Creepy / Death / Vintage

It’s Not Dead Yet: Creepy Thrift Shop Shit… Corn Boy and the Journey to the Vagina Corn

Corn Boy spent all summer tending his corn plant. The past spring he had taken his family’s last kernel and planted it in the soil. They had nothing else to plant. Today was the day he was to harvest. He picked his ear of corn and went home to show his father and sister.

See Corn Boy's joy? Oh yes.

See Corn Boy’s joy? Oh yes.

Corn Boy’s father was a clown. Since the tide had turned against clowns generations ago, he was sadly out of work most of the time, unless at Halloween the local haunted house would hire him to jump out of the darkness. He hated that work. Even worse, he could not bring his beloved dog with him to gigs like that. The dog was an amazing juggler.

Corn Girl is sad, although she looks happy. Father is crushed. The dog is clueless.

Corn Girl is sad, although she looks happy. Father is crushed. The dog is clueless.

Corn Boy’s twin sister was large headed like him, and in most ways they resembled their mother who had died giving birth to such large headed babies. His father would cry sometimes and tell them how she had split in two and the mortician had to sew her up with many stitches. They were happy like her, though, and would just pat their father on his back and sigh when he told this story. Somehow, they weren’t scarred by his relating the blood, the screaming, the terrible black thread making a vision of spider’s legs scattered in a line up over their mother’s lovely face. Thank God there is no photographic evidence or the poor children would have had the image daily before their eyes.

They were sad when Corn Boy brought home only one lousy ear of corn, and a purplish-red one at that.

“We will starve!” cried the father.

“We will die after I sell my one flower for a penny to buy a chili to go with your corn. I cannot sell my body as no one will want a large-headed girl like me!” his sister wept.

“Do not weep, sister,” said Corn Boy. “We will not die, father. I will go to my friend, the pig-faced bear, and get his advice.”

Corn Boy went off to find the pig-faced bear everyone called Hedor. Hedor was usually hanging around the tiny plastic bridges that led to nowhere, and that was where he was. Corn Boy asked Hedor what to do.

Hedor was always ready to sneeze. Corn Boy always protected his face from bear snot.

Hedor was always ready to sneeze. Corn Boy always protected his face from bear snot.

“You must search for the Vagina Corn. This magical corn will keep you and your family fed forever because it is magical. I do not know where it is, but I’d start by asking Brazo, the vegetable seller.”

Corn Boy knew where Brazo’s stand was, and it was very far. He had to climb over many shelves and porcelain babies to find her. When he arrived, he asked her about the Vagina Corn.

Brazo was tiny, Corn Boy was large.

Brazo was tiny, Corn Boy was large.

“Alas,” said Brazo, the armless vegetable vendor, “I have never seen the Vagina Corn, although I have very much wanted to sell it in my stand. I’d be famous! As it is, I only have dirty German children who come here and try to sell me their filthy fruit and the occasional dog who runs off with my pineapples.”

Corn Boy asked what she would do to find the Vagina Corn if she were in his bare feet.

Brazo's stand was strange. Even she didn't know what half of of the shit she sold was. She blamed GMOs.

Brazo’s stand was strange. Even she didn’t know what half of of the shit she sold was. She blamed GMOs.

“I don’t get around much, but you might find those German kids and ask them. Maybe they have seen it and will tell a child such as themselves, as they will not tell me.”

Corn Boy had passed two German kids on his way to Brazo’s stand. He hurried to catch them going back toward his home.

The German children smelled so awful that Corn Boy had to hold onto his hat.

The German children smelled so awful that Corn Boy had to hold onto his hat.

These children were indeed dirty and brown-faced, although not as brown as Corn Boy. They were covered in dust and grime, and carried between them a stretcher heaped with some kind of rotting fruit. They stared at him with their blue eyes as he told them his sad story and of his search for the Vagina Corn.

All that held the rotting apples up in a pile was the med the children packed around them.

All that held the rotting apples up in a pile was the med the children packed around them.

“We have never seen such a thing, nor heard of it. We have plenty to eat, although our fruit is dirty and tasteless. We never go hungry,” said the boy.

The sister suggested, “I’d go see the Quatro Virgenes. They have special powers.”

Corn Boy knew where they were, but again, he had to climb over shelves and past many pointy winged angels to find them. At last he found them singing barbershop quartet songs about elephants. He had to wait patiently for them to take a break so he could ask them,

The Quatro Virgenes were a thoughtful bunch. Whenever they weren't singing, they closed their eyes and tipped their heads down. Except for the blind Virgen, who no one expected to follow along.

The Quatro Virgenes were a thoughtful bunch. Whenever they weren’t singing, they closed their eyes and tipped their heads down. Except for the blind Virgen, who no one expected to follow along.

“Quatro Virgenes, I have traveled far to find you. My family will starve as I only grew one ear of corn this summer, and my large-headed sister has only one flower to sell, and not the special one between her legs. No man will have her because of her humongous head. I am searching for the Vagina Corn. I pray you can help me find it.”

The Quatro Virgenes tipped their heads and pondered. They could read each other’s thoughts without speaking. They were silent for many long moments, and Corn Boy began to wonder if they had fallen asleep. Finally, the brown Virgen, the blind one, lifted her head and spoke.

No one eve bothered to tell the blind Virgen that she had a sticker on her belly. They thought it would itch or something, but she never seemed to notice.

No one eve bothered to tell the blind Virgen that she had a sticker on her belly. They thought it would itch or something, but she never seemed to notice.

“You will find the Vagina Corn in the plaza. You must ask the Gardening Angel to show you the Vagina Corn. Only if you are pure in heart, will she make the Vagina Corn open to you.”

The plaza was all the way back across the shelves, past the pointy-winged angels, over the porcelain babies, around the heart-shaped planter, under the tiny plastic bridges that led to nowhere, and past all the wrinkly and dirty statues of old people who seemed to serve no purpose. As the Quatro Virgenes had said, there was a Gardening Angel tending to the plaza.

Corn Boy had never seen such a beautiful plaza on all the shelves he had ever traveled.

Corn Boy had never seen such a beautiful plaza on all the shelves he had ever traveled.

“Oh Gardening Angel! My family will die of starvation if you do not open to me the Vagina Corn. I am pure of heart and do not want my large-headed sister to even try to find a man who will buy her flower. Please help me!”

The Gardening Angel had faced 19 and a half requests that day for the Vagina Corn and was sick of answering questions about it. Most people just wanted to look at it and masturbate, but here was a boy of pure heart who would understand and love the Vagina Corn and all its goodness.

The Gardening Angel was always moving the birds' nests around. It really pissed them the fuck off.

The Gardening Angel was always moving the birds’ nests around. It really pissed them the fuck off.

“Of course, Corn Boy. Take the Vagina Corn and your family will never starve, and your sister can keep her flower. The Vagina Corn is right there.”

It was indeed! It was bulbous and opening its husk to show its rows of nubby kernels. Corn Boy was overjoyed and glad his one ear of pupleish-red corn was in his basket so no one had to see just how happy he was. He would never go hungry again.

Oh joy! Corn Boy would never starve again!

Oh joy! Corn Boy would never starve again!

The End

Look at that! Does that not look like Vagina Corn?! Does it not look magical?!

Look at that! Does that not look like Vagina Corn?! Does it not look magical?!

Kristin LaTour’s life is like a small Victorian boarding house of familiar guests. Some may only visit occasionally; some never leave, and all are welcome. Find out more at her website.

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2 thoughts on “It’s Not Dead Yet: Creepy Thrift Shop Shit… Corn Boy and the Journey to the Vagina Corn

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