Finding herself with an increased amount of spare time to fill, and having run out of walls to blankly stare at, Paul Abdul figured she should get out of the house. It had been a long summer, what with starring in that Austrian documentary about fashion, and then the whole American Idol thing, or as she liked to say to her assistants and family, American Who-dol, like, as if she didn’t know what American Idol was, even though she did know what it was, because she had been on it. It was a TV show. Every time Paula Abdul said American Who-dol to someone, she would laugh for an uncomfortably long time and then she would burst into tears. But people were glad to see her laughing. The tears, at this point, were commonplace. Paula Abdul asked her publicist if she could borrow her cell phone, because Paula’s was out of minutes, and she called up her best friend, sack of russet potatoes.
“Hello, best friend, it’s me Paula! Hi! I love you!” Paula shouted manically into the phone.
The sack of russet potatoes said nothing.
Eventually the two of them agreed that they should go on an adventure. “I want to go somewhere fun. Just be out in nature, HAHHAHAHA. Let’s kiss.” Paula Abdul, whose name people often almost typed as Paula Poundstone every single time, much to their bemused frustration, told the sack of russet potatoes that she wanted to go somewhere where there would be men on stilts, and hay rides, and helicopter rides, and a human cannonball that shot himself out of a cannon three times a day for four days. “But where could we even find such a magical place? My vagina is bored. Ooh, lipgloss!” Paula Abdul found a tube of coconut lipgloss and she smeared it all over her face.
Somehow, Paula Abdul found out about the Gathering of the Juggalos. She found out just enough about it to think that it was what she wanted, but not enough to realize that it was not what she wanted at all. “What’s a Juggalo,” Paula might have wondered, if she ever bothered to wonder about anything. But she didn’t. So. “I’ll send someone to your house to pick you up,” Paula Abdul told the sack of russet potatoes, and she hung up the phone and asked one of her assistants to go pick him up. The assistants looked at each other, and there was a brief debate in hushed tones over whose turn it was to pick up Paul’s best friend. Finally, one of them got into her car and went to the grocery store and “picked up” the bag of russet potatoes. $5.99
She took the bag of russet potatoes upstairs to her bedroom to cuddle. “Night night!” she said to everyone. “Night night night.” It was 4:30 in the afternoon.
The next day they went to the Gathering of the Juggalos. The air smelled of barbecue, and meth, and rape. “Yummy!” Paula said. She took off her shoes because she wanted to be free. She walked on a soft bed of cigarette butts, discarded beer cans, and used condoms, all covered in a sticky layer of drying red Faygo.
“Hahaha, CLOWNS!” Paula said as she walked inside. “Circus! Hahahah.” Paula Abdul walked up to a 26-year-old Home Depot employee and amateur pornographer with dreadlocks and face paint who was carving at his overlong fingernails with a knife. “Hello,” Paula Abdul said.
“What up, Ninja,” the man said. Something something “neden hole.” Then he punched her in the face. Paula Abdul’s newsboy cap was knocked into some mud. It was horrible. The sack of russet potatoes didn’t even try to defend her. Later, another man peed on her. And during the Odball Wrestling, someone threw her into the ring. She landed on a strand of barbed wire, and a florescent lightbulb was smashed over her head. Paula Abdul crawled towards the ropes, but she was dragged by her ankles back into the ring, and a folding chair was dented on her skull. She forgot to bring a tent, and spent the whole weekend sleeping in piles of fetid Juggalo garbage. She lost the wet t-shirt contest, and on the third day someone stole her purse so she couldn’t even pay the extra money for a helicopter ride. At Violent J’s Beach Boy Barbecue Blow Out Bash Blast she got food poisoning and she shit her pants. Also she got pregnant.
But the funny thing was that she, like everyone else at The Gathering, was on so many drugs that she hardly noticed any of this. As far as she was concerned, the weekend was a total success.
“That was nice,” she told the sack of russet potatoes when they got home. “I love you. My name is Paula Abdul, you are so talented.”