-How did you get so smart?

  -I need the help of a stranger; a complete and total stranger.  Not you though.  I've already burned all my bridges with you.  I can tell.  Don't take any of this the wrong way.  

  -So?  Stop changing the subject and answer my question.

  -Tell me more about my eyes and I'll give you an honest answer.

  Slap and tickle.

  -So who's saying what here?

  -That's what I'm trying to figure out myself.  We're all on pins and needles because of you and your antics.  Can't you read?  It's like the words "Spielberg," and the phrase "quiet on the set" are circulating everywhere you go.

  -No.  Sorry.  You got me pegged all wrong there.  I hate society.  

  -Stop saying you're sorry.

  -I forgive you my child.

  -This is getting too weird for my tastes.  You having a piety contest with me?

  -No.

  -Would you like to then?  I have a few years of Bible school under my belt.

  -A pie-eating contest maybe.  But not that.  What's gotten into you.

  -This is useless.  Give me a Hammond B3 and ten cartwheels.  That'll complete my order.

  -Don't you know who's speaking here?

  -What?  Turn down the radio first.

  -What do you think of Vonnegut?

  -Junior or Senior?

  -Is this another radio progrum?

  -What's with the circus-ese?  

  -Your butthole is cleaner than that mouth of yours.  I don't believe this.  Move it!!

  -That's it.  We need to get you checked out.

  -Physically?  Mentally?  Spiritually?

  -I don't know if I particularly care for your tone.

  -I don't care for yours either.  I guess that makes us even.

  -Productivity is relative.

  -Stop changing the subj...

  -I'll do all the subject changing around here!  Not you!

  -I'm not going to fight with you.  It's above my pay grade and you need a bath silly.

  -And?
  -...

  -Hey!  Pay attention!!

  -You're not listening.  Some people need to teach a class on computer basics to feel any self-worth.  Others need to coach a game of baseball.  Others write books.  Some paint or play the bassoon, and some get no enjoyment out of life other than making money and accruing wealth; even at the expense of doing something they hate.  Let me give you an example:  A truck driver... and I know what you're thinking and yeah a hand full of 'em love the trucker culture, but I have a feeling most of them do it for the paycheck and nothing else.  Especially the ones who own their own rig.

  -It's mindless work for the most part.  You sloppy lil' piggy.  Put that down!  I'm sure a lot of 'em don't care for the long hours or back problems, but that four figure stub at the end of the week or month'll keep 'em coming back every time.

  -The grind.  I can't do the mindless grind like some of these people out there can.  But I'm more animal than machine.

  -You're a writer.  You must produce creative content incessantly.  I get it.

  -Ngyong-ngyong-ngyong-ngyong...

  -Naw you feel worthless when you aren't producing interesting literary pieces and advice articles for the consumer and super patron to consume and ruminate over.  Every second of the day.  I said put that down!!  Stop it!!  No I don't speak Asian.

  -What?
  -Nothing.  Twizzler's.  Mutual funds.  Please.

  -Ngyong Ngyong NGYONG NGYONG!!!!!!

  -I don't care anymore.  I'm putting you down for a nap mister.

  -What?  No!  Hey!!  Wait!!  I'm a paying customer!!!

  -You got that right silly.  What else?  God damn your ass is red.  

  -I know.  I'll tell you when to stop.  Hey, you got me thinking of that security guard that makes a nice paycheck to just sit there and wave to people all day long.  He's gonna retire with close to seven figures under his belt because he saved and invested and didn't spend money on dumb stuff he didn't need throughout his years in the workplace.

  -Nice observation slut.  He also has a great marriage, raised a loving and well-respected family in the community, and pretty much lived by the book.  He knew what trouble was from the get go and didn't have to experiment with a wild lifestyle to get all the fulfillment he needed.  You on the other hand need gobs of foreplay, and it seems our time is almost up.  Sloppy lil' piggy.  

  -Or needs for that matter.  Ouch.  That feels great.  I needed that.  So now what?

  -How is your vocabulary after you've had breakfast and are dressed for the day?  See?  What would you do without me?  Hmm?  

  -I know how to comb my own hair.  You don't do it right.

  -Oh shut up.

  Times were tough.  The Lackluster Dragonpaw atop the cost of doing business wasn't an easy climb, but anything worth doing at all never was.  Satisfaction was the main issue here.  You're not the center of the universe or the object of your own sensation as you had previously believed.  That's a declarative statement; not interrogatory or exclamatory.  There.  Listen?  Not me idiot.  Clevis London.  There.  Aren't you sweet.  OK.  Back to the story?  You got anything else better to do princess?  Didn't think so.  There is a ton, and I mean a TON of work to be done.  

