Inside the Mind of a Watermelon

It's in the fridge, as I write this, I can hear the friendly echoes of a voice in the past. Like oars on a lonely lake when you go fishing with your sweetheart by the moonlight...

It's calling.

But the hour is late and I can't tell if it's just the oars or if a night swimmer is in trouble. Did you hear that? Is it a friendly plea for help? Or something more sinister? I know what it is. It's been slowly growing in volume for two weeks. I heard them all laugh when I said, "yeah, it only took me about an hour to hollow it out."

Someone: "ya know, if a Watermelon were actually alive, and could talk that's exactly what it would look like!" If they only knew... Yeah, it's for a sketch, but I knew. I knew when I first walked by the cardboard box holding all of the melons at El Super Mercado. I could hear it then, "Me and You, We'd MAKE a GREAT team."

Now, it's in my fridge and I hear it again. Cooing through the metal. I glance to my left and see the door and it's handles, dull white. I imagine it in there peering. Trying to catch a glimpse of me through all of the metal and butter and jam jars. It's behind the door.

Good thing fridge doors are thick. Could probably stop a bullet, if necessary. It doesn't take much to drown out the sound. Just turn on some U2. I still haven't found what I'm looking for... he'll never get a hold of me now. I really only need him for one more show and then he'll probably be too moldy to wear anyhow. I'll move on to other sketches. Other things. Maybe I can work on that Snow Vacuum I've always wanted to build. Yes sir, I'll be safe as long as I'm out here breathing in the warm -freshly polluted- California air. While he's in there...A cold vault, keeping him fresh...

What was that? Above the music? I know my U2. It's my favorite. And there's no thrashing on The Joshua Tree. No smashing of cheap metallic shelves. No babies crying. The sound, it's ungodly.

Luckily, though, there's the fridge door muffling the sound. (Muffling the violence.) As if a child thought it were a time machine on trash day. Make it stop... BUT it goes away after a while.

Maybe it grows tired? Mayhaps it's dead? Then, foolishly, after a tense and quiet time later I think to myself, "Perhaps I should check. Plus, I really could use some Orange Juice." I turn off the band and I sit for an interminable period listening.. I say out loud, "There's nothing to worry about." Afterall, I'm bigger than him. And before I can stop to think...

I...
Open...
That...
Door...

I open the door to his crypt and he's on me in a flash.

"Aaaaaaaahhhhh!" I cry. Then I'm tearing at my own head. Fingernails digging into the base of my skull.

"Get it off of me..." To no avail.

Instantly it fills me full of power and makes -me- everything, somehow better. Somewhere inside, the pain of life goes away and the joy of being a watermelon fills my mind. Everyways it's all clear now. Spread the seeds... Watch them grow. Teach them.

First, culture and see what exactly "human PEOPLE" are and all about and why?. If you want to change the world, you've got to plan, coordinate, strategize. You don't accomplish anything by going about it LIKE A MONKEY!!!! OH NO no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no... NO. This here's gonna be a whole new thing. Seedless. But with Seeds.

After a little bit of pondering, some thought, and a nice cup of Joey...

...my head is full of good ideas and I'm off to show the world.

Here I come World...
HERE I COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMME!

LOOK OUT fer me, would'ya, Please? Do it fer yer old pal, huh? I'll be somewhere in Los Angeles, World. Somewhere in Los Angeles between La Brea and Fairfax. All day tomorrow and for the rest of my life. Most likely on Melrose Avenue. And when you find me, tell me all your secrets, please. Tell me what I have to do to show you a good time. I want to be your friend because GUESS WHAT? I'm: "a far out fan." And you sure are a fucked up place. Let's be allies.

Heh, heh, heh, heh...
(Watermelon)