If centipedes could talk ….

I don’t know if we’d bother to listen. Yeah, that’s a centipede on the table and a duck in the sauce pan. Or is it a swan? Bauhaus Ben, the Pennsylvania puzzler, whose work is rarely confused with Andrew Wyeth, comes up with this kitchen group, where it’s so quiet you can hear the myriapods speaking. If only they were funny.

With swan soup on the stove, Benny the Centipede doing stand-up, and Jennie with her wrench, the party at Nan’s place was getting hearty in a hurry.

That damn duck again! She got into everything! Jennie gripped the wrench convulsively. This time, things would be different.

“What a crowd! Where am I, Nerd Central? What’s the matter, kids, did you inherit Steve Jobs’ liver?”

“I get laughs, or the duck gets to eat me? Wow, tough room!”

Brad struggled to control the hologram, but its patter grew increasingly off-color. Quality control at the app store had taken a nose dive since Stevie’s death.

Nan stared at Brad, but he refused to meet her gaze. He was in hologram heaven, and Jennie had the wrench. It was a stand-off.

Jeremy stared at the bug. LSD made everything so clear. His parents were fucking insane. He could only save himself. Jennie was on her own.

“Nice tee-shirt, kid. You look like Norman Bates’ younger brother. Get out of my face and go open a motel.”

Brad’s doppelganger hovered at Nan’s shoulder, stuck in mid-sentence. Trying to download a hologram on AOL 9.7 was proving to be an outright disaster.

“Are you guys statues, is that it? I haven’t bombed this badly since I danced the Macarena with Al Gore!”