In a dramatic conclusion to the emergency conclave held last night at Twisty Palace, white smoke rose from the ashtray. I was elected pope by a slender margin (it is not generally known, but the cat voted against me). There were no nun-slaves to make me a banquet. I ate leftover Cripsy Tofu Suey Deluxe.
This morning my first order of business, as the infallible mouthpiece of the fake, invisible, and vengeful ghost known as Ozone, is to ordain that it is the will of Ozone that all leaf blowers be set on fire.
For there was once a cul-de-sac in a hood called Zilker, and in one of the shed-roofed bungalows there lived a leaf-hata named Jane. Every Saturday morning at 7 o’clock Jane would spring from her bed, fire up her leaf-blower, which sounded like a dentist’s drill, and attempt to subdue her leaves by deafening them with a fearful racket. She would keep at it until 9 o’clock on Sunday night.
Ozone appeared to Jane and said unto her, “Your leaf-hate will destroy you. For you will deafen not the leaves. And see, you blowest them merely from one side of your yard to the other and back again. Why not watch ‘The Simpsons’ instead?”
But Jane did not listen. Whereupon Jane’s sleep-deprived neighbor Twisty did wheel a 100-watt Mesa/Boogie Dual Rectifier Trem-O-Verb over to the window, and she did crank it, and she did play “Sweet Jane,” with an awful Elvis ending (Vegas-era), over and over on an out-of-tune ’68 SG strung with piano wire. And Jane fell unconscious from the relentless pummeling ennui of Classic Rock, and did collapse on a pile of enemy leaves. And the leaves did absorb her completely, leaving no trace. Twisty had smote her. And the leaf-blower at last fell silent.
And then Twisty smashed the drums with the SG, and did yell “Thank you Austin! Good night!” and did turn off the Mesa/Boogie, and did go to back bed.