Pots and Pans

I was kidnapped by that son-of-a-bitch.   Not that I knew his mother mind you, but this moron, Peter, captured me, in a glass bottle.   Where he got that bottle from or why he had it in the poppy garden I’ll never know.  Probably planned it, that son-of-a-bitch.   Then, he cast some spell which he got from some pot head: “Harry Pothead, Pot her,” something like that.   Why give Peter spells, potions, or bottles or anything for that matter?   Why couldn’t Pot her and Pan be arch nemesis?   Then, I wouldn’t have to be Peter’s indentured servant for the rest of my life.   And, just so you, the idiot reader know, let me tell you about fairies, sprites, and other creatures.   Yes, there are fairies.   Our job, which God gave us, is to make sure the ecosystem continues to function.   For example, if a plant is having a hard time, we call to the bees, butterflies, and other insects to pollinate it before it’s too late.  

       Or, if there aren’t enough nutrients in the ground, we go deep in the earth, find nutrients in the soil, and get water to transfer the nutrients.   But us fairies have had a hard time with humans.   Humans are stupid creatures.  Let’s cut down a tree, put stencil on it, and a stupid star on the top.   Great.  That’s really going to help the ecosystem.   Or let’s take seeds and instead of putting them outside (where they belong), let’s put them in a small pot so the roots can’t spread.   Oh, and let’s put them inside their homes so us fairies can’t get in (we can, but humans are stupid) and let’s forget all about them and not water them or give them sunlight and wonder why the hell they died?  

     Oh. and let’s not warn us fairies if you’re about to mow your lawn.    No, no, why would you do that?  Let’s initiate a mass murder session with a gas lawnmower, because the grass couldn’t survive without a manicure.   Yes, it could, but us fairies can’t.  

    But back to Peter.  He forces me to look for things he loses.   Maybe if he had less things, we’d both have less worry.  But, this moron loses things no one else could lose, like his own shadow.   Who but Peter could lose his own shadow.   Moron.   At least his girlfriend sewed it back on him.  

     Oh, and him and his friends need to fly.   So, Peter shakes me, gets pollen from Indonesia and him and his dumbass friend fly.  I should put fetinol or rat poison in the fairy dust and kill all these bastards.   

     And, before you ask, no, not all fairies are homosexuals.  I don’t know why they call homosexuals humans fairies, but they do.   Also, even though I’m a girl, not all fairies are girls.   How would we have fairy kids if we were all girls,   Idiots.   Yes, there are fairy babies.   No, we’re not mammals.   But, Peter Pan is not my friend.   He’s my slave owner until I can find a spell to free me from Peter.  Maybe Hook’ll succeed in killing Peter before I do.   That’d be nice.   Hell, I’d give him his hand back if he did, then he could be Captain Hand and I could get back to my job as fairy supervisor, unless they’ve been killed by lawnmowers.  Bastards.   Don’t they realize without us, trees, and insects, they’d all be dead with starvation?  

     Oh, no, I’m sure Peter Pan could figure out how to grow plants without fairies.   Right, just ask Santa Clause.   Or be irresponsible and don’t “grow up”.   Act like irresponsible children for the rest of eternity.   Until “the shit hits the fan”.   Why don’t they make a fairytale about that.   You morons do realize the reason the stories are called fairy tales is because they were based on us, the fairies, right?   Shit goes wrong in nature, a sprite or Big Foot, or someone calls us, the fucking fairies, and we make everything better.   Hell, happily ever after originated with us.   They didn’t have copyright back then, they just had old wives’ tales.   And you know who talked to the old wives?   That’s right, us fairies did.   Gotta ask my fairy friends where I can borrow a spell book, so I can lose this loser, Peter.   And him and his friends are racists.   Just look how they describe and depict Native Americans.   Bastards.  

        But, how to lose this moron?   Then, someone crossed my path.   A little person.   Here’s a riddle that would have stumped Oedipus:   Where do munchkins buy bras?   Look that up on “Google”.   But, the munchkin said if I could get to Oz, he could show me how to reverse Peter’s spell.  But, you, the moron human (dogs and cats don’t read) wonder how and/or when I could talk to the creatures when I’m Peter’s slave.   I do it when he sleeps.   Young boys and girls sleep a lot.   When they get older they sleep a little less, but they reproduce.   Just what planet Earth and us fairies need, more stupid humans.   But that’s why there are wars; to control the stupid human.   Maybe the lemmings could open up colleges for humans.  

      But, tonight I’m following the munchkin to Oz.   Unless, please Fairy Gods, I get free of Peter’s spell, I’ll need to be back here before Peter wakes up or the punishments will start.   Like being kept in Peter’s glass cages for disobedience.    Or having to piss in front of him.   We have GI tracks, lungs, hearts, all that shit.  

     But, Peter Pan doesn’t care   No one cares.  

*

     He lies down in his bunk bed.    And I hear it, snoring, hallelujah.   I fly out the opened window.  Thank Fairy God it’s open.   I meet the munchkin at our rendezvous.   You dumb humans wouldn’t understand.   And we apport to Oz.   Look it up in your dumb dictionaries.   

      The young munchkins are asleep, but the adult munchkins are drinking beer and playing cards.   They look at the two of us and one of them mumbles to me, “And what the Hell do you want at this fucking hour? “.  

    And I explain to them that I’m a slave of Peter Pan and about Harry Potter and everything.   One of the munchkins bumps, one to them snarked.   Then, Glenda came with coffee and listened to me.   Or heard me.   And Glenda said, “Follow the Red Brick Road.”   The adults whisper sang, “Follow the Red Brick Road,” like in the classic movie and it was dark. But, I did. There were no scarecrows, no lions, no tin men, just red roads. Red like menstruation.