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              2You Sure About That2

  3Pippa Bored3 

        4Mad Driving Skills4

5When Calvarist’s Snap5

                           6Skinny Motel6

  7Avec Pomme Fritte7 

 8Sit.  Please.8

                                 9Harris’ Lab Test9


                                11Party Slash Dinner Thing11

            12Simac Courts12

                    13Mobile Flash13

14Who’s Updike?14

       15The P.T.P.'s Value Builder & Sequencing Module15

16The Bum Resort16


 Everything, everyone underground.  The Calliope.  That’ll do it mister.  Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh.  There.  That’s better.  And that’s it for the day.  Class dismissed.  Just kidding.  SIT DOWN!!  That’s where we’re going to pick up… eh hem.  You… in the back.  Get out of my classroom.  
 The fiction became it’s own fantasy adjacent the court as the S.C.’s and the d.d.g.’s went toe to toe at the Grumble Neck County Enclave.  
 Spring had sprung {doi-yoi-yoi-oi-io-ng} bringing once again the mindless blonde mutants, (delicious albeit) becoming it’s own reward, conditioned with the dual-action-secretarial-hair-pencil-bonnet-transcribing-legal-document-type-on-toasted-jelly-sandwiches, the Play-Doh Rewards Program, the Battery Operated Radical Paint and Powdering Shit Show, and Cedar Mushroom Contestants, surviving only on the nibbling of the outdated ‘n obsolete Snak-Wrap Value City Furniture Outlet circulars with the lil’ rubber bands ‘bout ready to snap at any second, and nothing to wash em down with but orange non-profit ink pens of the unchained genre.  Mmmm.  smack smack. squirt squir – ta– chase!!
 Come to think of it, in hindsight it was psychological turgor pressure – verbatim alamagokis mindu!! repetition begetting skill, to the collective irony and three-day forecast this time – of the most beautifully tearful of freshest air you’ve ever had enter your nostrils and filling your tired lungs; pasteurized, and there wern’t a single brass safety pin on God’s green earth that could pop this wobbly mess.  Nope.  Not a chance.  The pain, guilt, battle scars, the Idle-Rich-Yet-Tokyo-Drifting-Shortbread-Yumminess of broken wooden bird bath day-spa and wormery with twine to fix it all after Mario Jammies later on.  Go fireworks.  No?  Unfathomable; yet forlorn twirly drinking straws at the Morgan household after for the spitball contest under Trampoline Terrace; the golden platter at Milridge, the warm summer heat, smelling smoked meat, swatting mosquitoes, just before sunset.  The two for one deal was back, juxtaposed in action and cornered into the mason jar that fell down the rocky, some might say “rumbly-tumbly” ravine - two blocks from Thesaurus Vineyard, shattering, all what matter of bouncing coins and ching sounding sound bytes.  Nothing like it.  And this is really where things start to pick up, so listen close.  You.  Put that down and open your ears. 

[10-second pause]  

Thank you.  


[20-second pause]  


WE’VE got the inconsiderate wild mouth who shall go unnamed at Furtherman’s Fresh Farm and Apricot Grove, who’s lips are dripping of WW2 tanks and ranks, jabbering away like the John Deer Tractor that he is with the headliner at Charlie’s Pub down the way, making sure the curtain vs Hamster’s Dirty Bird’s still at his birdcage, a real name dropper with a slimy story that’s way too graphic for lil’ ears so wet, Shannon’s sloppy-mushy kisses in Hyannisport, all obtuse; all corny yet sufficient in spite of the crack in the rusty furnace – coated in three years of spiderwebs.  Harris’ legal team was cranking up the heat full blast; still, Nic had a few aces up that sleeve of his on that particular night.  

All of a sudden, Trent ran through the door, slinging around vinegar and baking powder all around the hotel room, kicking over the office chair, shoving everyone around, slipping on a Del Taco wrapper – full of two-day old beans.  
Pippa jumped on top, tugging away at his tank-top, proceeding to give him the biggest wedgie of his life, playfully yanking away at his dirty and dusty blond hair.  Your order sir?  

