Dreams Screams And Facebook (flat Story)

Here is An ultra-surrealistic flash.
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A room, a man, a giant bug, and a partridge in an apple tree. It transpired on the strangest day in the life of Plato Copernicus, a thirty year old postal worker from Casablanca, Morocco, in the year 6,666, a dark, wet, misty night, when all the bizarre things were happening.
The boogeyman was on the prowl, and the witches of cerebral hemorrhages were flying through the cosmic portal on their journey to confront Victor Gootenburger about his affiliation with alien gargoyles, who lived on top of Mount Vesuvius.

"Do you comprehend the urgency of the dire, and most moot situation?"

“Yes I do.” A strange voice echoed through the deep gorge near the Kroil Tonman Library, the one in possession of Truman Capote’s masterwork diatribe, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf’s Mother-In-Law?

Withered leaves of tethered trees amongst the forests of the Amazon would wait for you, and your merry band of Apocalyptic nightmares.
If you have any questions, don’t call us. We’re like Facebook. We don’t answer our phones. Much too busy counting our hard earned money.

“A final thought before I bid you adieu. Please give my regards to Broadway, and don’t tell them where I am.”

“I will comply with your wishes. Just out of curiosity, who are you, and where are you hiding?”

“Sorry, can’t tell you. It has come to my attention, you are gathering information, so you can write a book about me.
I don’t reveal myself to people who lie.”

The bad little man with a rotten attitude, sweaty face, and uncombed black hair, had come to a logical realization, all good things come to you at a price.
Negative thinking at its best.
Sling was ready to give in, and surrender to the real world. No more daydreams for the moment. His foolishness had gotten him into trouble, again. Yes, pull up your pants, and paint a smile on your sad face, and apologize.

Sling pressed his hands against the door, bit his tongue, and yelled out in a sincere, deep voice, fraught with desperation, and the urgent need for freedom from the red walls, with Dr. Seuss rhymes written in yellow marker pen, all over them, a leftover from happier days gone by. His prison cell was finally closing in on him, and claustrophobia had grasped him tightly, and wouldn’t let him go.

“Mother! I promise not to post anymore derogatory stuff about my little brother all over Facebook. I guess that naked picture of him taking a bath was kinda of stupid, too. Can I please come out of my bedroom now?" He turned his lips up, forcing a fake smile, put a hand over his mouth, and quietly snickered. It had been three hours since his laptop and cell phone had been taken away. Saturday, and he couldn't get on Facebook. It was driving him crazy.

A minute or so went by, and a familiar voice could be heard from the other side of the closed door. It was Johnny, his little brother, trying hard not to laugh. “Mommy said to tell you, two more hours. Supper will be ready then. But no Facebook until tomorrow.”
He walked away, chuckling to himself.

“Shit! I hate you Jonny "

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