I would probably kill to have some girl send me flowers. I wonder what kind of hitman that would make me?
Wait wait wait…wait. travels in a device that is bigger on the inside then the out. Battles with out killing. Changes forms over the years works better in a group….is the doctor a pokemon?
I met a girl. And she’s perfect in every conceivable way. Smart, funny, mutual life’s goals and ambitions, shared philosophy and hopes. Similar tastes in entertainment but not so much where we’re repeating each other. Enough of a difference where we’re assured of millennia worth of time togetherness. And yet we’re not going out. Not in any sense of the word. I wish I could understand. The whole thing seems pointless to me but I guess it’s just the whole Ted and Robin thing. Despite everything on paper telling you they’re meant to be together they…aren’t. (I haven’t seen the whole thing so no spoilers.) I hate pointless tragedy probably the most. I can wrap my head around a lot of things but the dodo? Where’s the fucking justice in that. THEY WERE JUST CURIOUS!!! AND TRUSTING. If you want me to believe that we live in a good universe then I think those 2 qualities especially together should be rewarded not the cause of your extinction. A waste of a perfectly good species of bird to what…Nothing. Fucking drives me crazy to think that my species might have had a hand in that.
It had been raining for a week now. Mark thompson stared out the window as sheets poured down at the street below. He had always liked the look of rain but this was getting ridiculous. There were growing concerns of floods in the city as drainage was proving insufficient. But so far it had only been incredibly deep puddles or shallow rivers. He was studying one such river when he first saw her. At first he refused to believe what his eyes had told him but there she was. Standing on the corner next to his apartments. She was wearing a white sundress that had been plastered to her body with the rain. Shamefully his eyes sought to confirm his hopes but she was indeed wearing a bra. The odd part was she was staring at him. From 150 feet away their eyes locked and for the briefest of moments he felt that there was nothing else in the world. Moments later when she stepped in front of an
oncoming bus he would not stop screaming.
Patricia Wallace had had enough. The rain was not stopping and her flowers were sufficiently mutilated her dogs were sufficiently agitated and her excercise program was sufficiently forgotten. Patricia normally liked the rain but a solid week was doing serious damage to this infatuation she was having. Patricia sipped her coffee and stared annoyed out the window. Hot liquids poured down her throat and scraped her nerves raw as awake crawled around in her head. She signhed as she put the cup by the sink and collected her things. Rain or no rain her boss expected her into work on time today. Her door closed and locked seconds before her home phone rang.
Brian Mills’ luck was about to change. 2 months of job hunting were about to pay off. He could feel it. Slinging the tie on his neck up to a practiced level of tight to convey both a casual “I’m fun” approach but also tight enough to say “I’m all business” he buttoned the sleeves on his long shirt to hide the tattoo’s that lay only 6” behind the cuff. His khaki’s were his weak spot. Being older they didn’t fit quite right. So he had to hope that they would go un noticed. His car was on the fritz so he decided to take the bus to his interview. Leaving 3 hours early he hoped his deodorant would hold out for the time. But since it was raining the odds of it getting too hot were low. He boarded the bus after triple checking that it would deposit him to the right location and made to sure he sat comfortably enough that his back and neck wouldn’t cramp causing him to squirm during the
interview. But not so comfortably that he would fall asleep. He was 40 minutes into his journey when the bus he was riding killed a beautiful young brunette woman wearing a white sundress. He would make it to his interview but feel really bad about it.
Mark could hardly control his fingers as he dialed 911 and was numb the entire run down to the street below. He felt personally responsible for the woman laying on the ground with blood pooling under her. Still despite the guilt and the fear and the general uselessness of the situation he found himself admiring her perfect unmoving breast. Mark was ashamed and crying just as hard for how horrible of a person he was as he was crying over her death. Spectators had gathered around and sirens could be heard in the distance. Mark considered testifying on the poor girls behalf but couldn’t think of what to say. He just stood there until the police ushered him away. The girl was ushered out and eventually the EMT’s cleaned the blood and the bus pulled away. With in 6 hours of the incident the area seemed unchanged. Mark returned to his apartment and would intermitentaly stare at the
spot where she had died trying to make himself remember that it had happened. An hour later he gave up on fighting the memories and went to watch tv. He woke 4 hours later to reruns of the Andy Richter show only to find the same brunette sitting on the edge of his couch looking directly at him.