There shall be no ketchup?  Oooh ya ya – Mambo Mambo.  

Chapter 1

“Here,” said Addison, “-you're driving.”
“Where are we going?”
“I don't know!?”
“I'm bored.”
“Just go. Come on!”
“This is your last lesson in learning how to drive shtick. Watch his left foot and right hand in sync. Don't look at me. See?”
“I ain't gotta drive schtick. I already got a automatic pick-up.”
“If you want to be a man, you gotta learn stick. Right?”
“I guess.”
“Where are we going again?”
“We're just driving around dude.”
“Why don't we go over to the doller general for some energy drinks.... and then to MacDonersh.”
“Fine. Is any of this making any sense to you at all?”
“I don't know!?”
“You drunk?”
“You're a moron. Got any weed?”
“No. If you got twenty bucks we can go get some.”
“Alright. Let's put five in the tank and let me get twenty from the machine.”
Trent sat in the back seat flicking french fries at Addison up front on the passenger side. Addison grabbed them off the dashboard and started eating them. Mmmmmm....Tastee!! (an' a little dirt won't hurt.)
“Hey look Harris,” pointed Trent. “He's eating um.”
“What's the purpose of life? I'm struggling really hard to find a reason and purpose.”
“You're a alcoholic.”
“It's deeper than alcoholism. Forget I asked. Just going out on a limb for once. You guys ready for this week's adventure?”
“Hey, we gon sleep in the car tonight?”
“Can't. No room. Hey gimme a cigarette.”
“I only got two left.”
“Hey Addison. Let me get a pinch.”
“I'm getting too low – dial it back.”
“Just a small one?”
“Far be it from...”
“You guys want some Lunchables?”
“We should get some of this Gatorade gum. It really works. Come on. Please?”
“You're already full of sugar. You can't take your bag-pack in the store.”
“Lemme drive.”
“I don't know Harris. How old are you again?”
“Come one. Pleeeeeeeese.”
“Chill out dude... you'll get your chance – I'm a man of my word. Work first – play later.”
Addison threw a couple cases of product in the cart and hoisted Harris inside to keep the boxes from jumbling around. 17 units sold for the day. Could have been worse. After work, the three grabbed subs and chips and cigarillos and Bud Lite Lime and made it back to the hotel; a race to the hot tub.
“When you getting to git a girlfriend? Oh wait... you already got one. Heather.”
“She had a conniption last time you guys came over. You can't talk to females like that. You almost got us thrown out. Quit doin' crap like that.”
“Yeah you beat me up with her last time and she deflated.”
“And her death is just something you're going to have to have weigh on your sub-conscious. Every night Trent. Yeah. She was totally taking her rage out on you. K?”
(on phone)“Yes.”
“Come uawhn … fu..MOVE!!”
Great Wolf lodge was fun, but the abandoned quarry was even more so. Money didn't revolve around expectation. Bumps and bruises never interrupted such positive and uplifting discourse amongst civil upkeep and various forms of admonishments in local circulation. There was always time for coffee and a cronut at said stomping grounds:
“Look at this pamphlet!”
“Straight garbage.”
“Shut up.”
“Garbage. Get rid of it.”
“Wipe your face.”
“Why yall eatin' that crap?”

 The old Lincoln Town Car was a little rusty, but not much. The whole machine reeked of wet dog and-and Windex. Slim Jim wrappers and empty candy bags strewn around the backseat with tiny 4 oz coffee cups of delicious menthol butts that no one had finished. The engine light was on, but still a real tank on pavement. Decent mileage for her size too. The Mexicans were good people. They all lined up and gave their blessing at the porch of gladness out on yonder pasture. Good natured purveyors of instinct and dialect and solidarity. Aristocratic yet gregarious, and excellent taste buds for super outlandish seafood. Nutcracker? Exactly.

Chapter 2 

    Pouring out of the car onto the parking lot, Trent popped the hood and grabbed some M&M's.  Everyone was tired of cheap sports and four-square, although tether ball seemed to be working with varying degrees of success.

