Chaos in the city. For thousands, the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade is a marker of humility, pageantry, and joy. For the five hundred orphans crushed to death by the Garfield float, the day was nothing but carnage.
The screams. Oh, the screams.
49 feet high. 50 feet long. 35 feet wide. 14,000 cubic feet of helium.
These dimensions will be etched into the tombstones of 500 little ones.
It started like any other parade, that is to say, pretty boring and long. Mothers held their sons; fathers wandered off in search of a Diet Coke. Little girls look up at Tom Turkey, feeling their tummies growl. They want to eat the bird.
You know who else is hungry? The 500 orphans crawling over each other to see the big balloons. This was the first time they had seen sunlight in years. Their cruel, uncaring headmistress watches on as the scramble for candy scattered on the street. This will be the only food they’ve had for weeks. These weren’t just orphans; they were little angels.
500 pairs of eyes welled with tears as they took in the shapes of the clouds and the birds in the sky. A millionaire passed by and offered the orphans an indescribable amount of money and a cushy life. The orphans turned him down; they told him to give the money to stray dogs instead. Headmistress spun around, and sprinkler slapped every orphan with a bible made of rusty nails and shattered glass. They thanked her for her mercy.
You can feel him before you see him. Garfield. Around the corner comes a big pink nose. The crowd goes nuts. They chant “Lasagna! Lasagna!” The Garfield balloon smiles his vinyl smile. His eyes cold and full of hate. In a move still being figured out by the FBI (female body inspectors), Garfield is cut loose. It’s a rampage. The orphans (all 500 of them) rush to push an elderly woman out of the way as Snoopy watches on. Orange fur is stained red. Teeth that will never chatter again spill out between his paws.
Where do we go from here? How do we recover as a nation? Is there a god?
No.
Garfield giveth and Garfield taketh.