BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Continued from: Of Redheads And High Heels…

As we established in our previous episode, it all started with a blood-curdling shriek. Also as noted, it was an “I’m going to kill you with my bare hands” sort of shriek, which just so happens to be one of those that the redhead can do at the drop of a hat. Moreover, it causes male hearts anywhere within a 5 mile radius to fibrillate momentarily, followed by the family jewels making a hasty retreat indoors, so to speak.

And, as we know, such a scream from The Evil One usually precedes me being screwed – and not in the good way. I mean screwed like the guy in the cartoon… Although, she has yet to use an actual ginormous screw to effect said screwing. I expect once she sees this blog, however, she will find someplace to order one. Damn… I hate when I give her ideas…

Oh well, moving right along.

As it turns out, this time neither my name, nor any of the monikers the undisputed Queen of Evil uses for me (lackey, doormat, hey you, what’syername, et. al), had been uttered. Nope… This was just a plain old scare the pee right outta ya’ shriek straight from the bowels of Hades. This seemed to indicate that maybe, just maybe, it was NOT me who was the target of her wrath this time. Unusual, yes, but hey, it happens once in a blue moon…

Oh, and before I forget, we also established Rule #2 ½ – Don’t mess with EKay’s shoes… I think that warrants a quick reminder because it has enormous bearing on the story…

And, therefore, back to that bone-chilling screech…

So, there we were (and still are) with a plethora of E K shoes hither and yon. In the closet(s), on shoe racks, under the bed, on the stairs, in boxes… You name it. And, back then, not only did we have shoes, we also had a couple of roommates.

We’ll call them Benjamin and Quigley, mostly because those were their names.

And, before you ask, no, Ben and Quigs were NOT a couple of guys E K kept chained up in the basement for recreational torture whenever I couldn’t take any more and simply passed out from the intense agony.  Those guys were named Bob and Bob, and she picked them up from… Well,  that’s a different story so we won’t get into that…

Nope, Ben and Quigs were our English Setter and Australian Cattle Dog, respectively (both of whom have since gone to the great kennel in the sky, but still live on in the pages of the RGI novels.)

I think maybe you can now see where this is going.

And so, I was in the kitchen preparing dinner when the front door opened, the click-clack of Evil’s shoes tapped against our hardwood floor, followed immediately by the horrific scream.  Not knowing what the problem could be, but realizing that if I didn’t respond – even though my name had not been called – there would be hell to pay, I shot out of the kitchen and into the dining room. And, that’s when I saw it… The horribly masticated, chewed up, slobbered upon, ripped to shreds, size 7 shoe.

Ben and the Quigster were already in motion. Unfortunately, they were more like a couple of the Keystone Cops as opposed to a well-practiced football team, or anything else for that matter. The English Setter leaped up, only to have the Aussie run under his legs and trip him. He regained his footing, but once again they bounced off one another as they sought escape, yelping all the way – and at this point all that had happened was the shriek.

E K, being practiced in the art of unconventional available weaponry, as we are well aware from all of her high level NSA training (See: Kay… E Kay…) immediately fell back on instinct. Kicking one foot up behind her, she instantly had a lethal weapon in hand and at the ready.

Both canines  stopped dead in their tracks and stared at the psychotic redhead. In a remarkable and wholly unbelievable moment of spontaneous anthropomorphization, their eyes widened, and my hand to God / Goddess / Whatever deity works for you, I swear that both of them yelled, “OH SH*T!”

Once again, they bounced off one another as they scrambled across the floor in an attempt to escape. E K jumped in front of the Aussie, who immediately began backpedaling. Then, like some kind of gymnast on crack, my wife ran up the wall, across the ceiling, and landed feet first on the sofa, right in front of the English Setter who was attempting to take a shortcut by way of the furniture.

Both of the dogs scampered toward the stairs, but it was no good. The redhead, like some kind of Matrix-Samurai-Ninja who was wielding the sacred stiletto heel, flew from the couch, right over the top of the coffee table, and landed immediately behind them. The pair shot up the stairs, yelping like they’d been beaten by someone with a 2X4, even though she hadn’t even touched them. E K was, of course, mere fractions of an inch behind them, screaming something barely intelligible at the top of her lungs. To this day I am convinced that it was some ancient hell spawn cursing, all of which ended in “MY SHOOOOOZZZ!”

I stood in the dining room, dumbfounded as I listened to the trio circle the  upper half-story at least six times before shooting back down the stairs at blinding speed. I stared on in horror as they came barreling straight for me, both Ben and Quigley still in an athropomorphized state as they yelled, “DOOD! HELP! SHE’S GONNA KILL US!”

At the last minute, just as my heart was lodging itself in my throat, they took a quick right and shot down the hallway. I tried to warn them, but they weren’t thinking clearly and my heart was blocking my vocal chords. You see, the bedroom door was closed, and the hallway dead ended in the bathroom.

The simultaneous scampering of dog paws came to a sudden halt, and a split second later the clickety-clack of a single high heel running at 42,000 RPM’s fell silent. I heard another stream of hell spawn cursing, once again ending with MY SHOOOOOOZZZZZZ!

And then, all was quiet.

That’s when I started to get concerned. I slowly crept around the corner and made my way down the hall to the bathroom. There stood the redhead in her business attire, hair puffed out from her head like a cat with an arched back, one shoe on, and the other held high over her head in the death strike position.

