Where are the iPods?

The item you speak of has been hidden by the tricksters with colourless skin and bloody eyes, they that lurk in the bowels of the warehouse, scavenge through the black boxes of toys and colour snatching the dreams of others and replacing them with nothing.

The item you speak of has been hijacked by ruthless marauders shifting their eyes to gaze into the minds of others only to emerge broken and confused, they rip through the flesh of their victims, stealing the hearts and leaving the broken plastic bodies behind DVDs and speaker wire.

The item you speak of is in the hands of my companion fearlessly questing for shields and armor to protect his charge so that once among the world the delicate nano will cause no sleep to be lost.  For he in his divine wisdom and infinite caring will know it to be safe and happy with its adoptive parents.

The item you speak of never arrived for its maker was missing the all important soul and could not complete its masterpiece, for without the spark of life it has not even the power to drag itself into the dark depths of absence to become deaf, blind and useless.

The item you speak of has been recalled back into storage so a holy reverend can exercise the demon infection brought on by an angry God too pissed off with technology for stealing his power and replacing the offerings on his alters with boxes of light and pictures to worry about the resulting panic and outcry of his people.

The item you speak of was lost down the endless river of squeaking shoes and bad manners where the rapids tore into us and ripped out chunks of rock and dignity and where the calm waters softly wore at us until our hands were bare but we were left with an odd smile upon our lips.

The item you speak of is, in short, out of stock.


- Caitlyn Burke