Coo Coo Cola

The rainbow passed between mountain peaks and splashed upon the shore. The colors subsided, revealing the image of Mother Ayahuasca pacing the beach in Victorian dress, oversized parasol over her shoulder. The wind ruffled but didn’t loosen her wide-brimmed hat, her long blonde hair, large pink ears and slender tail. 

She was a mouse. 

(Gadget Hackwrench to be exact.)

Mother/Gadget closed and jammed the giant cocktail umbrella into the sand and in two quick strides was kneeling, caressing my head in her hands. 

Err, paws.

“It’s Okay, Dave. It’s over now.” She brushes sweaty hair from my forehead. Taking away the tears, incelibacy and self-abuse along with it.

“I think,” I stammer, “I did it all for you.”

“I know. I was watching.”

“I never hurt no one but myself.”

She stands. I take an outstretched paw and we run down the beach to where a bleach-bottle zeppelin awaits us.