It was a silent opera of glowsticks at Earth's 7,467,881st rave (the DJ failed to show) when a baldspot appeared on my hairjeans. Then I remembered the carnie sniffing at the child, a hex to be delivered: the future would hold a classic Jewish whipping and the ghost's surprise vajj.
A gift from Zeus, who had returned after so many years: a mighty cumbubble to replace the Epcot Center and the reanimation of Edie Sedgwick, who had no idea what to do with herself, spending her days sleeping in a pool again and her nights wondering "where did the gang go off to?"
A laser shone from the forest. They had returned as well.
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