  "This is all so offensive," said Fenton's mom.  "Why are you doing this?  I'm so uncomfortable with it.  It's utterly blasphemous, pornographic, perverted, and downright demonic.  You should be ashamed of yourself."

  "You forgot 'promotes anarchy,' and 'gloriously dystopian,' but I'm glad you like it.  What do your friends think?"

  "It's just so obvious it's only bad for the sake of being bad."  

  "À chacun ses goûts.  Quite honestly, I'm surprised you've read it cover to cover.  I can tell.  But you're not my demographic.  I write for disgruntled millennials or younger.  You're more 'inspirational' and 'spring brunch recipes.'  Not that there's anything wrong with that kind of thing.  Seven layer salad is awesome!!"

  "Did you know April just graduated finishing school?"

  "No."

  "Do you think music and art are the epitome of beauty?"

  "Maybe religion.  I don't know."

  "Art and music are the problem and solution to war and most societal problems."

  "It's just time for you to start showing some real commitment.  That's why we don't get along like we used to."

  "I'm an opportunist - a risk taker.  Not a plumber.  That's what you don't understand.  You play it too safe.  You're reactive in nature.  I'm not upset, it's just who you are, and I'm not trying to change you."

  "I'm not going to start an argument with you."

  "How's the sky today?"

  The keys weren't stiff, although I wasn't scheduled to play.  I was asked to stop tickling away at seven seconds into a rendition of Matlock by a government official and I obliged gracefully.  It wasn't time for TV themes and fresh Jacks Links, although some of those present in question might have opposed at the current state of affairs.  All I wanted to do was start playing Devil May Cry before it got real icky.  I took my seat there was order.  There were also smiles, firm Christian handshakes and shaved ice imported from Milan.  The proceedings were underway and the smoke breaks were far and few between.  This wasn't your ordinary day at your local chapter, so much as another foray into the idiosyncratic rule of justice and intertwined frazzletonement from Si Ug-monda (or somethin' 'ner other).  Those were my digits, my attorney and I pointed out.  My personal calligraphy of Disney-esque serotonin and good cheer.  That was definitely my squabble and I attested to it.  Who can deny such a civil and unappropriated injustice of a scam that local calls can't be made locally by a beneficiary or such nonsense?  This "area code" red tape is purely an attempt to give the authorities the upper hand when incarcerated.  Everything was sustained in action to the preliminary clause 5c as stated in paragraph 18-p5 penal code addendum to the aforementioned nonsense of prejudice and pride of another continuance and another appeal.  Well how bout this readers?  The illiterate are now quasi-literate because of yours truly.  Can I get a witness?  Help me preach here Murdick-style!!  I SAID CAN I GET A WITNESS!?!?!  These people who never would have otherwise found something to good to read are now reading because of me.  This is why I live in the jungle off the coast of Copanus.    

  Copanus is really something this time of year, but you must be prepared with your machete if you expect to find anything good to eat.  Wild boar and coconut can be excellent, but you must understand the basics of meal prep.  Spices, cadence, and a good kitchen ballet lesson in meal prep are devices of necessity, and well worth it while stationed away from the deer of anti-gardenia-no-more-salt-licks.  While here, it's your greatest asset.  Licking your lips in all honesty is only half the battle.  "I'm not your priest," said my attorney over the phone.

  There is now continuity within the framework of this story just like the framework in the greater Grumble Neck County area.  Not unlike what Brett Easton Ellis does/does/is doing from time to time.  Unmatched and outsourced to the highest bidder as they say before that light turns green, running from the Trailer Park of Greed and Treachery - moreover upon the stairwells of catastrophic and claustrophobic and with - yet w/o quilted bag of yarn and "oh my!"  Do those two really go together?  Those to items like that together?  For whom?  Zut Alors!  Hmm.  Condiments.  Right.  A match made in heaven.  Call me?  Oh we'll be speaking sooner than later.  This IS the house of in seipus non flavis affiliate partnership from Sage Mountain and all the way back home safely in one piece mindu.  The message of "I know, I love you, I don't agree, so this conversation has ended."  Meetings and more meetings from the "Take Your Parrot to Blurk-splaysh-splaysh-splaysh Day."  Out they buttholes from - that's where they poppin' em out from.  To the floor - standing up and running because there is a purpose.  My rod and staff DO comfort me Lord.  Yes, even in the counsel of the ungodly and poor taste and vernacular.  But I fear I know too much already; like another hilariously tasteless Bill Murray comedy out at the gun club - disintegrating empty cigarette cartons on empty cases of swill box and cans or bottle combo.  Don't think I or anyone else around these cheer parts said anything was supposed to be "fun," but without the parts that really suck ass, no one would really ever appreciate any of the parts that don't.  You feel me dog?