The dogs, having reached the end of the line, were rolled over on their backs, paws in the air, tongues hanging out, and fear in their eyes. I looked at them, and they looked at me. Then they looked up at the redhead with the killer shoe. They looked back at me. I looked at them, then I looked at the redhead with the killer shoe. They looked back to the redhead…

And, then Quigley proceeded to pee all over himself.

In the end, E K never touched the canines. She did, however, make me clean up the dog pee and then proceeded to beat me with the shoe. Something about her shoes being named Husbandstomper, and once the stiletto was unsheathed, it had to draw the blood of a man before it could be put back into its box.

Personally, I think maybe she was reading too many of Michael Moorcock’s Elric Novels*…

More to come…

Murv

* The character in the novels, Elric, carried a cursed sword named Stormbringer. Whenever unsheathed, it could not be re-sheathed until it had drawn blood.

…Is probably SMEAT.

I bet you thought I was going to say TREET, didn’t you? Well, if it comes to the actual product, yeah, TREET is likely to be what you’ll find in my cupboard. As I’ve pointed out before, I can pick up TREET for 99¢ at the local supermarket, whereas its almost identical cousin SPAM is more along the line of 3 bucks. It doesn’t take Professor Eppes from Numbers to do that math. Hell, I can even do it without taking off my shoes and socks.

But, let’s get back to SMEAT.

You see, when you create a work of fiction, grey areas of copyright law such as “Fair Use” don’t apply. What this means is, you can’t quote song lyrics without permission, and it’s a really, really bad idea to use trademarked brand names without permission. Unfortunately, obtaining permission can sometimes – actually, most of the time – be a mission you’d rather not undertake. I managed to luck out and obtain permission from Michael Moorcock, the copyright holder on the lyrics for a particular song performed by Blue Oyster Cult. And, let me tell you, it really was luck. I’ve tried to snag permission to quote lyrics from other artist’s since, and they’ve all either simply not replied, told me no way, or most often immediately replied with “GIMME GIMME A big a$$ chunk of your pie” – (apparently they too think we authors just rake in the cash.) Don’t get me wrong… It’s their intellectual property – or in many cases, belongs to a music licensing firm – but, I’m here to tell you they can be pretty ridiculous when it comes to their expectations regarding payment.

And, music isn’t the only thing we are talking about here. Brand names of products fit into this mix as well. Of course, there are also certain trademarked names that have actually become so pervasive as to end up in our colloquial lexicon, such as “Kleenex”. Give a listen during cold and flu season sometime. Between the sneezes and sniffles, the majority of the sick folk will refer to tissues as “Kleenex”. There’s nothing particularly wrong with that. It’s simply something that has become ingrained in our culture – which was what the company was trying to do in the first place. However, since “Kleenex” is trademarked, if a character in a story happens to need a good nose blow, to be on the safe side they should probably use a tissue, not a “Kleenex”… Readers will still know what you are talking about. In fact, for many of them, they will simply think “Kleenex” in place of tissue. It’s one of those Jedi Mind tricks our brains play on us.

But, if you really want to us “Kleenex,” I’m not about to stop you. As I’ve made perfectly clear, I have no intention of telling anyone how to write. Not my place, not my thing.

But, let’s get back to the SMEAT.

You see, unless you are watching a big budget Bond flick, or some other Hollywood advertising vehicle that contains insane amounts of bought and paid for product placement throughout, the props you see on screen aren’t necessarily what you think they are.

Yeah… It’s another one of those Jedi Mind tricks.

You see, you aren’t likely to see SPAM in a movie. What you will see is SMEAT. Of course, had it been me designing the props, I would have called it SMEET – you know, SPAM plus TREET… But, I can see where they were coming from. At any rate, the same thing applies for just about anything else you see on the screen – cans of soup, books, newspapers, etc. None of them are real. They are fabricated to look close enough to an actual product so as to trick your mind into instantly recognizing it. Of course, some of them are simply made to look “real,” but not to necessarily trigger a subliminal connection to an actual product. For instance, the book cover above. For me, “Sky Sluts” doesn’t trigger a connection to an actual book title, nor does the cover art. However, I have to admit, now that I’ve seen it I’m damn curious about what the actual story might be. My guess is that it is fairly weak on plot, substance, character development, and maybe even writing. However, I get the impression it tries to make up for all of that with action.

Now, if you don’t believe me about this whole movie prop thing, I can understand your skepticism, but I’m not making it up. For instance, SMEAT was used in an episode of Millennium, as well as some other movies. Take a close look at soda cans and beer cans in your favorite television shows. At first glance the labels look downright familiar, but if you focus on them for a second, suddenly you get the full picture. In the interim, if you are interested in seeing more, take a surf on over to this web address:

The Earl Hays Press

These are the folks who design and print the “look alike” props you see in movies. They go all out with the details too, because you never know when a closeup might be in order.

Oh, and while you are there make sure you check out the Booze labels. Trust me, you’ll get a laugh.  I mean, it’s not every day you see a bottle of “Snotliknaya” Vodka or “Bar Fly Label” Gin.

Yeah, that’s the real kicker about this stuff. The entire time it is evoking a brand recognition in our subconscious mind, it is also packing tongue in cheek details that are good for a snicker or two…

All I can say is the folks who design these props must have a ball.

More to come…

Murv