I am really hungover right now.

Snake Line

Dance of the Bumblebees

Blanket Cobb was inspired by bumblebees. They buzzed and bizzed around his head as he munched on edible weeds. They sang to him about the joys of bonsai, sunbathing and the crafting of miniature figurines. Atop the Watershed Heights apartment building, surrounded by the buzzing bees and a small garden of weeds that had sprung up almost overnight, Blanket Cobb pondered his unique existence.

"Takin care of bzzzzzzzness," Cobb hummed. "Bzzzbzz bzzz bz bzzzzzbzzzzzz," the bumblebees harmonized. The weeds were being digested and didn't feel the need to join in. As the sun beat down on the man and the bees and the weeds, Blanket Cobb lowered himself into a sitting lotus position. Cobb was no stranger to meditation, although he often fell asleep in the act. The bees buzzed in a crown around Cobb's head as he recited a simple prayer.

"Bzzzom," Cobb said. "Bzzzzom shanti shanti bzzzom".

Cobb was startled awake several hours later by the smell of testosterone. He wrinkled his nose and made a crab noise at the back of his throat. "Kchhha," Cobb said. He gagged a little bit and coughed up a bumblebee that had been relaxing in his esophagus.

On the other side of the rooftop garden, a very dangerous situation was about to unfold. It involved two men and a gun, and Cobb was not inclined to interfere. He sat in sitting lotus position and watched some shit go down.

"what THE FUCK are you doing with that gun?" Bzzzzzzzzzzzz went the bumblebees.

"gonna blow that bastard's brains out, that's what I'm gonna do..." Kikensi, kinan, kitai, whispered the bonsai.

"*BAMM*" a shot rang out, and Jesus cried crimson tears.

Blanket Cobb stood up and walked over to the scene of the crime. The men did not pay him any attention, and as Cobb approached them, he noticed something very disturbing. It's name was "crushed edible weeds and a dead bumblebee." In the midst of their argument, the men had stomped on a highly desirable cluster of edible weeds in addition to The Queen Bumblebee, who had bravely ventured out of her hive to see what the commotion was all about. Blanket Cobb was seized with a stomach spasm as he absorbed the full implications of this. The death of The Queen Bumblebee would kill off the whole hive! Cobb gently scooped up the dead bumblebee and carried her behind a Japanese maple, where he laid her down on a lamb's ear and experienced the five stages of grief. As he was moving from Denial to Anger, a police squadron burst onto the scene. When he was an inch away from Bargaining, both men jumped off the roof. The police left Blanket Cobb alone to deal with Depression, and then the cycle started all over again.

Several hours after Cobb had reached "acceptance" for the 17th time, a small worker bee named Zeta arrived in his left ear. She buzzed and bizzed and buzzed some more, and for the first time in 3 hours, Blanket Cobb felt hope.

In the rooftop garden of the Watershed Heights Apartment Building, as the setting sun bled a vibrant shade of crimson into the smoggy sky, Blanket Cobb was crowned Queen of the Bumblebees. The bonsai trees never disrespected him again, the edible weeds were fruitful and multiplied due to frequent pollination, and Blanket Cobb spent the rest of his life dancing to the musical buzzing of the bees.

Radishes Rock

Blanket Cobb headed back to his apartment after his Kebab meal. He was hankering for something fresh, a crisp after-dinner delite, and decided to make a radish sandwich upon arriving home. As he walked, he imagined the sandwich in minute detail: The thinly sliced radish slivers, almost transparent, laid upon a thick slab of hearty bread. But wait! What was the bed of radish slices to sleep upon? Ah, nothing more than a mattress of creamy butter, straight from the udder of a cow, hand-churned by an attractive milkmaid with fairly large bosoms. Cobb experienced his second dribble of the day--"R-rr-rrrrrrrradish," he purred. The drool stayed in his mouth this time, and he chewed on it thoughtfully. Cobb was then interrupted by an odor that nipped his fantasy in the bud. It was the smell of radish pie, and Cobb found himself oblivious to the city-wide blackout as he followed the heavenly wafting odors to their source.
Four of Cobb's five senses shut down, as his body devoted every ounce of its energy to his olfactory glands, which were working overtime and causing Cobb to sweat profusely out of his nostrils. He followed his nose down Maple Avenue. He followed his nose into a cardboard box, three nesting pigeons, and a baby. Blanket Cobb followed his nose into the man standing in the back of the very long line that snaked out of the 28-Hour Diner. He did not notice the back of the man's shirt, which read, "Got Farsk?" He did not notice the festering wound on the back of the man's neck. He noticed only his position in the back of the line, and for that, Blanket Cobb let out a long, mournful cry. It sounded like "Radish," "Ooooooooooooyyy" and the howl of a lone wolf under a full moon. Cobb turned, and, like a lone wolf rejected from his prospective mate, slunk home to make himself a radish sandwich.

