The Kitsune Den: Today's Writing Prompt Is....! Mmmterrors!

The Kitsune Den: Today's Writing Prompt Is....!

I shift my backside on the slick butterscotch leather of the chaise in Dr. Lumborg's office. I don't know why it's supposed to be a relaxing experience; that squeak is like fingernails on a chalkboard. Dr. Lumborg doesn't seem to notice, lost in his private drumming session, pattering out a cadence with his pencil on his desk pad.

"Well, shall we discuss your dreams?" Dr. Lumborg smiles like a hyena, a disquieting method of showing his canines that fails to set me at ease at all.

I press back against the leather nervously. "Oh, you're a Freudian, I didn't know there were any of you left." I fidget for a moment, trying to get comfortable and only giving off more squeaks from the upholstery. "Okay, let's see. the one that I tend to have the most often, or at least remember, involves Hanson."

"Han-son," Dr. Lumborg divides the name into syllables as if it were two seperate words. "Do you refer to those Mmmbop children?"

"Those are them, that's right." I tap my toes, fighting to repress the horrific catchy chorus of the 90's. "It's not that I'm a fan of them in particular. Sure, I hummed that damned song, but so did everyone."

"Interesting... Go on," the doctor invites with a smile that encourages me to dig myself in deeper, to demonstrate my insanity.

I start to sweat under that gaze. "Well, like I said, I'm not a fan or anything. But in my dream they're still kids, about the Mmmbop age. And their bus breaks down outside of my house. I should mention that in the dream I live out in the middle of nowhere." I feel my cheeks turn crimson. Wasn't that the name of the album that song was on? God, I'm going to convince him I am a fan! I take a deep breath and plunge ahead. "Anyway, there's nobody to fix the bus, so they move in with me. It's a disaster because, well, they're teenage boys and they eat everything. I have to refill the fridge daily and run myself ragged cleaning up fast food and candy wrappers. They skate all over the place, upstairs and down--"

"Like the video." Dr. Lumborg peers at me over his glasses as if accusing me of being obsessed with the blond boppy trio. No, I'm an Aerosmith fan, I'm into rock! I want to cry, but instead I nod like a fool.

"Exactly like the video. And the girls. There's a hundred grade school aged girls with hand-printed signs covered in glitter saying 'We love Taylor!' and 'Marry me Zack!' on them. On top of everything else I have to protect those bottomless pit boys from the crazed girl fans killing my front lawn by pitching tents on it."

By this point, I'm clutching the air, gasping like Roxie Hart giving her courtroom performance. "You'd think I'd be suffering enough, but then they do it! They convert my living room into a studio and start playing that song, over and over! Mmmbop ba duba dop ba do bop, all day long! I can't escape it! It's actually a relief when I step on a skateboard Ike left on the stairs, I think I'll finally make it out in death, but no, I just become paralyzed and they think I'm dead, so they bury me in the crawlspace and I get to lay there and listen to them mmmbop for eternity!" I collapse with a sob, reduced to quivers of terror at the memory of that nightmare. "Dr. Lumborg, please, what does it mean?!"

Dr. Lumborg takes off his glasses and carefully wipes them down. "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, my dear. And sometimes a mmmbop is just a secret no one knows. Oh, no one knoooooows. Mmmbop, ba duba dop, ba do bop, ba duba dop ba do bop--"

I wake up in a cold sweat and stare with horror at the bottom side of floorboards a foot above my face, dust shaking down from them from a heavy base beat. Mmmbop.