Seat Guru: The Story

spaghetti-clipart

It all happened in a blink.

“What… where in the world am I?”

Just minutes ago, I was seated in the back of a car, along with my family. All I remembered was a crash. Wait, what crashed? Something at the back of my mind tried to tell me just how important it was, but whatever it was failed in comparison to what was in front of me.

Yes, it seemed like a dinner party, with me and five other guests invited. A dinner party with only spaghetti served. One of them was my younger sister, heavily eating the plate of spaghetti in front of her. But nevermind my sister, rather the other four guests made open my eyes in wonder.

“It- it’s…!”

“First off is me, Barack Obama, the O’ Bomber!”

“And don’t forget about me, Steve Jobs, the Apple Dapple!”

“Hey, I’m here too, William Shakespear, the Spear Master!”

“And me, Isaac Newton, the ‘New Town’ Man”

“Why am I in a dinner party with my dream team on a night with a full moon!” If only my sister wasn’t here, then this would be the best day ever!”

“Whatever”, answered my sister as she continued with her spaghetti.

I felt very diferrently from before. Usually, I wouldn’t have the guts to talk to anyone outside the house, but this special occasion just made me want to speak my mind out.

“Wow, I mean, wow. What are you guys doing here?” I asked without any hesitation whatsoever.

“To cut the chase short,” Barack said, twirling threads of spaghetti with his fork. “You just died. Congratulations kids, you now part of the DGG, or the Dead Guys Association! It’s your fault not applying for Obamacare.”

“I’m not even american” I replied.

“I’m not even a guy,” my sister added. Wait, she was still here? Curses, foiled again!

“So, Mister Prannings,” Isaac addressed me as he gulped a forkful of spaghetti. “What do you think should we discuss among the six of us? Do you want to discuss about the sciences, and how the pursuit of knowledge would advance mankind’s state of being?”

“Or would thee rather talk about literature,” William followed. “A beautiful symphony of words carefully woven to produce a masterpeice?”

“Or maybe you’re intereted in mankind’s iFuture,” Steve said next, his plate of spaghetti long gone. “iNnovations that would push iHumanity to it’s limits, which would one day bring us to the iStars beyond.”

“How about the state of the world, kid?” Barack finally joined. “About how wars, chaos and money make the world go round?”

I looked at my sister, desperate for help. I knew none of those hard topics, just as what you would expect a guy who spent most of the days in his life in front of a computer. As if hearing my silent pleading, she gave her suggestion.

“How about we discuss spaghetti and how it relates to those topics, I guess?”

Everyone except for me was perplexed with that proposal of hers.

“Why, pray tell, would we waste our time with meager topics like this, uh, ‘Spaghetti’ instead of something that would contribute to the world? I shant waste my time with such frivolous discussions.”

My sister snickered. “Oh my, Mr. Shaky Spear, is spaghetti to hard a topic for you?”

“Interesting suggetion, young iLad,” Steve said, breaking the ice. He then directed his attention to the other three guys. “Why don’t we iTry it, for a change?”

They all nodded their heads in approval.

“Good everyone agrees. Now then, I shall go first.” Steve placed his fingers in his chin and started to give a speech. “iSpag will be the door to open the iFuture. With it’s long but sturdy iThreads, it could at least fill an iHuman being for about an iDay, which in turn, gives everyone more iTime for some iWork. And with more iWork, iPeople would be more motivated to do some iNnovating, and thus would lead to iGolden age of iHumanity.”

“Why was that full of iThis and iThat?” I said without reservation.

“Good iSpeech there, young fellow.” Shaky spear replied, not minding me in the least. “Please, listen closely to this poem I made for the wonder that is spaghetti”

Shall I compare thee to a spaghetti’s lace?
For it is more lovely and more temperate:
Rough forks do shake the golden threads of hay
And dinner’s lease hath all too short a date–

“You just copied your sonnet 18 and changed it into spaghetti!” I interrupted.

“What? That was my work, I’m free to do anything with it.”

“Well well, I guess it’s time for the New Town kid to fix this mess of a discussion,” Isaac interrupted. “Spaghetti is indeed a deep science. If you try and examine it more clearly, you can see the rough texture of the spaghetti, mingled with the saucy tomato paste and luscious brown meatballs.”

“You’re just describing the food!”

“But I can’t into science.”

“I guess it’s politics time!” Barack shouted out of nowhere. “Spaghetti looks like the color of guts and blood, which we spill in the battlefield for the sake of the freeiest nation that is America!”

“How is THAT politics?!”

It was a cacophony of words and spaghetti, with statements thrown here and there. It wouldn’t have ended if it wasn’t for sister dear joining in the fray.

COULD YOU GUYS KEEP QUIET FOR A MINUTE?” She shouted at the top of her lungs, silencing the whole room. As soon as she got the attention of everyone, she began her speech.

“Look, eveyone has a good view of spaghetti,but aren’t you underestimating it too much? Think about it; spaghetti, a perfect mix of chaos and harmony, of unity and individuality. Spaghetti contain different threads, all going in different directions. But what binds them all to be one spaghetti instead of individual threads? Why, the plate of course! Once placed in the plate, it doesn’t matter where the spaghetti thread is found, nor does the lenght even matter. Just like this world. We may all have our differences, but at the end of the day, we’re all humans who lives in the plate called earth. Can’t you see the beauty in it?”

Her speech left us in silence.

“And anyways, brother dear, this sure is a weird dream you’re having. Barack Obama isn’t even dead yet, and he’s part of the DGG? Do your research! I guess it’s time to wake up, we’re almost to our cousin’s place.”

What?

It all happened in a blink.

“Where… what in the world was I doing?”

Just minutes ago, I was seated in a table, along with my dream team. All I remembered was spaghetti. Wait, what spaghetti? Something at the back of my mind tried to tell me just how important it was, it shouldn’t be important.

“Brother dear, wake up! We’re here already!”


 

A dream of spaghetti with a dream team of mine? Best day ever. Taken from today’s prompt.

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