Nervous as anything, I get onto the stage
Oprah’s stage
I gather all my being, monotonously telling myself
DON’T TRIP; DON’T TRIP
So excited, there is only one thing I CAN do
Only one thing that makes sense
Dance on Oprah’s couch for the whole world to see
I walk my way to that tan pedestal
That altar which has served as thrown to a plethora of celebrities
I get ready to make my move
A swift leap to the couch; ready to boogie oogie oogie
When out of nowhere . . .
I hear a stern NO
I can’t believe my ears
Could this be the Oprah I have come to love all these years?
That woman who gives away vehicles on a whim?
I am filled with confusion
Nothing seems right
When, what is this?
What is this feeling I feel seeding itself inside my soul?
Be it a feeling of frustration?
Be it a feeling of guilt?
Or rather, a feeling of red hot anger. . .
it is definitely the anger
I torture myself through the awkward interview
I drive home in my new car
I walk into my room and begin to ponder. . .
What can I do that will make Oprah regret her decision forever?
I could not shower for 3 weeks. .
Nah
I could put a poster of her up in the country and pee on it. .
NO, THAT’S NOT RIGHT EITHER!
This only leaves me with one other option
Option c
I slip on my lime green crocks, ready for a journey
I begin to jog
Faster. . Faster. . . Faster I run
When my crock snags a bump in the sidewalk
I fall
Splitting pain pulses in my prefrontal cortex
But I must not stop
My mission is essential
ESSENTIAL TO OPTION C!
I pull myself up
I take off my crocks
And I take off at a full sprint
Like a man on a roid-rage, I propel myself at the speed of light
Visions of the human centipede pierce my mind
I elevate myself into a hulk bounce
I propel myself into oblivion
When I realize
I AM HERE
HQ
Area 53
The Big Kahuna
Or more simply known as “Bert’s Pet Store”
I place my hand on the door
The intense cold of the chilled copper on my hand
I am on a mission
I must remain calm
Anything I say can and will be used against me in. . .
I must not lose my train of thought
I casually make my way to the giant cage
I pick it up
Mustering all the normality I have
I make my way to the cash register
“May I help you?” the cashier asks.
“Well you may” I respond, “but the true question is, “Can you” help us”
“Yes I can” he says
Memories of his High School Grammar class flooding his mind
The perfect distraction I have created
I short him on money and. . .
I leave
I heave the giant cage onto my back
A metal tablet of pure. . . metal
I make my journey back home
Like Jesus made the journey with the crucifix
I sweat in order to rid the world of the lie which is Oprah Winfrey
I slowly open my door
ready
ready to initiate
Part 2 of Option C
I menacingly make my way to the dresser
I open the drawer
needingly
needing to access my instruments. . .
I PULL OUT
A pencil and piece of paper
The entire letter already planned out in my head, I begin to write

Dear Oprah Winfrey,
You made a no-no when you denied me my privilege
My privilege of dance
My privilege of COUCH dancing!
Let’s just say that. . . SHUT UP FLUFFY!!
Sorry about that
Where was I. . . .
Oh yes
Let’s just say that the kitties shall never forgive you for what you have done
You will let me back on the show
You shall give me my privilege
I shall dance to my hearts content
And should you say NO for a second time
You shalt haveth cat bloodeth on youreth hands.

A work of art
Oprah can simply not say no
So now there is nothing to do but wait
One week . . .
Two weeks. . . . . .
Three weeks. . . . . . . .
When what is this?
A letter?
But not just any letter :)
A letter from Harpo Studios
Adrenaline and confetti rushing through my veins, I grab for my letter opener
I carefully tear the seem of the letter
Anxious to see the response
The response to the art which is CODY
Here it is
The big moment

Dear Cody,
You say I shall have cat bloods on myeth hands
This will simply not do
I have decided to let you dance on my couch
And I hope you like Ferraris!!
Sincerely
Oprah Winfrey

Yes!!!
My mission is almost complete
When I am faced with a problem
A problem much bigger than all other problems previously faced
What dance shall I do?
Should I be risque and dance the flamenco?
Or should I be techno and dance the robot?
The pressure is too much
Getting worse
Building faster than Bob the Builder had ever dreamed of
WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME!!
Plop. . .
Smack . . . . .
“Why hi there” says a small green man
“Whom are you” says I to he.
“I am you’re inner wee man, one man of three”
“There are men in my head?” I say with an expression quite Grobey
“Yes, this is true; Hi, my name’s Kobe”
I don’t know what to do
What can I do?
I shall do what any reasonable person would do
I shall grab him by the toes and say adieu
So I grab him by his toes
I get ready to toss
When he says . . .
“HEY STOP!! I’m a dance teacher boss”
I halt as fast as I possibly can
and I say what do I dance?
When he says to me seriously “do the pants dance”
With a dance in my mind and no further use.
Over the edge the green man flies
Landing on a stray moose

I practice and strain
Every night
Every day
Till it’s perfect in almost every way.

Here I am
Once again
Nervous as anything, I get onto the stage
Oprah’s stage
I gather all my being, monotonously telling myself
DON’T MESS UP, DON’T MESS UP
And once again I am faced with the couch
I walk my way to that tan pedestal
That altar which has served as thrown to a plethora of celebrities
I get ready to make my move
A swift leap to the couch; ready to boogie oogie oogie
When out of nowhere . . .
nothing
I am do my dance
Feeling almost disappointed
I finish, having nailed each move perfectly
And yet the triumph isn’t there
Yes, that feeling of triumph I had so anxiously awaited
That triumph which I had envied over for the past few months
It should have been here
It should have been waiting for me
But here I am
And here it’s not
I guess I’ll have to go home now
Go home where . . .
“OUCH. .”
“Sarah bit me!!!”
Home where . . . . . . . .
“Cody!! get out of bed you lazy bum, it’s 12 o’clock!”
. . . . . .

Wow, I guess it was just a dream
What do I do now?
There is only one thing I CAN do
Only one thing that makes sense
Text my girlfriend, Ashley, about my crazy dream and . . .
Go make a breakfast burrito

THE END