    “I'll keep this brief guys.  Your performance today was on point – everyone was bored to tears.  You pass Intro to Hypnosis.  Bravo. There's ten each.”
    “There's a tricked out Trans Am.”
    “How are you thinking about cars at a time like this?  Focus.”
    “Shut up.  You're gay.  Blow up dolls don't count.”
    “You'll be speaking with my attorney before too long.  Just you wait.”
    “Ha.  Yeah right.”
    “You think I'm joking?”
    “Let's go to Golden Corral.  Oh wait that's right. You can't afford it.  Broke ass.  But if you could, I'd ride you like a horsy around the buffet and make you eat out of the toilet afterwards... dumb faggot.”
    “I'm sorry guys... Tourettes?”
    “Why don't you start to keep a journal.”
    “No - journals are for chicks and queers.  I don't do that shit.”
    “You need a haircut.  Bad.”
    On the banks of a muddy creek and whipping floor, they cracked pipes of crassness and rusty fenders of gloom.  Who's barrettes and bows are these?  These streamers?  Someone's flying kites around here and uncovering hornets nests with simplistic yet carefully placed squalor...and I thought I was the one who started this mess.  If it cost money, no one wanted to be around the guy.  But when it was time to party.  Well hey – I'll take ten.  With friends like these, who cares if it's two nickels or 2 tickets to Paris – right?  Sign me right up.
    “My English teacher told me I break the fourth wall too often.”
    “You mean your Gym teacher.  Right?  Guy or girl?”
    “Yeah.  Your point?”
    “You're asking me?”
    “Anyone want the last burger?”
    “I'm good.”
    “So now what?”
    “I don't know.”
    “You guys want to...”
    “Hey I know... wait...”
    “I know where we can get a bag of weed for 5 dollers.”
    “She sells wizard smoke dumb ass.”
    “No she don't.  Not no more.”
    “You're an idiot if you do.”
    “I need gas first.  Give me three bucks.”
    “Trent was that you?  You fart?”
    “Lemme get fifty cents for a pop.”
    “Go to the drinking fountain.  We'll be there in five minutes.”
    “You suck.”
    “Gimme a cigarette.”
    “Man this guy is boring.  One of those pervs that talk about everything and nothing with charisma and gusto; but what a lame and shallow shit show.  Damn.  I can tell right away what a mega creep this dude is.”
    “Why you hitting yourself?  Why you hitting yourself?  Hmm?”
    “Harris needs to poop.”
    “It was you.  I knew it.”
    “Unlock the door bitch!!!  Kick his door Harris.”
    “Lemme see your phone.”
    “Whose are these?  Ewww.  Is this what I think it is?  Ugh... so nasty?”
    “Why ain't you got your stereo fixed yet?”
    “We've been over this.”
    “You suck.”
    “Who wants ice cream?”
    “I do!!”
    “How much further till Georgia border?”
    “I'm not using GPS... what's your phone say?”
    “I ain't got service.”
    “Is this our great purpose? Our lot in life?  Rambling all over the map like retards?”
    “I'm offended.  Take that back right now.  My sister has down syndrome.”
    “A very mild form of it.  You're Sally-miss-parent-mc-teacher-and-coffee-cake-conference all of a sudden.  Megan.  Lakeesha.”
    “Rectal thermometer!  I'll slice you with this paper clip - bitch I'll kill you!!  Ha ha... swat I though.  Yeah.. uh huh... so now what you gonna do about it?  Huh?  Swat I thought.  Mmm hmm.”
    “Hey bro come on.  Bring it.”
    Crack.  Pop.... sure... why not?  Snap.
    “Guys – fellas.  Twiddle your thumbs.  Man you guys are infantile.  Holy crap.”
    “I'm unna superglue your eyes when you sleepin'.”

