where creative minds can interact
In those final, strange days, rhyme and reason became irrelevant. Plastic bags rose on balmy breezes, like birds of a feather, flocking together. The mottled sun sank into an oily sea, and indeed few dared openly doubt God was in his Heaven and all was right with the world.
Thought, once relegated to the highest common denominator of human endeavour, was reduced to mere flashes of semi-consciousness, expressed in grunts and bulbous gestures by humanoid creatures barely more aware than the greasy waves lapping at the blackened shores of once pristine beaches.
"Mexicans," muttered a lobster-red entity of sweat-smeared flesh. "They've ruined the whole country with their lawn mowers and weed whackers and dish rags and accordion music. They make me sick."
"Me too," sighed his companion, a splotchy turtle-like behemoth with folded eyes and no discernible genitalia. "They make my beak itch."
The rumble of crop dusters came over the horizon, spraying poison out of noxious nozzles aimed at the barren ground below.
"Remember when there were birds around here?" wheezed the sweaty red geezer.
"Sure do," coughed the turtle-like creature. "What happened?"
"They ate 'em?"
"Turned 'em into tacos and pinatas and shirts."
"Yeah, really," snorted Lobster Man, as a gas fire slowly burned offshore, sending up black plumes of poisonous smoke. "What did you think happened to 'em?"
"I figured they just flew off."
"Birds don't just fly off."
The turtle-like creature scratched his beak violently."How'd they learn to kill 'em?"
"Teachers. Mexicans come here so that teachers can show 'em how to kill our birds."
"I hate teachers," mumbled Turtle Boy.
Lobster Man stared into the murky sunset.
"Yep," he spat. "Mexicans and teachers have gone and ruined the country."
A three-legged dog squatted nearby as a lone earthworm slowly wiggled across the road.
"And even so," the worm whispered, "it'll be alright."