Memento Mori

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7

Watermelon Bubblegum Pops. Tangerine Mango Madness Pops. Sour and Sweet Lollipops. Caramel Apple Orchard Lollipops. Mini Pops. Whistle Pops. Blink-blink Pops. Chili Pepper Lollipops. Cinnamon Spice Lollipops. Sugar Free Lollipops. Custom-word Heart Pops. Dice-shaped Lollipops. Penis-shaped Lollipops. Eyeball Pop Lollipops. Flash Lollipop Rings. Flash Pop Pops. Flower Pop Lollipops. Chocolate-covered Cricket Pops. Fluffy Cotton Candy Pops. Mega Groovy Swirl Pops. Super HOT Habanero Lollipops.
I drew them all. I gave each individual lollipop a distinctive personality to equal it's flavor. For example, the Guava Flavored Chili Coated Lollipops I spruced up with dopy, lazy eyes, a curled moustache, and an oversized, wide-brimmed hat. The Folding Fan-shaped Buttermint Lollipops, I fashioned with scrunched up eyes and fu manchus.
You get the idea.
That evening, I was the absolute Lord of Lords for the complete lollipop culture.
My black-inked pen was my necromantic scepter.
I drew lollipop people with astonishing features. I illustrated them with sparkle and liveliness, storyboard style.
Samil, the Lemon Flavored Skully Pop-pop is a badly-behaved adolescent. Affected with attachment disorder, Samil has a situation requiring great effort to establish meaningful loving relationships with Perennial-shaped Mum Mum Candy-pop, and Sugar-free Rum Pop-pop. I outlined the three of them as the typical portrait of an American family, but dysfunctional lollipop style. The trio bump heads and bicker, fluttering their ghost-like appendages. Samil shouts horrible absurdities, forcing Sugar-free Rum Pop-pop to beat the shit out of him.
Sound familiar?

I was in pain.

Crusted gore juice decorated the grape colored protuberance circling my eye. I wondered if it was going to be a permanent injury. Maybe a skull fracture. I didn't care. It hurt like hellions marching in an apocalyptic parade. It hurt so bad, it made my head throb.

Extreme, intense, excruciating pain.

I continued to draw one lollipop person after another. It got to the point where I didn't even know what I was drawing anymore. My head felt like it could rupture and paint the walls with glutinous gray matter. If I crushed my eyelids shut, the pain felt like a blistering, hot prod poking my temporal bone.

Thanks alot dad.

The dead of night was approaching. I was nervous to call her.

My body was trembling. I was sweating profusely.
I dialed her number.
It started to ring.

Knot and tightly secure Mr. Exterminator in a rickety, old chair underneath an African Bush Elephant's behind. Once Dumbo is properly placed in location, pummel a firm iron stake into the large mammal's front foot.
If done correctly, the distress will make the elephant perfectly sit atop Mr. Exterminator. The feeble chair will collapse and Mr. Exterminator's head and torso will drive perfectly into the hulking mammoth's anus.
The embarrassment and struggle should only carry on for a moment because Mr. Exterminator will suffocate from inadequate oxygen and he'll be smothered in hunks of stool.

Silly, nevertheless amusing.

"I met the parents of the historian," Memento Mori immediately said. She had a beautiful, dulcet voice. She was direct and obviously outspoken.
"How'd you know it was me?" I timidly asked.
"They always wanted a grandchild, but their son has a condition called azoospermia. He has no sperm in his semen."

Unexpectedly, the batshit crazy discussions calmed my nerves.

"He tried to adopt a daughter, but his application was declined because of his low income. That's when he started collecting the dolls. He considers them his children."

Nice to hear your voice too.

"You don't sound like I thought you would."
"How so? I asked.
"I thought you would sound indignant and disgruntled, but you have a really nice voice."

I was flattered.

"Do you believe in the devil?"
I told her it was Christianity's business partner. The excuse for all things wrong with life. God's personal scapegoat.
"For many centuries, immoral activities, like consuming blood, were attributed to the devil. The devil was considered synonymous to ones like myself. We were always associated with some kind of revenant or evil, but truth be told, we're still the same rational animals that we were when we had a heartbeat. We just need to eat differently to survive."

I wondered what I had gotten myself into.

"The historian, he's malicious. He's evil. He's the real demon," Memento Mori aggressively spoke up. "I survive off of monsters like him."

A low tap knocked on my bedroom door. "Are you awake?" Mom softly whispered.
I didn't respond.
It was silent for a few seconds. She sighed and then continued to talk. "Your father is so sorry, he just lost his temper. He was so upset." She paused. "We love you," she said. "Good night."

"What was that all about?" Asked Memento Mori.
"My dog died and my dad beat the shit out of me."
"Dads can be assholes. After mine buried me, him and the family physician dug me up. They tried to cut out my heart so they could burn it."
"You are the most peculiar individual I have ever met," I told her.
"Likewise," she kindly said.

We continued to talk for hours. We discussed the life and times of Müttley Crü. She explained to me the cultural sense of people and their pets in the 18th century. "Pet owners, particularly women, were seen as facetious consumers who spent their money on foolish things. Animals were expected to be worth the time, money, and effort, and if not, it was eaten by its owner."
"It was believed back in the day, that if a black dog or black cat jumped over a corpse, the corpse would rise from the dead."
We talked about Fantastical! Family Amusement Center! and Mike, lead coordinator of the arts department.
Fantastical! Family Amusement Center! is a 5-acre indoor theme park featuring roller coasters, laser tag, bumper cars, a giant trampoline, 200 arcade games, and a ferris wheel.
Memento Mori had a friend that endured a medical disorder known as hypertrichosis, a condition being excessive hair growth on an individual's body. He was a performer in a circus sideshow, and promoted distinct human and animal traits. His mother believed the abnormality happened because she was attacked by a dog while she was pregnant.
Tragically, he fell victim to a hit and run accident. His body was sold to a private university who permanently preserved him.
She told me about her profession as a corpse actor.
"When you've been alive for 289 years, you need to find new means of entertainment. I wanted to be on TV, at least once, so I could see my name in the credits. I do night scenes. I go to set, they cover me in a gooey mix of latex and corn syrup and I lay still for hours."
Memento Mori said she gets paid $230 and all-you-can-eat food service. She doesn't do it for the money, and she can't eat the food. She does it because she's a necromaniac.

Memento Mori
Remember you will die.

I asked her to tell me more about the cemetery historian.
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