# 78

'Bro, have you seen the schmeecky-deeky byatchme piPod?' P-Ditty Batgunk asked as his malnourished legs danced as though rehearsing for his sphincter muscle to loosen enough to devour the entire atomic bomb he had been eyeing off next to the three-door low rider with rear air wing.
'The latest flegmjismic what?' came the baffled reply from his best friend, T-minus Rex Jnr.
'The latest bumrushing jirofunk piPod, dyoooode! Where have you been, cornpop?'
A blank stare ensued as T-minus Rex searched the data base of his permanently whacked seventeen-year-old mind. It yielded not a single positive recognition. He registered forty three separate hits of images of a pornographic nature.
'What for kinda fool be pissin starboard with a damned piPod, fyooool?' T-minus Rex Jnr asked somewhat hesitantly following several seconds of silent exchange. His boner had reached critical mass as the protruding inch from his pants confirmed.
Realising the significance of the revelation, that T-minus Rex Jnr was grossly out of touch with the realities of contemporary coolness, P-Ditty Batgunk entrusted his imaginary powers to committing the moment into the annals of time with a vibrant backwards leap of monumental proportions, gasping all the while, 'Whaaaahhhhaaaa?' as his body diminished in size and disappeared from T-minus Rex Jnr's view.
It was to be the final act of P-Ditty Batgunk's rancid life for the rooftop car park of the Sar Chem-dry Tower was no place for over dramatised antics, no matter how gifted the performer or how inconsequential the news which triggered the reaction.
As T-minus Rex Jnr peered over the ledge, his eyes sent blurred images to his brain of the carnage his formerly athletic friend had caused: A puddle of sinew, bones, innards and terminal brain cells had dispersed themselves from the prison that was a living, breathing, dope-smoking, human being.
T-minus Rex Jnr counted no fewer than eighty-five people directly affected by P-Ditty Batgunk's gravity bound kung-fu body explosion; in actuality there were seven. He took a deep breath, collected his thoughts and exclaimed, 'Damn that sackgropin' tartlicker.'
T-minus Rex Jnr reached into his oversized hooded top pocket. He stuffed his pipe to the brim with the finest skunk that his gangsta ninja cohorts had grown, lit up, inhaled and farewelled his fallen comrade's memory with a meaningful two-fingered raise to his right brow.
As T-minus Rex Jnr looked at the ground from where his friend had made a sudden departure not long ago, he saw a small white object reflecting the sun. Its brilliant sheen almost caused the internal mechanisms of his eyes to burn a hole in his brain, not that he was entirely aware.
T-minus Rex Jnr's thoughts turned to hot chips salted to the extreme.
Then he reached down and held the gleaming nugget in his twitching palm. He saw the word "piPod" stencilled in subtle black letters. A cord of not less than fifteen centimetres forked into two distinct sections, each of which displayed a round nub at their ends. T-minus Rex Jnr put the nubs in his mouth. He winced. He put them into his ears.
Nothing.
He looked at the white contraption. As it slid without resistance from his grasp, it fell onto his belt buckle. It sparked the mysterious contraption into action as malicious sounds impregnated his soul with demonic seeds of thought.
Almost instantaneously, his body turned into blueberry jam.
'Well, Jerry, whaddaya think?'
'I like it!'
And so, the latest piPod advertisement was ready to be unleashed upon the world. Be sure to get yours...Yesterday.

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