Weekend Disaster Post

Fairy Raid on Dick’s Sporting Goods: lately, at one of New York’s many strip malls an unsightly, bordering on freakish occurrence …occurred…in the spacious and thankfully enclosed main room of Dick’s Sporting Goods, the local tennis racket, basket ball, and duct tape distributor, to name but a few of its assets.

     The problem started when the store’s clerk, who appeared to have a death wish/lack of a human’s basest survival instincts, took it upon himself to place a sign in the entrance stating that any magical creature nursing cash should not hesitate to come a-calling to the store.

     In the ensuing stampede the clerk was given to gift of three missing teeth, a tailoring bill that would probably have to be spiral bound, and a hair-do that can be traced back to a similar job in a Hindu sacrificial service.

     The first crazed individual to enter the store was, in fact; a rather unhinged hunk of a griffin with exactly sixteen bucks shoved down his down.

     As a horde of mixed magical creatures followed the Griffin (whose name was Jughead) into the store, Jughead proceeded to leap onto the checkout registers and neatly ransack register 1 through 9, looting the cash registers along the way, leaving the wreckage and several employees who would later undergo intense psycho-therapy.

     The next major disaster to take a bite out of prophets was when the Cyclops found the Pitching Machine. After he found it he went completely shoot happy and nearly made Little Bo Peep swallow her sheep with a well-timed fastball.

     Many other disaster happened that day, including the legendary wrap-up when the pixie tribe found the duct tape section, and Cerberus and some Hellhounds chewing up a record breaking fifty-thousand basket balls, soccer balls, and other balls until it was broken up when they were beaned into unconsciousness with several curve balls.

     To say the least, the clerk got fired, and moved to a Hindu monastery some months later for unknown reasons, and the store was compelled to take down the sign he’d put up, at least the ones not in comas and/or body casts.

      The place is closing down for approximately six years while repairs are undergone sufficiently for customers not to walk in the doors then fall out them three seconds later with a face full of duct tape, baseball bats, and organically farmed cotton underwear. Do they even sell that stuff there?

     Until the next post; see you down the road.

Post written, edited and cussed a blue streak over by Sye “Fastball” Clops