Origins II/Cooties

[Hotdog Mascot]

Origins II
You Are What You Eat

Things returned to normal. A petite fragile child no longer pranced the halls of his parents home in black leather and lace. No, Tina had his afternoon fun for the day, his Father and Mother would be returning home soon, and when they would return they expected things to be quiet and drag queen free. Knowing that, Tina replaced his Mother’s underwear neatly back into the draw just as they were. He returned to his room and awaited for the bacon to be brought home. It didn’t take long before his feet began scrambling and dancing on his bedroom floor, he heard the front door open, they’re back! Tina pushed through his bedroom door and raced down the stairs into the living room on quiet tiptoes. He met his parents with a smile, the two of them standing there with bags of groceries.

Tina: Did you get them?!

Tina’s father, Woody, turned just as excited as Tina, nearly skipping into the kitchen with the bags of food.

Woody: Oh, we got em!

The Mother, the odd ball of the trio who didn’t share the same passion for what came from grocery stores, lazily shrugged and dragged her feet into the kitchen to prepare their special dinner. She filled a small pot with water and placed it over a stove burner. Father and Son patiently sat at the kitchen table, elbows perched on table top, chins resting on their clinched knuckles. The Mother, who had been through this routine a million and one times before, methodically prepared the meal like a robot, reaching into the grocery bag withdrawing one of the many packages of carnival snacks.. hotdog’s.

Woody: Yeah! In the pot they go! In! They! Go!

Replicating his Father’s amusement, Tina also began shouting.

Tina: Gimmie an H! Gimmie a O! Gimmie a T!

Woody: DOG!

The two of them drummed their fists on the table and stomped their feet on the floor cracking grins at one another. The Mother stared off into space, dumping the cold meat sticks into the now boiling pot of water. She thought about dropping her own face into the pot, the quick scorching pain may be enough to wake her up and break the trance of this circus reality. However, she didn’t. She pushed along like a solider of the household, staring into the bubbly water, stirring the hotdog’s just like she did the night before. Once she was finished, the three sat down and ate. The hotdogs vanished quickly just as their excitement did once the meat treats were finished. Not saying a word to one another, they lined up at the kitchen sink, taking turns washing the dinner dishes. After that, dinner was over and the three headed up to their respective bedrooms to count sheep. The sun fell from the sky, darkness and snores filled the house. The middle of the night came, everyone should’ve been quietly sleeping with full bellies, however, Tina awoke in panic, something was clinching his arm with great force. Tina tried to break away wiggling and jerking, but the grasp on his arm was too strong. He blindly fumbled his free arm around in the dark looking for the light on his night stand. Finally finding the switch, the lights came on, and his Father, Woody, appeared, kneeled at his Son’s bedside choking the life out of his Son’s arm.

Tina: Daddy?

Woody: Go to sleep, honey.

Easier said then done. Besides being a bit freaked out by the nighttime encounter, he found it quite painful to drift off to dream land with a grown man cutting off the blood to his arm. What was his Father doing? He dared to question his wisdom. With a deep trust for Woody, Tina awkwardly sighed and cut the lights. He laid there, clinching teeth to fight a shriek from escaping his mouth, bearing the pain; wondering what purpose his Father had in strangling his arm. He would soon understand, listening to soft whispers of the night coming from his Father.

Woody: Help me, Lord. Give me the strength to stand up and walk away from this. It’s a sin to abandoned your Wife and Daughter, but if you could only forgive me, if you could only understand. It’s not them I’m afraid of, it’s me.

His arm, nearly blue, showed signs of life once his Father released his grip. Tina clutched his swollen arm into his side trying to massage the pain away and to hopefully get some blood flowing back through it. Woody stood to his feet over the bedside, looking down at his Son, his special little girl.

