassuring pat on the back. Jimi gave me a dirty look and went into the kitchen. I couldn't really see what was in the kitchen. I just felt that it was painted red, with pictures of aliens all over the walls.

"Man, that guy can be a real dick head," I said.

"Never mind him, you like good looking broads, heh?" Robert asked.

"Sure," I said.

"Who is the one lady you would like to have sex with the most?" Lennon asked.

"Hmm, I'm not sure, I guess Cindy Crawford, that super model chick."

"Let it be," Lennon said, and his face turned into Paul Mcartney's for a split second, then transformed back. I snorted some more of the magical dust, and started floating around the room for a while. I had a mysterious feeling that I shouldn't trust these guys. I wasn't sure what their intentions were.

"Have you guys seen a freaky looking Dalmatian warring red cowboy boots?" I asked.

"Pool of sick boy, just a pool of sick," Robert said.

"What the hell does that mean?" I asked.

"Shhh, silence now, she is in that room over there, waiting for you," Lennon said.

"Who is?" I asked.

"Cindy Crawford, you big nerd," Tattoo said.

"Bullshit. Have you guys seen that dog? I want to kick his ass for pissing on my leg."

"Go on boy, it's your birthday, go have some fun with Cindy," Robert said.

Tattoo grabbed my hand and took me over to this brown door. There was a frog sitting in front of the door, the size of a horse.

"Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit," it said, while panting like a dog.

"Out of the way Elmer," Tattoo said.

The frog jumped across the room, and into the kitchen. Tattoo opened the door. I turned around and looked at Robert and John. They both winked at me, and smiled. Tattoo shoved me in this room, and slammed the door behind me.

Cindy Crawford was laying on this futon, with all these silky red pillows. She was completely naked. She looked like an angel of beauty.

"So you want to fuck me?" she asked.

"Umm, I don't have any money, how much is this gonna cost me?"

"I'm not a prostitute you idiot. I'm going to fuck you for free cause it's your birthday. I think you are very handsome," she said, rubbing her breasts.

There was some old man sitting in a rocking chair next to the futon. He was all duct-taped up. His mouth was sown shut with needles and thick wires. He had red eyes, and was naked. I noticed a garbage can filled with National Geographic magazine covers, sitting next to him.

"Who's he?" I asked.

"Don't worry about him, he likes to watch," Cindy said.

"Whatever," I said, getting undressed.

Cindy and me started humping away like rabbits.

"Eww baby, Eww baby, give it to me," she kept moaning.

I could hear those legend guys in the other room playing guitars and jamming, as I pumped away. I think Tattoo was singing. It sounded really good.

I glanced over at the old man. He did something weird with his eyes. They turned all white. Meatballs started shooting out of his eyes, and on to the futon. Cindy turned into an orange lion, and I pulled out immediately.

"What the fuck is going on? This is sick, I had my dick in a Lion!" I screamed.

John, Jimi, Tattoo, and Robert all came running into the room. They tried to hold me down, as the Lion thing started swatting at my face with its razor sharp claws.

"Cut his dick off! Hurry up!" Jimi yelled.

"Yes, we must hurry up, I'm so hungry for a meal!" Tattoo added.

I was struggling like crazy to get free. Tattoo had these scissors, and he was about to use them to cut my cock off. Lennon, who was holding one of my legs down, suddenly screamed.

"He's got the damn dog piss on his leg, owwww, it burns!"

"Oh fuck," Robert said.

Lennon's hand started to melt off after touching the dog piss. The old man in the rocking chair started shooting more meatballs out of his eyes at the legends. I finally broke free, and ran for the front door. I kicked it again, and it opened. It was raining blood all over the place, from the sky. It felt like the temperature was well beyond 120 degrees.

My bike had melted. The Dalmatian came jumping out of the pool of shit, and said "Hail to your savior!" The Blue elephant sprayed something out of his trunk all over the Dalmatian. The elephant's shackles and chains melted after that.

"Hurry up, get on the elephant!" the Dalmatian said. We both flew on top of the elephant's back some how. I never knew elephants could move so fast. But then again, this was a dream, so anything was possible.

"Hang on! We must make it to the gravel road," the Dalmatian screamed. The dog started throwing crumpled up National Geographic pictures at the legends chasing us. When the pictures hit the ground, they blew up like grenades. I turned around and saw the legends riding on the tops of those horse-sized frogs. They were shooting these purple eggs at us from out of their guitars. One of the eggs hit me in the back of the head.

"Owww, fuck," I muttered.

We made it back to the green and yellow road. All the blood stopped raining, and I didn't see the frog-riding legends chasing us anymore. That elderly lady in black was waiting for us at the gravel road, holding a clock in her hand. I jumped down from the elephant.

"Good work doggy," she said to the Dalmatian, handing him a dog biscuit. The dog pissed on my leg again, while munching down the biscuit.

"Stay on the road next time asshole," the elephant said.

Then they took off, back to the purple cabin in the distance.

The old lady and me walked down the road and got to her fluorescent cabin. She invited me in. She had the National Geographic pictures all over her walls. I asked her what this all meant?

"Many things are unexplained, but if you polish that third eye of yours, you will find the answers," she said, as we sat down at a glass table.

"What third eye?" I asked

"The one on your forehead."

"That's just a zit I have, well, more like a boil."

"Not any more, go look in the mirror," she said.

I looked in her bathroom mirror and saw a red eyeball blinking at me on my forehead.

"Holy shit," I said.

"Did you meet my husband at the Pool of Sick?" she asked.

"Was he the old man who can shoot meat balls out of his eyes?"

"Yes, that is him."

"Hey, you got any of that magical dust?" I asked her.

She laughed.

"Your generation is so lost in getting high, I have something much stronger then magical dust for you," she said, pulling out some lime colored powder.

"Snort some of this and tell me every detail of what happened. I must rescue my husband from the Pool of Sick."

I was awakened by my alarm clock blasting the sounds of Jimi Hendrix. I had left my TV on the night before. That old show 'Fantasy Island' was on. Tattoo was yelling "DEE plane, DEE plane boss." I realized it was my birthday. I went downstairs, and my roommate was playing a John Lennon song on his guitar. My other roommate was shuffling through some Robert Johnson albums.

To the top of this page