Attack Of The Gigantic Cigarette Machine Art Exhibit

As the scenic natural racecourse found itself threatened by darkness, both Cora and Tina confirmed the full marathon was no longer being dealt with as a climatic conclusion. But the true training exercise stoppage excuse, seemed a very important priority since the luring off the main commitment road distraction, provided the two healthy recreation enthusiasts with pertinent, honest information.

“What are we supposed to do when a gigantic cigarette machine ballooned art exhibit attacks?” Cora inquired.

“Run,” Tina answered then paused, “in the other direction.”

Unleashing sweat and emotion, the two scampered onto Milan’s museum’s porch pounding the wooden door, requesting entrance.

“We need protection!”

“I do not sell sunscreen,” Milan screamed back.

“From Martha, your sister,”

“What did she do?” Cora and Tina listened, as Milan threw open the rickety splintering entry.

“The unthinkable,” they said in unison, “unleashed the Gigantic Cigarette Balloon Machine art exhibit.”

“What?”

“She wanted the contraption to fly, so everyone could get high,”

“You all need some pasta, it will make you think clearly,”

“Won’t it put us to sleep?” Cora honestly commented.

“No, it needs wine to do that,” Tina added.

“Bottle still has plenty of intoxication,” Milan notified, guiding both towards the kitchen.

Filling bowls Cora and Tina took a seat, “she told us about why she has her one-bedroom apartment in the sticks.”

“No bigger than my sleeping quarters bordering history, outside the trees,”

Shrugging shoulders, Cora and Tina started the fork twist and twirl routine, “apparently, you two are opposite characters.”

“She puts on a show, and I play to win,”

“No, matter how boring the paid ticket stadium seating spectacle ends up like many professional championship big games?” Cora commented.

Peering up from the plate, Milan expressed, “exactly what does a marathon runner accomplish, besides shutting down streets.”

“Allow guys like Milan to study tight shorts and examine our leg muscles get a workout.” Tina acknowledged.

“Okay, okay,” Milan surrendered, “what is my sister doing?”

“She created a flight plan and now the gigantic cigarette machine art exhibit has escaped its venue,” Cora explained.

“Did she say where it is going?”

“Probably downtown, where it will light one up like the Marlboro Man after a full day ranching and loitering around tending to beefcake needs,” Tina glassy eyes stared.

“Tina, are you done with the meat sauce?” Cora inquired.

“No,”

Standing up Milan collected the empty plates, “what do you think we should do?”

“About?”

“The gigantic cigarette machine balloon artistic exhibit,”

“Puff the magic dragon,” Tina began singing.

“Snap out of it,” Cora warned noticing a plastic straw idle, occupying table space, “I got an idea, hey puff and stuff.”

“What?” Tina watched Cora glare, towards the straw, “you think it will work?”

“Remember one eyed jack,” reminded Cora.

“He will never pull that card from his deck again,” Tina reflected.

Each grabbing a disposable sipping tube, Milan stood still observing Cora and Tina head towards the balcony, “what are you going to do with those?”

“Ammunition,” Both replied simultaneously.

When Cora and Tina reached the railed off seating area, Milan turned down the lights and the two sat there, licking and spitting the paper before inserting little balls into the straws.

“You ready, Cora,”

“Sure am, Tina,”

It did not take long until festive music filled the air, and an illuminated unidentified flying object danced through the skies, “’Look!’ At that, she added show tunes.”

“Make it all look fine,” Tina clarified kissing the plastic, “fire one.”

“Fire two,” Cora retaliated blowing twice.

Suddenly, the sight to be seen stopped and dropped, crashing towards earth, “Problem solved,” Cora announced.

“Party is all over,” Tina observed, “Martha’s backyard.”

“Good job ladies,” Milan complemented, “Do you want to spend the night?”

“I got the couch,” Cora called.

“I am not going to move from this spot,” Tina proclaimed, “cigarettes may come back from the dead, searching for a beer.”