"Well, bikini-wax my taint!" Grandma said. She'd never seen tomatoes grow so big, or so neon purple for that matter.
"Must be somethin' to do with that weird meteor that landed in Potter's Grove last night is all I can figure." Grandpa said, scratching his forehead. "Saw a squirrel the size of a small child having sex with one of them glowing, red watermelons this morning. And I mean that sucker was really going to town."
"You think that meteor is responsible for that new roller disco in our front yard that mysteriously appeared this morning?" I asked Grandpa.
"Only way I can figure it." Grandpa said.
"Never seen so many faggots in gold shorts and fishnet tank tops in my life!" Grandma said. "If we don't shoo them off we'll be up to our necks in semen by tomorrow!"
The aforementioned meteor had plunged out of the sky last night shooting a trail of hot blue flame behind it as it crashed into the hard earth of Potter's Grove at what I estimate to have been about ten thirty PM. Grandpa and I had driven the truck out to take a closer look and less than a mile from our farm had come upon the strangest site my young eyes had ever seen. The meteor itself looked to be about seven feet around in circumference and was a glowing shade of what I can only describe as a sickly lime green. There was an audible hum emanating from the core of the thing that sent an unpleasant throbbing into our bowels and caused us to crap our pants whenever we came within five feet of its mass. By morning the entire span of Derringer Springs seemed to have been transformed into a kind of freakish, supernatural wonderland. Everywhere grotesque mushrooms sprouted ten feet high in the most repulsive colors and shapes imaginable, and our previously beloved vegetable garden had now been transformed into a twisted jungle of otherworldly mutations. Sometime in the night my cat, Petey had also grown to the size of a mountain lion and sprouted a small humanoid head from his neck that reported the local traffic and weather conditions every hour on the hour. The two-headed monstrosity had stolen a pair of Grandpa's coveralls from the clothes line and put them on, afterward repeatedly asking me if they made its ass look fat.
"Good Gravy! Those used to be my green beans!" Grandma said, pointing at several greenish, oblong-shaped creatures wearing toupees and making love to an upright piano. "Fuck a duck, Joe. You'd better break out the old theremin for this shit."
"Theremin's in the shop, Nancy." Grandpa said, eyeing our apple tree, which was now dressed in a white tuxedo and furiously masturbating to a "Tiny Bubbles, Don Ho's Greatest Hits" record album cover.
"Wonder how far this is gonna spread." I said, noticing that my left foot had mutated into what looked like a fried chicken wearing a lobster bib.
"Bad time to have the theremin in the shop, Joe." Grandma said, then began to perform her own high-pitched humming version of the musical notes of the instrument to accompany the strange goings-on taking place before our eyes.
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