Sarcasm Bites

It was a late August afternoon and the heat was so thick, I was sure I was melting. Panting audibly, I popped into Starbucks®, paid my $1.84, and took a long gulp of cold water.

As the cool slid down my throat, I walked to a comfy chair and plopped down. Staring at the for sale items on the shelf, I wondered if Howard Schultz would ever forsake his investment in coffee mugs for ex-yuppie soccer moms. After all these years, it seemed a sad omen.

As my intellect gnawed on this and other important issues, a host of high-pitched cackles invaded my ear canal. A tad early for Halloween, I commented quietly.

Just when the clamor faded, a squeal sliced my eardrums like a blade. “Oh, and the fake Italian shoes weren’t the half of it! He drives a… Lexus!?!” High-pitched gasps were followed by another, even louder, round of cackles.

Visibly annoyed, I stood up, intending to glance at these she-monsters en route to the exit. But the second I turned around, my body froze in horrified amazement. Wondering if they were actual humans or human-like cartoon characters, I jiggled my head quickly, hoping to shake off the horror.

Elvira would look girlishly pretty next to you four, I remarked to myself.

Everything about them looked off, starting with their heads, which appeared huge—I’m talking really big—perched atop skeletal necks that had no business bearing all that weight. To add to the mayhem were lips that bulged out so far, they seemed to be trying to jump off their faces. And all of it was partially cast in shadow, thanks to eyelashes the length of your typical feather duster.

As the shock wore off, my eyes began jumping around like a pinball, fixating first on their cheekbones, which looked like steak knives sawing through what thin facial epidermis remained; and then on their Fembot breasts, fastened to their mid-sections like missiles preparing to blast through my eye sockets.

Next time, try the plastic surgeon who finished med school, I silently suggested.

Shuttering in fright, I began weaving through tables, almost looking forward to the sauna awaiting me outside. I mean sure, I’d seen Janet Dickson on her reality TV commercials, but in the flesh these surgically “enhanced” women spooked a person to her very core.

As I walked down the street, one thing was clear. Halloween would never be the same.