The Antics of the Heroic Acid-Head: The Devilish Dresser

Mariah Loves Earth and DeepAI. The Devilish Dresser. 2023

There was a young man who had a bad acid trip. He was sitting alone in the dark, in his room, staring at his haunted dresser. Undulating shadowy tentacles grew out of the dresser and tried to crawl to the ceiling. It appeared as though the wood itself was suffusing toxic energy into the atmosphere. He began to suspect that the soul of a devilish clown was trapped inside. But it also could have been the paranoia from the acid. This dresser was not always haunted. Once upon a time, the dresser sat, neutrally disassembled, in a box in an Ikea warehouse—but that was a long time ago. When the man possessed this dresser he painted it black and carved hateful satanic symbols onto it because he was angry and disillusioned with the world. 

In that moment, while on too much acid, the young man realized the dresser was evil. He decided he must rid the world of its wickedness. Removing a few treasured possessions he made the decision to burn the remaining contents along with the dresser. To do this, he came to the realization that he must get some gasoline. He knew that there was no time better than the present—in fact, this thought came to him during the witching hour. 

The young man hauled ass like a bat out of hell to the closest gas station. With him, he carried a large, empty, one litre plastic coke bottle. With eyes wider than a full-moon he stood by the gas pump, shaking, while he inserted his debit card. 

“Stop! What are you doing?” shouted the gas clerk while running out of the station, “You can’t fill a plastic bottle with gasoline. It will disintegrate.”

“Oh, sorry man. My car ran out of gas. I really need this gas. It's like urgent, man.” sputtered the young man as he looked at the clerk like a deer in headlights. 

The clerk looked very skeptical, but then said, “Okay, just buy a gas canister.”  The man happily grinned while filling the red gas canister and carried on into the night.

Now he needed to find a place to carry out the dirty deed. Awkwardly, he picked up the dresser and put the gas canister into a drawer. Cautiously he carried this behemoth of wickedness down a worn out concrete trail near a forest. Stumbling over cracked sidewalks, junkies’ needles, and broken beer bottles he kept walking until he found the perfect place. 

He dropped the dresser, took the gasoline, and drenched it. It was soaked with so much gas that he started to feel a little dizzy. Suddenly he heard the sound of footsteps. He leaped backwards into the forest just in time to get away from the nighttime jogger. He could not see the jogger’s expression, but the jogger was terrified. Wouldn’t you be if you saw a satanic, gasoline-soaked, dresser in the middle of a sidewalk and heard rustling in the bushes? Once the jogger was gone he returned to the dresser. He encircled it twice, examining all aspects to ensure it was ready to burn. Taking three steps back, with the flick of the wrist, he tossed a lit match at the dresser.

It was as though the gates of hell broke loose. Ten foot flames leaped high into the sky. This was no campfire, it was a massive bonfire. Once this dawned on him he winced and then cringed. He knew he would have to leave soon before municipal authorities arrived. When he could hear the wood burn and he saw it twist with agony he felt more at ease. His job was done and he walked into the night.