Here Comes the Box

When you watch one of my power point presentations, I enthrall you. My power point presentations . . . to you they are waking dreams. You do not realize that I have placed inside my power point presentations . . . messages. They are subliminal messages. I don’t want you to buy product. I want you ready to open the box when it arrive at your house.

My power point presentations entertain you with wit. If lunch is at hand very nearly, between slides of chart and number, I put up a picture of a delicious looking sandwich and say, “Sorry, that’s a picture of my delicious lunch.” Everyone laughs. If there’s a fat man in the audience and his name is Maynard I say, “Sorry, that’s a picture of my delicious lunch . . . don’t get any ideas, Maynard.” Everyone loves it. To explain: I call out any fat man, even if his name is not Maynard. I just use Maynard as an example because he fresh in my mind.

The box, when it get to your house, it is like any box. Brown, pfffft. Regular box. But something about the box . . . you don’t like it. It isn’t heavy, but something shake around inside, a bit loose like. What is it? But you don’t want to know, because the box . . . it give a bad feeling. Oh, goodness. But you have seen the power point presentation. You have a little subliminal message rattling around in your head like something in a box that you don’t know what it is.

After you seen my power point presentation you will think, “Pretty good.” Several times maybe through the next few couple days you think, “I like that.” And sometime you try to think “Who was that guy? He gave the power point presentation?” And you will try to form a picture in your own head of me and who I looked like, and you will get the fringes of my puffy hair, the tips of my big ears, but in the middle where the face is, you will not get nothing. “What he look like?” you say to yourself. Oh, goodness. No idea. Just fuzz. Like my face is giving you the bad finger on American television. Pfffft. You will think, “Just a normal face.” Maynard sat for a long time when he try to remember my face. Nope. Nothing. Just slow look on his own face.

And the box get dropped on your door. Oh, no. Here’s the box at last. And you ignore your better angels of your nature, they all scared off by powerful subliminal messaging. And you think, “I take that box in my house and open it up. See what’s inside.” Oh, no. The last thing you should do. But there you go, doing it. Lifting it up, being careful. Dash it on the ground, that would be better for you. Don’t be careful with it. Bad idea being so gentle with it.

I watch. I can see you with the box. I watch you, I watch Maynard, pick up the box. Go inside.

I see Maynard set the box down inside the house. Oh, Maynard. He’s fat. His wife left him. Not only because he’s fat. Maynard has a thought, maybe something in the box is a fix for me. Oh, fat Maynard. No.

He still at this point okay and fine if he just don’t open the box. But oh, gee, does he want to know what inside the box. The box has even started drip a little. Got wet on the bottom of the sides. It doesn’t look good, the box. It look like “guuh”. Not good.

Then Maynard open the box. Then he look inside the box. Oh, goodness. Then Maynard his mouth open so wide. So wide, indeed. Too wide if you see him. Oh, Maynard. He remember then, my face. It come back to him just then, just at the end. He see in the mind of the eye and think he should have known.

Here Comes the Box

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