Beetlejuice, our goblin-prince of pink flamingos, cable-wire, and lawn-chairs is forever, dealing in that cheap slush of novelty. All plastic-manufacturing has its “clear-out” price, perchance– when it can simply be hauled-out by the ton and melted-down, it’s so useless Think of a carnival’s rough, abraded edges that leave you, one-step from heaving puke into the gutter behind the grounds as it’s too much grease, and sugar, and human sweat, and the impulsive whirligig of entertainment that threatens you with a bursting headache over the smell of cotton-candy and polyurethane prizes.
Always, Beetlejuice waving out the window with a honking truck-horn as he’s an all-purpose hauler– a cable-man, used-car salesman, or gravedigger as it’s Midwestern salvage over trucking-chains and Tasmanian Devil mud-flaps like chewed-up straws and filthy flannel-coats made out of patches and duck-down as he dumps off his treasures at flea-markets and local used shops, as filthy as the single light-bulb is long-suffering over clutter likethe worn, scuffed edges of VHS treasures and other junk.
The best things in life, cost less than a dollar, as I hope you get your 79 cents, worth. . . . . starch and grease and tacky leisure clothes and bad shoes and rubber clown-heads that don’t just pass for the state legislature, or local school-board of fundamentalist nut-cases. Somewhere between meth-labbin’ and truck-stop cassettes, it’s my heaven beneath this vast strata of ignorance, repetition, and novelty–
. . . . .or maybe it was just Florida.