De Los Muertos...

Today's Day of the Dead celebration has taken on a decidedly Tiki vibe. I don't exactly know why it decided to do that, but it did. There's torches scattered about, a nice fire-pit with a skewered pig, a spoooky old mask smoking over in the corner, next to the faux volcano. And of course, the spirits...the place is laden with 'em.

The fact that the party took place in the top floor of Mr. Head-Honcho's Hollywood penthouse of course, didn't make any bit of difference. I showed up clutching my invitation (which I had been clutching since the day I got it over two weeks ago. In Hollywood, you don't often get invitations to Mr. Head-Honcho's Hollywood extravaganzas all that often.) It was a small square of paper that had all the appropriate "invitation" stuff on it, but underneath was written "Get Freaky at the Tiki!" Which, I thought was a nice touch.

Anyways, I walked through the joint sizing up the crowd, and the kind of taste having a bajillion dollars can buy a fella'. I hit the bar, and got something with a mess of rum in it, and was about to saunter over to the girl with the leis, when an arm like a vice latched onto my shoulder.
"Hey Tsunami, great you could make it."
Holy-Smoke! It was Mr. Head-Honcho in the flesh! He was the kind of guy that advertised the benefits of having a personal trainer and a kick-ass dental plan. He also had a good tailor.
"Uh, sure Chief." I said. He was the kind of guy that wouldn't slander the title "Chief" if you called him that.

He walked me over to a staircase, and we went up to the roof, sauntered across it, and came to rest at the edge, looking out over the lights of Los Ang-el-eeze.
"Tsunami," He began, "I'm feeling empty. Lately, things just haven't filled me up. I can feel it, like I've got a hole in my soul, and I don't know what to do about it."
"Chief, you've got a hundred flunkies, and a thousand friends, mind my asking, why yer dropping this on me?"
"Well-hell, those kids...they've got spirit all right, but most of them can't handle the heavy stuff. I need someone that's got some soul to deal with this heavy sitch-u-ation. That's you."

I took a sip of drink, and thought, "Crap." I didn't want this problem, and most of all, I didn't want to be type-cast. However, it seemed I had no choice.
"Oh." I said, summoning up my best guru-vibe. "See, yer dealin' with a common post-modern combination of enui and the lack of personal awareness that comes from mirroring yourself in too many mass-media archetypes."

To our left, there was a loud thump. I looked over, and climbing over the rail of the roof, were seven strange, lurching ninja-clad men. Strange mechanical sounds came from them as they moved to surround us.
"Um, what are those?" I asked.
"Oh, don't worry about it," He said, "They're just zombie robot ninjas. I cut them out of the last picture, and they've been sorta pissed about it."
"Will they hurt us?" I enquired.
"They'll certainly kill us if we give them half-a-chance. Watch my back." He said, moving off. I dropped my drink and we lined up back-to-back. Three came forward. He lashed out with a massive right, breaking the jaw of a zombie robot ninja. The second rushed at me, I kicked out at waist-high level, and felt a satisfying crack around the pelvis. The third stopped and moved back to regroup with the other four.
"That's very interesting," Mr. Head-Honcho spoke, "Please continue with your narrative."
"See," I began uneasily as the zombie robot ninjas fiddled in their black ninja suits. "You're busy watching Indiana Jones, or Bart Simpson, or James Bond, and subconsciously you're identifying with the struggles that they're going through. Only their struggles are well-defined, by a writer, years before...they're going to get through them. However, since you're not them, your own actions seem weak, watery, unsure. You're just muddling through..."
He cut me off, "Hang on a sec. This is going to get tricky."

Sure enough, the zombie ninja robots had fiddled around and pulled out throwing stars! They adopted a semi-circle around us...and threw 'em.

Well, there was a lot of crazy jerking I put my body through...and I'm sure I'm going to feel some weird muscles tomorrow...but, apart from a clipped ear, and ripped shirt, I was unhurt. Of course Mr. Head-Honcho was fine. He then made a springing jump, and crushed one of the zombie ninja robots under two feet. Then he picked up the body, and swung it at the other three. It caught two, and the last one ran off to the edge with the sound of gimbles and servers. "YOU'LL NEVER WORK IN THIS TOWN AGAIN!" Head-Honcho shouted after him.

Then he turned to me with a perfectly calm tone-of-voice. "So you're saying because of our culture, I'm bound to feel this way, sooner or later?"
"Yeah. All of us get this way, but most of us don't have a bajillion bucks to make it go away. Go by a car, or apartment complex...or you could pick up a new hobby. Shopping's easier tho."

"Wow. Thanks Tsunami, this helps alot."
"Sure buddy."
He turned his back to me, and started walking for the stairs. "Well, enjoy the party, I've really got to mingle."
"You bet," I said, leaning on the rail, and noticing sadly, my drink had spilled. Then one of the zombie ninja robots began to move, trying to function with broken limbs. I scampered across the roof, and down the stairs. I thought, "It's a crazy town, El-Ay, anything can happen here." A grass-clad woman walked by with a tray of appetizers.
"Hey," I asked excitedly, "Is that Hawaiian pizza!?"