Kebab Time

Blanket Cobb was in the mood for a kebab. He fantasized about chunks of meat on a stick, dripping with grease and smothered in exotic spices. A rumble started in his tummy and climbed up his esophagus, coming out of his mouth in a ladylike burp. "Urp," said Cobb. The bonsais stared at him disapprovingly. Cobb wasn't sure whether they were scornful of the belch he had just produced or his rather shocking sunburn. After succumbing to the powerful rays of the sun, Cobb was left looking like a gila monster. His skin was cracked, scaly and pink. The bonsais had not recognized him when he approached with their mushroom fertilizer earlier, which had hurt Cobb's feelings and put him in the mood for a kebab.
A kabob will do the trick, Cobb thought. He slunk out of his apartment and around the block, arriving at the Jamaican place the same time as a man who was eminating a strong blue aura. Cobb was momentarily stunned. It was as if someone had dumped a bucket of the bluest ocean water over his head that was also mixed with Windex, blue paint, crushed robin's egg shells and a member of the Blue Man Group. A small amount of drool slipped out of Cobb's mouth as he struggled to breathe through the suffocating aura. "Buu...Blll....Bloooo," Cobb dribbled. The spittle fell onto the floor and Cobb received a look from the restaurant owner similar to the one he had just received from his bonsais. Again, Cobb was not sure whether it was caused by his sunburn or what had just come out of his mouth.
He ordered his kebab quickly and sat down in a booth far away from the Blue Man. The kebob came with a side of rice and yucca root. It was quite delicious, although Cobb suspected it had been seasoned with MSG, which was generally something he tried to avoid eating.

Fun in the Sun

Fun in the Sun, thought Cobb as he lay out his tanning material on the roof of his apartment building. The air was less thick with cancerous debris at this height, and Cobb was looking forward to roasting in the February sunshine. From his vantage point he could see almost all of the Watershed Heights ghetto below him. It was an inspiring image, one he hoped to convert into a small figurine one day, but that would have to wait.

Cobb slipped out of his suspenders and slathered on the SPF. Aaahh, he sighed. Aaaaahhh.

He drifted off into a pleasant nap. Dreams of Tahiti and friendly island natives danced before his eyes. All was well in the alternate universe Cobb inhabited in his sleep until a piercing siren woke him up to the putrid reality that was his life. "Punks," Cobb said. He rubbed his eyes and peered over the edge of the roof, following the sounds that led his line of sight to the Shop n' Shop. A black-haired punk ass bitch was skulking down the street, away from the scene of whatever petty crime had just taken place. This punky bitch character looks awfully suspicious, Cobb mused. Images from Pick the Perp flashed before his eyes. Prostitution? Armed robbery? Parole violation? These were equally horrendous possibilities, and Cobb had a hunch that this girl might have committed every one of them.

Disaster Strikes

"Yowza!" Cobb yelped. He frantically dug through the balls, trying to find the culprit, but it was impossible to see anything. Taking a deep breath, Cobb dove head-first into the pit. Down, down down, he thrashed. Down, down, down, down, down....down, down, down.... and down, and down. The pit was bottomless! He was able to breathe, but just barely, and only from the small pockets of air that grew farther and farther apart as he pushed himself deeper and deeper into the pit. Cobb could barely see anything, and was about to give up and head back when the balls beneath him gave way, and he fell into thin air. It was liberating, this experience of free falling. Cobb was momentarily startled, but the cool air whistling past him was soothing, and he opened his mouth to lap it up like a dog sticking it's head out the window of a car.

WHUMP.

And the ground came up to meet him, and he found himself lying face-down on the sticky carpet of Robbie Bobbin's Sumptous Souvenirs Tent. If Cobb was a cartoon, three small birds would have fluttered in circles around his head as he stumbled to his feet. Then he smelled something burning and his animal instincts kicked in. Cobb sprinted out of the tent, and in the chaos that ensued he found himself holding hands with a Mexican. Cobb and the Mexican pushed through the panicked crowd. They were a team, they more than a team, they were One. When Cobb slipped in a puddle of alcohol, the Mexican helped him to his feet; when the Mexican was stomped on by the bearded woman, Cobb clawed her face and carried the Mexican on his back all the way to the front gates.