AcmeShorts

Upon walking into Levitz and finding the Colonial settees of yesteryear replaced by a new line of pleather patio furniture, Andrew became aware of a foreboding sense of emptiness. This was replaced by an equally foreboding sense of emptiness--precisely the same feeling, actually, and thereby hard to fathom why it needed to be distinguished from the original one. Disoriented by this, Andrew slumped into the hollow of an enormous half-priced beanbag. He struggled to suppress the flashback that began to emerge, but wavy lines and the strum of a zither were spliced in, and a ghastly 1957 scene firmly implanted itself into his mind's eye:

Three small overturned Dixie cups sat in a row on Dr. Dunson's desk. Andrew could not look away from the doctor's piercing gaze. A high pitched whining and the sound of running water could be heard from the next room. Dunson's unibrow shifted slightly, causing a pang of fear to ricochet around Andrew's body and settle in his perineum: It was time to choose.

Hand trembling, the small boy at last pointed to the third cup. Dr. Dunson lifted it.

There it was: the tiny plastic boat.

"No!" screamed Andrew.

"Perhaps you'd be interested in one of our inflatable models, then?" A raspy voice jerked Andrew out of his trance. How long had the ancient salesman been standing next to him? Andrew tried to jump up, but found himself helplessly enmeshed in the clutches of the amorphous beanbag. A beat passed. Then Andrew's gaze fell on the salesman's nametag. Could it be? His jaw fell open in horror. Before he could shut it again, a familiar pockmarked shaft darted out from the salesman's trousers like a snake, and slid down Andrew's gullet. Fat lot of good his defrocking by the ADA did me, thought Andrew bitterly as the misshapen cock's salty, Viagra-enhanced contents were deposited deep into his esophagus. Not even a prize this time.