Last night while tap-dancing on my balcony a bright purple light appeared in the sky. I watched it for a few seconds, wondering if the pollution in the air had altered the atmosphere so much that it could cause a star to appear purple, then continued tap-dancing.
As I entered into my seven hundredth step-ball-change the purple light grew into a huge ball of violet fire, and just as I marveled at it I found myself inside a dark room. The air was moist, and had the slight odour of cinnamon.
I hardly had a chance to wonder where I was before a chair near me turned around to reveal a seven foot tall Platypussy smoking a cigarette. “I suppose,” it said. “that you are wondering why I brought you here.”
I thought for a moment. “No, not really. I assume that you have some sort of cosmic warning about nuclear death and all that drab crap. Am I right?”
The Platypussy leveled a severe glare at me. “No.” it said. “That is not right. I do, in fact, have a warning for you, but it has nothing to do with nuclear death, as you so casually put it. What do I care if all you monkeys blow each other up? Do you realize how much agony your race has put the universe through . . . Celine Dion, Joe Piscopo . . . Donovon. I could go on and on. In fact, I hope you all do charbroil yourselves.”
I sighed. “The warning?”
“Yes.” the Platypussy said. “Yes. That warning. Well. I don’t know if you are aware but you rented a DVD about three weeks ago.”
“Did I?” I asked.
“Yes. The Village, by M. Night Schyamalamadingdong.”
“Oh god, right. I had blocked that out from my mind. Thanks for bringing all that back.” I shivered, recounting the two hours of my life which had been stolen from me. “So what’s the warning? Not to see anymore of his movies?”
“No.” the Platypussy said. “Take back the DVD. You don’t want it to effect your credit rating.”
I looked at it, smoking a cigarette and blowing smoke rings with it’s duck like bill. “That’s . . . it?”
“Yep.” it said. “Go home.”
And with a blink I was back on my balcony and the purple light was gone. My legs ached. Wearily, I wandered back inside and sat down on the couch. Looking up at the clock I realized that over twenty minutes had gone by . . . more time stolen from my life.
I still haven’t taken that DVD back. Fuck em.