Patricia was lost. The world was spinning out of her control and there was nothing she could do about it. She had been on her first break at work when her Mother finally got a hold of her to tell her that her sister had commited suicide. She couldn’t remember leaving work couldn’t remember the drive home couldn’t remember anything between the phone call and laying in bed. Still wearing the soaked clothes she had worn earlier. Tidbits of memories flitted behind her eyes. A few minutes of Sophmore year in highschool. Sunday school when they were 7. Walking in on her with Patricia’s boyfriend when they were 17. Eating at Mcdonalds and talking about where to go for college. The more she tried to focus on one the more her head hurt however so she eventually stopped and just lay on her bed sobbing into her pillow. Each of her dogs took a turn cuddling up to her and out of deference kept
the requests for food to a minimum. Time passed but none of it registered behind her curtains. The rain pounded on and eventually she could not ignore things. She got up peeled off her soaked clothes and showered. Hot water barely registered and before she knew it she was heating up left overs and feeding the dogs. After a brief menu she retired to her bed again. The next morning after finally falling asleep she noticed her answering machine had 9 messages. Dreading what would happen but determined to get it out of the way she pressed play. The first 3 were her mother frantically trying to reach her. 2 were friends offering condolonces and asking when a good time to come by would be. 3 were various police and official needs to check on and deal with her sisters things. But the last one was the one was what got her attention. No official time listed on it and in a level of voice that she
could barely hear but distinctly recognized it was her sister. And it only said 4 words. “He’s coming, be ready”.
Brian had gotten the job. He felt some conflicting emotions for abandoning and not testifying about an ongoing suicide investigation to make it to an interview for a receptionist at a nail salon position. But 9 dollars an hour is 9 dollars an hour. And 70% discount on all treatments could pay for itslef right? Still opportunity had knocked and he had answered. Brian promised himself that the next time someone commits suicide in front of him he would put aside personal responsibility to confirm that it was indeed what it appeared to be. But he needed this job. The relief from the stress’s of job hunting was damn near palpable. He could feel the stress in his back begin to uncoil. And he was determined to become the champion at it. Failure had stalked his career life, the jobs he had held when younger he had screwed around on, And the jobs he had when he was older and really tried
at. Well those were stalked by bad luck. Brian was beginning to believe that he was destined for obscurity. And the lack of fame didn’t haunt him nearly as much as the feeling. The growing suspicion that there was something in the universe that was stalking him. Every time he had come close to success on something it felt like it was snatched from him. Whether it was showing up late on the wrong day, or what ever. There was no common thread he could find. Working was something that came to him at the wrong era. He had declined school to chase stupid dreams, and graduated from the wrong schools that did little to nothing for his career. Brian was sick of it. It was an odd sort of sick too. Soul sick, he would later learn to call it. Brian decided to celebrate his newfound employment by spending the last of his money on an ordered pizza. He congratulated himself by noting that it was both
practical and celebratory. He opted to walk down and pick up the pie itself so as to avoid the fact that he could not afford to tip a delivery person. Brian had worked for tips in his life and knew the need for them but hungry was hungry.
I met my hero twice. It’s a funny thing meeting the man who’s life I want to absorb. And even funnier when he turns out to be everything you could ever want in a roll model. Smart funny warm passionate and dispassionate. relaxed and dedicated. Christopher Moore has spoken in my state twice that I…
My move? I really can’t, not don’t, understand what you mean.
Is this a game we must play to win? Are you sitting, waiting, wanting to see what I have to say, what I write to defend myself against your ‘attacks?’ Or is it just out of plain curiosity?
My hero… I’ve never meet my hero but as the years blink away there are people who’ve come close.
A woman who hid herself behind expensive things, too wrapped up in her own world to see the unfortunate future that was to be her life. To a young man in a suit who became a best friend only to drown me into a sea of young love with foolishness.
Or a woman, the same woman who bore me for 9 months, who cries sometimes in her old black Chevy. Stick, not standard, with rust framing the doors and trunk. Who sometimes breaks her promises and hide truths about her health.
For now I am simply content and will wait, for however long, for my hero. Whether they be male or female
Nothing at all to conern yourself with. When a move is encouraged instead think of it as a dance. each player winding through an ever increasing series of steps together. It is a thing I am honored to share.
I met my hero twice. It’s a funny thing meeting the man who’s life I want to absorb. And even funnier when he turns out to be everything you could ever want in a roll model. Smart funny warm passionate and dispassionate. relaxed and dedicated. Christopher Moore has spoken in my state twice that I have seen him and a third time that I failed to be aware of his presence but did ultimately lead me to him. A silly little book with a signed cover and a skeleton peaking out of a basinet. Was all it took to draw me into my guiding light. I won’t ever forget my time and meeting him. Ok thus you have it. You’re move.