Woody: No-no.. I-

Father and Son stared at one another, a long lasting second of disapproval shading Woody’s face. The stare broke, a fluffy pillow pushed against Tina’s face and ceased flow of air from his nostrils and mouth. He gasped enough air in to release a cry of help. The smothering plea did no good, his Father had his mind set on pushing every last breath out of his Son tonight. Like his face, Tina’s world went black and blue. A short life flashed before his eyes and he felt himself slowly tighten in deaths grip. Just before his eyes could fully glaze over, he caught the glimpse of an Angel standing in the bedroom doorway. The Angel gently spoke out, her soft words interrupting Woody from smothering his Son.

Angel: I forgot to put the hotdog’s in the fridge. They’re probably spoiled now. I’ll fix another pack.

Getting a few needed breaths of air in now, Tina’s brain began fully functioning again and he realized the Angel had been his Mother. She turned away from the door and headed down the stairs to the kitchen, the attempted murder of her only Son having no effect on her. Tina weakly edged away from his Father, clinching the blankets to his terrified face. His Father ceased the encounter, dropping all attention on the boy and storming off after his Wife.

Woody: You left the fuckin’ hotdog’s out again? You stupid bitch.

The echo of a frying pan thudding off human skull made it’s way to Tina’s ears. He clutched his bruised arm, rolled over in bed, and peacefully went to sleep.

Cooties
She’Girl’Sweet’Soft’Gentle’Woman’Crotch’Fish

Upon opening of the cameras, the audience/viewers are given a close up, a face neatly tucked inside of a furry meat stick. He focuses a stare into the camera, his eyes lit up and wide as the cheesy grin he has.

Hotdog Mascot: Do the wiggle, do the wiggle, do the wiggleeee. Do the wiggle, do the wiggle, do the wiggleeee.

Panning out the scene comes to life. The Hotdog Mascot inside a room full of children, cornball music playing too loud in the background, a man in a hotdog costume hula-hooping, mouthing the words of the kiddy song in a bright colored room with kids that circle and dance around him. The plastic saucer roped around his bunish midsection twirls in rhythm with his bunish circling hips. The kids groan in disappointment when the music abruptly stops. Hotdog Mascot also shares the same pain, crossing his breaded arms, the hula-hoop falling to his feet. The groaning upset kids continue their bratty moans while Mascot turns his once smiling face into an evil frown. Reluctantly, children keep the routine dancing circle going around the Mascot, only, they aren’t as excited as they were before. Stalking the camera, the Mascot tiptoes over to the screen, once again giving the audience/viewers a close up of his oily face.

Hotdog Mascot: Well—

His eyes lit up once more, the music picks up where it left off.

Hotdog Mascot: Do the wiggle, do the wiggle, do the wiggleeee.

Turning, the Mascot’s bunish back blocks view of the rooms surroundings and what’s going on in front of him. He stays in place, dancing, keeping a blind spot on the camera. The viewers are left with nothing to view but the back of a hotdog bun and the annoying noise of kitty music. This keeps up for minutes, a long horrible amount of time for eighty percent of anyone watching to want to click off and change the channel. Finally, however, when the Hotdog Mascot moves away from the camera to open up the rest of the room; all the female children sit Indian style on the rainbow rug rubbing slimy trout on their genital areas. The Mascot picks up a fish as well, it slips around in his gloved hands at first, but, eventually he gets control of the slippery devil and ropes it back and fourth between his bunish inner thighs. His eyes fall back on the camera from across the room.

Hotdog Mascot: Buns of Steel? We can play that game, Petrova. It’s for us! We have similarities, obviously. We have.. Buns of Steel.. and Fishie Crotch. Can it be two matches into one?

The kids cheer whom are still applying fish on their crotches. Mascot does the same.

Hotdog Mascot: Anastasia Petrova, wanna play?

The bunned man stalks the camera once again, getting real close to show everyone his nasty look.

Hotdog Mascot: H’m? Ana? Do the wiggle, do the wiggle, do the wiggleee.

He immediately laughs into the camera and goes back into rhythm of the song, little beads of spit shooting from his mouth onto the lens during bursts of giggles. The camera cuts.