Flash Fiction Month 2016, Day 20
Challenge #9: Write surrealist comedy featuring a deity, an ex-lover, and a machine. The conflict of the story must be resolved using a Deus ex Machina.
It was an exceptionally hot day in the golf course at the centre of the earth, and so Salvador Dali’s moustache was enjoying a nice cool dip in the local clock.
“Swim, swim, swim,” said Salvador Dali’s moustache, content in the knowledge that nothing at all could possibly disturb the serenity of this lovely scene.
But suddenly, Adolf Hitler’s evil moustache appeared, wielding a doomsday device!
“Egad!” cried Salvador Dali’s moustache, “I thought Hitler got blasted into smithereens (and you onto some guy’s glasses) on July 17th!”
“A very astute and metaliterarily amusing observation,” observed Hitler’s moustache. “Except that I am not Hitler’s moustache,” continued not-Hitler’s moustache. “I am Charlie Chaplin’s moustache!”
Salvador Dali’s moustache raised a mousteyebrow. “I’m a little confused,” he said. “Was Charlie Chaplin’s moustache also evil, or…”
“I’ve got a doomsday device!!!” shouted Charlie Chaplin’s moustache. “Of course I’m evil!”
“It’s just that Hitler is widely considered the worst person ever, while Charlie Chaplin was a beloved…”
“Charlie Chaplin was not evil, but I, his moustache, am!!!”
“Very well, then.” Salvador Dali’s moustache quickly submerged, then just as quickly surfaced again, dripping with clock juice and brandishing a length of pipe. “I have a pipe and I’m not afraid to use it!”
“You call that a pipe?” cried Charlie Chaplin’s moustache, whipping out a pipe of his own. “This is a pipe!”
“Actually,” observed Salvador Dali’s moustache, “neither of us have pipes. We only have literary representations of pipes.”
“So that’s the surrealist humour out of the way, then?” asked Charlie Chaplin’s moustache, checking his watch.
“I think so.”
“Excellent!” and he pressed the big red button on the doomsday device.
Suddenly, Matt Lucas’ lady wig popped out of Charlie Chaplin’s moustache’s diabolical machine.
“I’m a lady!” bellowed Matt Lucas’ lady wig.
“Well that was unexpected,” said Salvador Dali’s moustache.
“ACTUALLY IT’S NOT,” said God. “THAT’S MY EX WIFE. SHE TURNS UP AT THE WORST POSSIBLE TIMES. NATURALLY DOOMSDAY IS THE WORST POSSIBLE TIME ALL ROUND.”
“Oh,” said Salvador Dali’s moustache. “So it’s a deus’ ex’s machine, eh?”
“Ugh!” Suddenly, Charlie Chaplin’s evil moustache unplugged his machine, prompting Matt Lucas’ lady wig to vanish in a puff of convenience. “I may be evil, but I won’t be involved in wordplay that lame!”
And so the world was saved, I guess.
Story over. Now get off my lawn.