Aleph’s Checkered Flag


Hearing Aleph’s eulogy now. So sad, tweeted Jane Wiedlin as Gilbert Gottfried paused for recollection then resumed his speech but through a Morgan Freedman impersonation.

             “Again, thanks to Progressive® Funeral Home and their dedicated staff,” he shot a glance at the mortuary team standing in perfect Alexander Technique posture, “because now Aleph looks the way he did when he took Jane out to the Daytona 500.”

             Aleph Null was dead, but he was encased in one of the epoch’s epitomes of forward thinking, the all-new UG-61 steel exterior, 18 gauge, velvet interior body exhibiter. The rental was only a fraction of Aleph’s Botox cost.

             By the end of the speech, the selfie line gathered for Aleph, granted only for those with ticket and identification in hand. The tickets were sold by the city hall between fluctuating times specified on their website. Signup and email verification were required.

             “Take the picture and move along,” assertively voiced Gilbert in his boldly seamed sheriff uniform pressed a mere two hours prior, the number 43 on his badge polished at the same time. He moved his Segway back and forth for extra emphasis. These affairs would have put a fat smile on Aleph, for his pride was worthy of not one but two crying eagles. One eagle represented the state, and the other, the federation. The law was to flourish even over his dead body.




“Aleph was a snake who spent all his time funding a eugenics project,” spoke out one of the mortuary artisans, but this man was only an artisan of bribery and disguise, for he was actually Nicholas Cage. “Operation Boy George was the name.” Nicholas slipped out from the Progressive® suit and revealed his black onesie. The congregation went from looking like a quiet game of Spades to one with a revving NASCAR engine nearby.“It was a propaganda campaign encouraging the breathing of Fluoride,” his backside bore the inscription NC-17.

                         NC stood for Nicholas Cage and 17 for those Brutuses who betrayed him. Aleph was his last betrayal. Though Aleph went down on a hand grenade, #17 (Nicholas) still had unfinished laps to settle.

             The selfies were in progress.  Due to the lack of color grading apps, most of the shots captured a slightly yellower green than that on Aleph’s alligator outfit. #17 did not care about the selfies. The original funerary plan involved letting two baby alligators roam the floor. They would represent Aleph’s two dead friends who roamed too far into the spirit world after swimming and drinking yagé in Lake Eustis. #17, however, did not care about Aleph’s dead friends.

             “I don’t care about any of this,” claimed #17, but he cut a tire by underestimating #43 (Gilbert) drafting behind. Then #43 maneuvered a bump ‘n’ run at 50,000 volts to #17’s left asscheek.




Justice was delivered thanks to Zeus. #43 made use of his new handcuffs and locked #17 to the UG-61’s ivory handle. The congregation clapped like all of Congress’s reactions to anything thrown up by the president.

             “That’s not true,” declared Jane.

             Jane needs to keep her goddamn mouth shut, unless she wants to be thrown into the meat box with Aleph.

             #43, on the other hand, needs a Sprint Cup for saving the day once again. #43 prevented the iguana from digging into the funeral cake. To avoid a misdemeanor charge, Jane coordinated in bringing two domesticated iguanas instead of alligators. She even arranged for the iguanas to wear little custom NASCAR jerseys representing Aleph and Jane’s favorite wheel men.

             Needless to say, Jane was Aleph’s lover, but the story is not about Jane. Burn. “Amen,” spoke the congregation, nodding in agreement then dispersing over to the art gallery next door. The Google® gallery was exhibiting expressionist tablet covers.

             #17 remained cuffed to the UG-61 while Jane sat in a corner eating the whole cake, occasionally wiping her mouth with Jeff Gordon #24 napkins. Her Android watched a YouTube video of Usher’s 2009 hit “Papers,” but the oh interjections in the song were played along with a goat’s Usher-like oh bleats.




Jane’s A-list, short for Aleph’s list, rode with Aleph in the party hearse, a 22-inch spinning chrome wheeled stretch hearse. Jane stripped for the guests since she worked at Vegas Showgirls. #17 found himself in the Sucker Hole forced to Chippendale between Jane and #43 as #43 threatened #17 with 50,000 more volts.

             By the end of the night, Jane had already gotten drunk with #43 to the point of wiping her lipstick off on his torso, which was sculpted exactly like Michelangelo’s David.

             “Jane, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” said #43 the morning after.




The remaining congregation lived out the rest of their lives as law-abiding citizens just as Aleph would have desired.

             The mortuary artisans turned Aleph into ashes and placed the ashes into a Bio Urn with an Acacia Confusa seed. #17 had forgiven Aleph of all his scandals. The original plan involved #17 bringing the Bio Urn to North Carolina to bury it near Dale Earnhardt’s grave. The operation was to be executed in secret due to the grave residing on private property.

             In lieu of #17’s stealth, the bio urn was buried in Gibsonton, Florida because Acacia trees strive in warmer environments.



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p͟e͏numb̶rella̵ reìgn҉ìn̸ǵ ̵i̛m͠pr̵ovi̸s͠en̶s̸at͞i͘onal p̶̶͜o̶t̶a̶t̶҉̶o̶̶͜e̶ p͢o̴t͟ęn̛ti͟al͝ ̵ṕe̴r͡ha͘p̡p̢ening̕s͞

Their familiarity duplicated like two similar comparisons. You found the never-lost, the crowned sphynx’s ending credits → you  → me  → us  → them →

The pyre!

Their my was your us when time saw onder hierarchaic yesterpasts pre-perished befour, five, six, several directional perspectacle ∞° proofs.