Wanderland

They chose the Wrong One, and they paid the price.

 

 

 

He was the Wrong One. I had told them that a million f*****g times and they had told me to shut the hell up. Oldie Youngster was high on the devil’s dandruff when he pinned the Wrong One on the Holy Map. The map was upturned and nobody noticed that, not even Her f*****g Majesty. Everybody was cheering and clapping and singing happy songs as though it were the New Year. Oldie Youngster had raised a toast to the victory and freedom after sending five messages to the Wrong One in New York. “He would receive those messages, and…uh…you know he would come here. He would come here and save our f*****g arses, wouldn’t he?” He had said with a stupid a*s smile painted across his pimple scarred face.

            The Wrong One came to Wanderland and fucked everything up.

Oldie Youngster hung himself in his dilapidated house once he learnt about the colossal mistake he had made. He got drunk and made love to his niece before ending his damn life. Since Wanderland had no other choice they decided to give a shot to the Wrong One. They trained him to fight the Bad Mofos�"a group of five hundred horny ghosts living in the shithole that was the West. But what good does barking up the wrong tree produce? The Wrong One was a racist junkie with a very peculiar philosophy about life. He got into Her Majesty’s pants after ten days of his arrival and stuffed everyone's minds with his bullshit talks. He told everyone that death was the real deal; that they should all just forget about winning their damn war with the Bad Mofos and start sacrificing their children, animals to some giant turtle to reserve their places on Mars when Earth blew the f**k up. He talked tosh, and everyone followed him blindly.

Three months after my exile from Wanderland for being a Negative Nancy, I successfully created a mantra to breach. I entered Wanderland and found it deserted. The night sky above me was rife with many stars and two moons: a green one and a greenish blue, both medium in size and hanging low. The Bad Mofos would have attacked my homeland and it would have proved to be an easy win for them. Yes, that’s exactly what would have happened. Only that wasn’t true.

A dying leafless tree by the Silver Lake told me everything that had happened after I’d been exiled.

The Wrong One had built a temple in the woods, and there he and his blind followers worshipped a golden spaceship. The tidings of Earth’s end spread like a virus through the West. The Bad Mofos got scared shitless and they joined the Wrong One. Every day the Wrong One would preach bullcrap, and then go into a red-colored room behind the golden spaceship with a woman to make crazy love to her. The f*****g was for atoning for Wanderlanders’ and the Bad Mofos’ sins. He sang crappy songs, and played equally crappy tunes on his flute because it helped creating their ship.

 The dying tree let out a deep sigh and said, “It was Wednesday, or was it Thursday? I don’t remember it. Sorry, man. So, there were these black clouds in the sky that day and it was going to rain. Yep, after three and a half months of f*****g hot as hell smoldering heat it was finally going to rain. But the Wrong One, that m**********r, called up an emergency meeting, and told everyone that God’s beautiful Earth had started to fall apart and that it was time to leave their bodies, for their golden spaceship was ready to take em to f*****g Mars. It was waiting for em outside Earth’s atmosphere. And stupid Wanderlanders’ drank poison with smiles dancing on their damn faces. The leader of the Bad Mofos captured his horny ghosts in his heart, locked em there, and then drove a glass dagger through his heart.” The dying tree coughed blood from its bark. “Damn. The next…f**k…man…I can’t see s**t…” and within a few minutes the dying tree uprooted by itself and dropped dead in the Silver Lake. It bid me goodbye and cursed Oldie Youngster for destroying our beloved homeland.

I visited the castle and found out a zillion mini spaceships drawn on its stones. There were many things written on the castle that displayed Wanderlanders’ crazy obsession with the red planet and death. How the hell can they believe such s**t? How? That Wrong One must have possessed some kind of power, after all.

Curious and irate, I decided to take a look at the temple of golden spaceship but didn’t as I got a call from my boss from the boring human world to get to the office for an urgent meeting. I got a good look at my dead world, cursed Oldie, cursed the Wrong One and cursed the gullible Wanderlanders. I chanted the mantra under my breath and was back at my s****y apartment.

Author's Note

Don't take this one very seriously. Read it, laugh at it or with it, and have a good fucking time.