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Welcome to the Nightmare Factory

10/31/2014

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Welcome!  Come in.  Have a seat.  No need to be shy. 

I know, I know -- I look a fright.  Care to know why?

I'm not used to wearing this skin. 

It sags and is so terribly thin.

Not to mention

I've been here since 4 in the morning,

Plowing through the tedious and boring. 

My wife is always preaching

On the verge of sobbing screeching,

"You're on track to a heart attack."

I should take a vacation,

but -- do you know the difference

Between a job and a vocation?

One is just work, the other a calling.

The type of thing

Where someone who loves to sing

Works as a waitress.

Anyway, I've reviewed your application.

Right off I thought,

"Hold the phone, don't change the station."

Let's get down to it.

No bullshit.

We need people like you.

No one else will do.

Come on.  I'll show you the factory floor.

We've been in business, oh,

250 years or more.

Others have come before,

But few inclined

To spend their time

On pure horror.

We pride ourselves on producing

Since we began

Nothing less than

One hundred percent

dripping sweat terror,

many we were the first to invent.

Now over there

You'll see an assembly line

Putting together those brutes who stalk,

And even though they only walk

They're the ones

You can't outrun.

Decade after decade,

A hockey masked brigade

Marching a sleep killing parade --

We can't make 'em fast enough.

Hop in this cart,

and we'll continue

To the next part.

It's more than a few miles

between here and another

Division.

The company

Has grown annually

Since we opened shop,

And shows no sign

We're going to stop.

Already 234 miles square,

Every inch devoted to nightmare.

We make it top grade:

Zombies plucked from the grave,

Witches casting every hex,

Epic public fails at sex,

Dead loved ones return

To berate,

Dragging nerves

Across a rusty grate.

Haunted mansions,

Horrific dental sessions,

Oceans to drown in,

Overflowing trash bins,

Screams and adrenaline.

Know that sense

The dream might be real?

Thanks to Abraham von Ziehl,

We produce to please,

Shadow of the Sword

Of Damocles.

More potent than any other on the market.

Fall asleep in love, and awake broken hearted.

Now we'll start you off simple

Showing kids their parents

As corpses;

Attack them with

Cartoon horses;

And don't be afraid

To suggest

Improvements you feel

Should be expressed.

No one's going to take you out to the shed,

Beat you till you lose your head.

We can always use
New angles, new merchandize

To commercialize.

Doesn't have to be globally applicable,

Or overwhelmingly despicable.

A scare to whiten hair

Is all well and good,

But so long as it could

Cause a fright

You're doing it right.

Hell, while we're on such topics

Check out the classics.

People get to 85,

And still barely survive

The dreads instilled by schools

Which are among

Our most consistent tools.

To be honest,

I think the more real the better.

Sure, a knife wielding clown

Will get the bed wetter

Than a beloved granny's frown,

But one can last for days

While the other

Quickly fades.

Because it isn't just about the product

It's the customer.

Any age, him or her

That's who

We're here to serve.

And not everyone shares nightmares.

This is our 21st century branch,

Reminds me of an abandoned ranch.

So empty and devoid of company.

Vacant.  Forsaken.

Alone with yourself --

The thought always

Leaves me shaken.

Over here we produce a delicious bacon

That induces uncontrollable puking.

That's the place we distill

Proof the world is bond for nuking.

That holds ever drill and grill.

Over there get your fill

Of every surreal affliction,

Some defying description --

Dali meets Saw,

Guaranteed

To drop and rip out your jaw.

This the auto pool,

But if I might advise

It would be wise

To do more than crashes.

Sure, they've got flashes,

Bells and whistles,

Splashes;

However,

Remember the ripples.

Top notch is what lingers.

Those are the quality

Spine tinglers.

Ah,

Here we are at last.

So

Am I correct

Or have you been miscast?

Please be direct.

I make mistakes,

am far from perfect.

Though I'm still certain

You'll make a good fit.

Worker or suit,

I always get something

From whom I recruit.

 

...welcome to the nightmare factory...


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    Author

    J. Rohr enjoys making orphans feel at home in ovens and fashioning historical re-enactments out of dead pets collected from neighbors’ backyards.

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