I was dirty as a begpacker. Stinking of liquor and ganja, I was limping down Sukhumvit Road.
Cancel Culture | Kim Cancer Then I was hopping on a penis-shaped pogo stick, up to a flyover, and I bounced up each stair like it was a rectangular trampoline, the stack of mouse-gray concrete stairs moving like an escalator or a Stairmaster machine from the gym.
Each stair growing more foreboding as it slid down. I was really riding an electric moving monster!
My balance was off. I couldn’t surmount the stairs. Instead, I allowed the penis pogo stick to dissolve and let the current carry me back to the pavement. Then I spotted a flickering figure in a most curious mask.
The figure cut in and out, like it was attempting to buffer, or beam up ala Star Trek. And it wore a 1910s gas mask, something from WW1. A blob of pink fluffy feathers protruded from the mask’s mouth, as if the figure had slapped a feather duster to his face.
The flickering figure quickly faded, yielded to a burning vehicle, a tuk-tuk…
The tuk-tuk was aflame, driving recklessly down the sidewalk, backward.
Pedestrians, hawkers, and police dodging, yelling, jumping out of the honking vehicle’s awful path… Shadowy figures in hazmat-like, fire retardant suits stood inside the carriage of the 3-wheeled vehicle, randomly lighting and tossing coconut bombs…
A giant man chasing after the tuk-tuk tore by. He clenched an empty blue wastebin to his chest and was in a bright golden shawl and had a body shaped like a walrus. But he also had an unusually small head, a head the size of an ice cream scoop.
As the ice cream head barreled by, I could hear him chattering, through his worm-sized lips, “I HAS A BUCKET! I HAAAAS A BUUUUUUUUCKEEEEEEET!”