Ode to the Sanctimonious Sally

I was cleaning out the basement yesterday, and I came across a scrapbook I had made dedicated to my hovercraft. Flipping through that book brought back a lot of wonderful images and memories. I'd like to share one.

I was recklessly zipping across the majestic Manitoban plain. The wind squeezing through the gaps in my teeth and down my throat. Occasionally my stomach would force the air back up as a sickening belch that tasted of ketchup chips, lime margaritas, and the thousands of mosquitoes I had swallowed along the way. Just such a belch was knocked out of me as I careened over two sleeping cats that were sent rolling over through the grass a few dozen times before they could even look bewildered. The belch brought with it a small pool of wretched liquid that made me gag, swallow, and burp again.

"You stink, lady," said Nestor Nutchise, the Italian cyborg sitting in the passenger seat of the hovercraft, as he watched a family of wild guinea pigs flee from the large ominous machine as it barreled towards them, bringing them ever closer to their deaths.

“Sorry... that was a nasty one!" I exclaimed, as I reached around back for my Big Gulp to wash out the taste. And a brief moment of distraction was all that Jorge, the well-fed steer belonging to Farmer McGee needed. He'd been waiting a long time to exact his revenge on us for the embarrassment that was the Balless Bulls Ball, and here, at last, it was. With the dexterity rarely seen in a ruminant his size, he leaped out from behind the rock where he was hiding, and pierced the bottom of my hovercraft.

The Sanctimonious Sally started spinning out of control. With my full attention now at the wheel I tried to pull the craft away from Pointy Plants Plains, but to no avail. “We’re all going to die!” screamed Nestor, and promptly fainted. The lives of the modern dance troupe were in my hands. Thinking quickly, I picked up Nestor and ordered everyone to grab one of the several life-sized Don Henley cutouts that were to decorate the old town hall where we were performing that night, and use it as a makeshift sled to slide to safety.

Pip and Carob, the amazing conjoined cannabalistic contortionists, realized that there were two less Don Henley cutouts than there were passengers, and resigned themselves to go down with the Sally. As the rest of us jettisoned from the craft and slid softly to a halt in small piles of feces, the twins performed one last interpretive dance that they liked to call "squirrels in pearls" before the Sanctimonious Sally went up in a ball of flames.