9:30 am | 20 June 2003 | castle of my dreams II

Tape: The grass is drizzled with morning dew that tastes like sugar, and in my castle the evening menus consists purely of non-weight gaining starches which I eat in splendor when the music plays...

Claude: ..."My Beautiful Balloon," which it does over and over, until finally we get sick of it. I clap my hands twice, summoning A-Ha, who live in some cottages out back. "My sister demands sweet music!" I announce regally, and they are so delighted to be playing for us that they almost tremble. They sing 'Take On Me' thirteen times in a row, sometimes adjusting the lyrics to better match us, and then we let them rest. While I lounge on a hammock (and Kyle MacLachlan files my toenails with an emery board made of diamond dust), i turn to you and say...

Tape: "Bring me the head of Leonardo DiCaprio!" in the similar style you've said it a hundred times past. I look at you, eyes squinting from the glow of the giant "LIVE NUDES" sign that hangs above the bar made of platinum,and I say, "Where's the cheese?" because you have seemingly forgotten the most essential dairy. You blink, and a platter of brie floats before my face. "I'll ravage this like a kitten on a scratching post." Jennifer Love Hewitt is summoned before us, and we kick the crap out of her as she stands there. Then the doorbell rings...

Claude: ...and whaddya know, it's Trishelle from the Real World Las Vegas, wearing a skirt cut up to the cookie and one of those tops that's basically an Ace Bandage with strings in the back. "Um, i was, like, wondering if you wanted to, like, get in the hot tub?" she says, vacantly, and with lightning-quickness i slap the SLUNT ALERT button. A team of Oompa-Loompas pours out of a trapdoor, wraps her quickly in duct tape, and hauls her away. "Phew," i say, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand, "that was a close one." You grin and dig into the brie, while i pull a fist-sized glob of no-bake chocolate-oatmeal drop cookies out of a nearby shrub. "Mmmm," we say in unison. I stretch and yawn. "I could use a nap," i say to you, and you nod. You open the door...

Tape: ...and smoke comes blowing through, in the shapes of rabbits, camels and caterpillars. We've walked into the hooka den, and there on your bed sits Jake Gyllenhaal. "I heard you fancied me," he says, twinkling eyes reinforcing this message, "and I have to tell you, I want you too. But first we must destroy Kirsten Dunst. I can't stand her needy, self-obsessed ways any longer. She must be destroyed with my proton-charged brat-starlet annihilator." I lead the mission, for I have the deadliest aim, and no one can take me down. We step into our time transport machine, which is really just the phone booth from "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure," acquired one night after I beat Keanu at...

Claude: ...strip poker (when he saw your boobies he forgot how to play), and we hurtle backwards in time to July 1937, where i convince Amelia Earhart not to go on that flight, but to go shopping with us instead. What a relief! We head to Saks Fifth and stock up on leather caps, goggles, and silk scarves, and drop her off at home. "Seeya!" we wave from the Time Machine, and when we get home, we have giant banana splits--yours has mint chocolate-chip ice cream, and mine skips the ice cream (you know i don't really like ice cream all that well) and is just a bowl of fudge and nuts, oh boy oh boy. We toss the dishes on the conveyor belt that leads into the basement (that's where all the dirty dishes, laundry, etc. go--it's returned to us within two hours, clean, dry and fresh) and flick on the television. Lo and behold, it's...

Tape: ..."American Gladiators!" Nitro darts in and out of the gauntlet as the computer geek of the week tries to beat him. "I LOVE THIS SHOW!" I say, but now it's time for croquet. Our Oompa Loompas have set up a lovely course on the lawn and we nail every shot. It's a tie, because we're both so awesome. After the game we make way to the pool, filled to the brim with Cool-Whip. It's temperature-controlled and self-cleaning so the Whip never goes bad AND it's still eatable. Snoop Dogg's poolside as well, sipping on gin and juice and...

Claude:...he gives us a nod. "What's up, my nizzies," he drawls, and we toast him with our fancy tropical drinks. Actually, you have a fancy tropical drink�I just have a tumbler of whiskey, but it's garnished with a giant gold C encrusted with diamonds, so it's still blingalicious, know what i'm sayin? "It's time to make dinner plans," i say to you, and you nod. After mild debate, we decide to head to our favourite eatery, so we slip into our fat pants (but they are Gucci fat pants so they are still awesome) and step into our conveyance, which is basically like a cross between a ski lift and the Space Needle: it's a round pod-type cable-suspended device that rotates 360� while it takes us westward at precisely the speed at which the Earth rotates. Also it has a bar. Since we left at the exact moment of sunset, and are heading west, the sunset itself lasts for two hours, and we take turns admiring it and playing Duck Hunt on giant screens in the core of the hub. Finally we arrive at Les Pantalons, an exclusive 15-star eatery perched on the tippy-top of the Golden Gate Bridge's western support. We step out...

Tape:...and are greeted by a dozen penguins, a la "Mary Poppins" style. Dick Van Dyke is also on hand and softly croons "Chim Chimney" as we make our way to a table. It is a giant rotating bed which has a counter top all around its border lined with all our favorite foods. We operate it so that when we're done with one food, we can move straight onto another. After dinner we rub our bellies which magically shrink as if we've never eaten anything. We get word that there is a screening of "The Lost Boys" in Golden Gate Park, so we get on our Vespa scooters and head over. Mine is black and red, embellished with mini skull and crossbones. Yours is powder blue and has little colorful birdies all over. On the way to the park we find a giant warehouse booming loud sounds and from the window hangs out...

Claude: ...Karl Hyde, my secret boyfriend from Underworld, and Paul Oakenfold, who will be your imaginary techno BF for the night. They sample our rude shouts into the sweetest, coolest, dopest tracks ever, and then MC Paul Barman shows up and lays down some fresh rhymes. "The Tape Wizard/is hotter than Eddie Izzard/she's drinking up some peach schnapps/everybody beatbox/to the sistah that is Claude/i've heard she's pretty maud/lin when she has a drink/but it's too soon to think/of which girl i wanna get with/so i'll just make a hit with/rhymes that come by chance/Paul makes you wanna dance/so let's all drop our pants*." And on, and on, until the break-a-break of dawn. Y'all.

THE END

*with apologies to MCPB