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Clogging For Chaos!
by Michael Smith
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 illustration by Jose Angel
Do something about your hair! Really!
Oh, but the lead sentence is known as the hook. Make it count. Society is fickle, and lazy and hates long stories, so make it count. so:
When I was young I wanted nothing more than to be the world's clogging champion! For hours on end I practiced. I would clog in class and drive the teachers nuts and they would scream obscenities at me until the hypnotic clop clop clop of my sweet wooden clogs would slowly drive them insane and docile, until I got us out of class early. Clogging was better than hypnosis, which I also mastered at the age of 10. Hypnotic clogging- easy way to feel up little girls. And I wanted to be the world champion (of clogging, not molesting)! I would clog in the alleys and seduce homeless women begging me to hold still and stick it in, but I would just clog away. Traffic would stop once I started dancing and I would cross the street clogging off into the night. When I was 11 I was diagnosed with kidney failure and the docs gave me 3 weeks to live. My mom got on the horn and called the Make a Wish Foundation and begged them to give me my one true wish. To be the clogging ruler of all time and space. Make a wish foundation caved in and granted this request and for two weeks all was right in the universe. Clop clop clop. Maybe you remember that time, the ambient sounds of wood knocking around coming from the other side of your bedroom wall? You were alive then. No? What, are you drunk? Wake up!
When 3 weeks went by and my kidney hadn't failed, and I continued to wake up each morning to the foundation's regret, the MAKE A WISH FOUNDATION started asking questions. Accusatory in tone. Those bureaucratic pricks, they started to talk of poisoning me, pushing me along the lines of immediate kidney failure. I grabbed my clogs and split that fucking scene for sure yo! And the general public started to turn on me, and the clogging world in general. I would turn on the six o'clock news-
and there I was, my sixth grade school photo blown up poster size and being picketed through the streets by hippies screaming “LIAR! FAKE! DIE FUCKING DIE MIKE! DIE FUCKING DIE MIKE'S KIDNEY! I WILL EAT YOUR KIDNEY MYSELF AND THAT WILL TEACH YOU TO LIE TO THE MAKE A WISH- YOU LITTLE SHIT!” and there was my face on all these posters burning in the streets, being tromped on by dirty hippies, Starbucks activists, and little kids laughing.
My mother sat on the couch, watching this on the news, sad, whimpering, I could see she was starting to regret making that phone call on that day. I could see she was starting to get bitter and jaded with the idea of doing anything nice for her family if it was just going to end in flames and death and hippies in the street. She'd rather see kidneys fail.
So I did what any 10-year-old clogging-superstar would do.
I clogged out a cheer-up-bitch! Ballad as fast and mad and crazy as possible, a clog of feet on fire! Until she felt better.
:: contact Michael Smith :: incognitolounge@hotmail.com
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