I remember that day as clearly as a screaming vagina. Meaning to say, if ever I do see a vagina actually screaming I can pretty much bet both my testicles that I’ll never forget it until the day I die. A sight like that would probably ruin my sexual appetite so thoroughly that the mutilation of my reproductive organs wouldn’t be a big issue anymore. Might as well tear out the horrible little thing and be done with it.
As I was saying: I remember that day clearly. There he is– little Squid– coming home from gradeschool one November afternoon in 1987, all snip and snails and puppy dog tails. Little Squid is in the mood for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a treat he plans to devour in his room while he reads Moby Dick. So far, he doesn’t understand half of what he’s already read in that lumbering beast of a novel since he’s only eleven years old, but at that age he already recognizes that what he’s reading is really crazy shit.
Little Squid enters the house humming the theme from the Transformers. He doesn’t see anyone in the house but knows his mother is somewhere around. He goes to the refrigerator for the peanut butter and passes by a window overlooking the backyard. There’s something strange going on there. Little Squid sees his mother crouched on the ground like a heathen idol, burning a pile of oddly familiar scraps of paper. Then little Squid recognizes the green plastic envelope with the He-Man stickers melting atop that pile…
OH YES SHE DID