I promised a story and I’m working on it but brain are #)(&()#
It was getting bad. The reds had us pushed into a corner. And we were falling faster then we could get back up. It seemed as though all hope was lost then an angel appeared. Clad in her black and white stripes her beacon of light washed over our team like the grace of heaven.
“Matches over everyone out” she said with a mixture of boredom and exhaustion. Our battle was lost but the Valkyrie appeared to usher us to our final destination.
Outside my team studied my score with a mixture of disappointment and contempt.
"Your not last" was the best anyone could do.
"Yeah but I’m only ahead of that mom who’s gun didn’t work half the time"
I knew I was terrible. In my head I’m the chosen offspring of a disturbing orgy with Rambo han solo and half of the Schwarzenegger movies.
New job drained tired but fulfilled for the first time in a while. Now to find a girl friend.
The question stared up at me as innocuously as a child asking about a scar. Blinking from the first page of the email. Simple enough with one exception. There was no return address. No subject line no postscript or any explanatory information on it. Just sat there blinking away in his inbox. “are you happy” with two buttons below clearly labeled yes and no. I stared at them absentmindedly for a few seconds before inattentively clicked yes. The email instantly flashed a bright cheerful thank you before deleting itself from my inbox. I looked around in my history for a few minutes more before I finally decided it was a fluke and went about my day. At school we sat for lunch and talked about the usual nothing that we always did. In its own way our ability to talk about nothing could be described as impressive. Monks meditate for decades to gain the ability to apply effort with out really applying effort. But that was neither here nor there and I some how suspect that bull shit high school politics was not what you want to hear about. It was a few days before it came up actually. I could suspect that I was one of the first though I believe I was probably one of the first few million, maybe. But I digress. It was Thursday, I believe, when someone else mentioned it at first. Jennifer I believe asked if anyone else had gotten the email as well and one by one we all confirmed that the entire group had in fact gotten the message asking, simply, are you happy? By next Monday the school had confirmed what we had begun to suspect. Everyone had gotten one. By Wednesday that week several news agencies were reporting the wide spread reports of people the country over were getting the strange message. For weeks after theories as to the origins of such a message had come to exist. Everything from divine providence to CIA prank. Everyone it seemed had a theory, but no one could confirm anything. It had simply come from nothing. This was personally what I suspected for myself as I believe the email matched our own origins. The weird thing however in the weeks that followed was that anyone that did not have email would get paper letters or some alternate form of message. There also were no double messages, work emails fake emails only the formal or most used emails received the message or other wise, one per person. It all seemed funny to me really the whole world struggling to make sense of this thing that in all sensibilities should not have mattered. But there every one was getting swept up in the furor. And the funniest part to me was the eventual social question that everyone shared with each other. What did you answer? The ludicrosity of it all became infectious people breaking down realizing that they were not indeed happy or regretting their answer as though lying to some phantom thing would doom us all or something. I never really looked at my life that much before this whole thing started and I was damn well not going to change that happy sad its all a matter of perspective. Christmas I am happy valentines I’m sad. Same year same person all about perspective. Nothing matters nothing changed just time I guess. So why should some innocuous question that everyone was asked bother me. Its not like it really cares there was no follow up or special treatment the people who said no did not get a puppy the people who said yes did not get a coke. So what’s the fucking point. I hated it all really the more I thought about it the more I would get upset at these ignorant ass holes having their fake crisis just cause dr. Phil said they should. Fuck dr. Phil. that’s what I should have answered. Guess I have my regrets too. Around the school the same thing would happen all over. Are you happy? God who the hell knows. Hundreds of break ups resulted hundreds of relationships started. People suddenly realizing oh I hate my boyfriend oh I love his friend with a cooler car. Like figuring out that your not happy gives you license to be a bitch or something. Millions of people quit their jobs and open head shops, bars, surf lessons, painters, sex toy shops. Anything like the world had suddenly given them permission to live out what ever pathetic fantasy they had going all that time. I still don’t know what effect that it had on the economy. If I was qualified for more then flipping burgers I might have been thrilled by the sudden rush of openings. My best friend at the time dropped out of school. He was trying to make it as a poet, last I heard he disappeared into the city one night and no one has heard from him since. For years after this national syndrome passed over us. Existential fatigue, they called it. A nation of “what does it all mean”. Still thanks to that email my graduating class goes from 250 to 53. Guess that’s a good thing for me. End of the day really no one could figure out where it had come from. We simply had to move on knowing that what ever had wanted to know was satisfied with our answer.