BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

I’ve got me a big old depression on, as well I should have.

You see, our TV is about 25 years old and the horizontal O/T is acting up, not to mention the focus divider is relatively unfocused, and color guns in the CRT are drifting into an acid trip of psychedelic haze. I mean, I love me some Stana Katic on the screen, but when she’s blurry and sorta bluish like those silly-ass Avatar aliens, well… Not my thing, yaknow?

What does that have to do with a line from a song? (Aphrodite’s Child – 666 for you young’ns who didn’t get the reference in the title.)

Well…. The Rapture, of course.  I was going to nab myself a free 50″ LED Flatscreen after folks went on up to heaven. I mean, what the heck? It’s not like they would be needing them anymore.

Of course, I guess I was being a little too honest.

“What?” you ask. “You were going to steal from Raptured Christians? How’s that being honest?”

Easy enough to answer yet again. Like I said, they weren’t going to need them anymore. Basically, I was being the honest and upstanding sort because I was waiting for the folks to be gone and not coming back. If that was the case then it would sort of be like finding some lost property, reporting it, and then waiting the appropriate amount of time for it to be claimed. When said claiming didn’t happen (or could be proven to have no chance of occurring – duh, rapture) it would be mine. Completely legal.

Had I been the dishonest sort I would have run an ad in the paper, or just gone knocking on doors looking for sheeple who bought into Camping’s BS and convinced them to give me their stuff. After all, they wouldn’t be needing it anymore, so it should be an easy sell. According to the news, apparently it was an easy sell for some not-so-honest types out there. Folks were giving crap away left and right.

I guess I just stood in the wrong line.

Damn me and my scruples. Guess that’s why I’ll be stuck here playing polo with the horsemen.

More to come… (Until October 21st, of course…)

Murv

…Or am I just happy to see you?

Remember your childhood? No… Not back that far. No need for poopy diapers around here. I fling enough poo for all of us.

I mean like back when you were about 8 to 10… Maybe slightly younger, but not too much. You know, kind of like around the age of kids in those sub sandwich commercials where they have all the adults running around but they have little kid kinda voices…

You haven’t seen those? Well damn… They’re actually kinda funny…

Hmmm… Well just stick with me here and maybe we can work this out.

Back when you were a kid, around 8 to 10, did your parents ever say, “Come on, Rusty (or whatever they called you). We’re going for a ride.” Then, drive for about two hours and eventually boot you out of the car on some lonely country road and then speed off?

Okay, okay so mine didn’t do that to me either.

So, how about this instead: Did they ever hustle you into the car, not telling you where you were going, then listen to you gripe for 20 minutes because you wanted to watch Lassie or The Lone Ranger instead of go somewhere that you didn’t even know where or what it was? And then, after you were really good and bored, and extra grumpy, and were just plain being a kid, they broke the news to you that you were on your way to get a new bike… Or a puppy… Or to see a movie you’d just been dying to see… Or Holiday Hill… Or White Castle… Or swimming… Or any one of a million things that would make a kid go ape-shit excited to the point where they wiggle right out of their Superman Underoos?

Well, unless you had a truly horrible childhood then you probably know what I’m talking about, at least on some level, be it big or small.  If you did have a truly horrible childhood, you have my sympathies…

So anyway, why the hell am I rambling about such inane silliness? Well, you see, sometimes it’s exactly like that for writers. We get started on a manuscript (hustled into the car). We write, and write, and write (gripe and get grouchy because we’d rather be looking at porn… Hey, the other shows have lost their appeal at this point)… and besides, even though the story is good, and the prose we have penned is gripping, the final destination is in the hands of the characters and they haven’t yet given up the secret info…

But then, just like our parents who had tortured us with clandestine car rides only to surprise us with serendipitous banana splits from Velvet Freeze,  our characters choose some arbitrary moment to reveal to us where we are going.

You know, like when we are folding the laundry and ruminating about where to take that next chapter.

And, just like the little kids we were then, we wiggle right out of our  Superman Underoos, giggle, pee ourselves, and get all kinds of cotton candy overload excited.

Yeah… Pretty cool, eh?

So… I guess now that I’ve peed my Superman Underoos I should change. Whaddaya think, Batman or Aquaman?

Of course, there’s always Wonder Woman… But those are really designated for when I’m looking at porn instead of writing…

More to come…

Murv