Chapter 3 

    “There is nothing to do,” said Trent.
    “What I don’t get is how your boringness can still be fun – like tension relief I suppose.  All I’m sayin’ is that it wouldn’t hurt for you need to learn how to indulge in the fragilities of life a little more often.  Try and live cheap.  Dirt cheap!  Economize in this pitiful... economical.... what have you... uh...  environment we got going on.  What do you offer?  No homo, but what do you bring to the table other than a cute lil' baby face?  Hell, maybe that's all you need.  Lots of people collect paychecks in the Big Apple with looks alone.  Y’ever get out to New York City?”
    “Go if you get the chance.  For me, it was mostly itinerary stuff dozen or so times I been, but I soak up a different vibe each time I go back.  That city stays engraved in your head when you're long gone afterward.”
    “How bout Boston?  Massachusetts?”
    “Didn't think so.  So you learning anything at all from me?  It's kind of like a paid internship if you play your cards right.”
    “I guess.”
    “You guess what?”
    “I don't know.  What?”
    “Nothing.  Forget it.  Hungry?”
    “Is this some exercise in spontaneity.  Oh ok.  Continue.  Sorry to interrupt.  Continue.”
    “What then?”
    “There's nothing to do!”
    “This might be all there is to life man.  Why do you want to waste it?  There’s EVERYTHING to do.  Get down on the good foot dude.”
    “I'm just a big ol' ATM and sack of dope to you and that's it then?”
    “I guess.”
    “You're so ungrateful man.  You hear the words coming out of your mouth?  I can't believe you'd say that to me.  After all I've done for you.  There's something you're not telling me.  You don't want to talk about it... that's cool... cause if the shoe was on the other foot – forget I even brought it up.  I should learn to be more responsible anyway; less impulsive with my current financial situation.  If I could get things ironed out better, conversations like these would fail to exist.”
    “You can't drink.”
    “I know.  I'm far from perfect, but with everything going on in my life right now I'm making a personal inventory of my life and what has worth and value, and how one drink can lead to a thousand and all that personal hell and torment.  I'm growing to despise that state of sickness and depravity more every day and look realistically at the negatives, because believe you me - they sure outweigh the positives.”
    “Look... it just seems like with all my family and friends the conversation always becomes interrogation, accusation, yet sometimes helpful suggestions or ideas to improve in certain areas.   But I'm a good teacher.  I believe in my talents and abilities, and work diligently everyday I stay clean.  I carefully consider the correlation between addiction and financial duress.  Everyday.  Every single day.  I have to.  This ain't new territory.  I'm not trying to manage some sort of game or deck of cards or whatever, cause life ain't a game Addison.  I’m teaching a class and none of the students are buying the text book if you catch my drift.”
    “And you don't need me or Pippa or anyone else to elaborate any further on what I need to fix in my own life.”
    “It's just good to see you man.”  Slap.
    “Ow!  Chill man.  Take me home.”
    “You're not hungry?”
    “No.  Tired.”
    “Sure ya are.  Look at those big droopy eyes.  That takes the cake.  White trash heaven.  Now you've really done it.  That's the look of too much steak and fun if I ever saw.”
    “Alright.  So be it Mr. Collegiate.  Cone Each e-Waw!! ”
    “What kind of conditioner does April use?”
    “I don’t know.  Pantene Pro V.  You know… the one with all the nourishing vitamins and minerals to make her locks all nutritious and such.”
    “She’s not into that network marketing stuff is she?”
    “Well… kind of.”
    “What?  The make-up?  The soap?  Pots and pans?  What?”
    “And you’re bringing this up because?”
    “Hey.  Gimme the remote.”
    “Who’s got one?”
    “I can’t believe you.”
    “What’s with all the marmalade smeared all over the table?  You’re gonna get a bunch of flies in here if you don’t get that wiped up.”
    “Why don’t you go get a nice hot damp rag and wipe it up for everyone?  I’m not your housekeeper kid.”
    “Why do you type two sarcastic pages at a time like this?”
    “You need coffee.  Things will be better with coffee.”
    “Swut-I-thought.  Huh.”
    “Comic strip.”

Chapter 4

    “You guys ever read any Mario Puzo?”
    “Reading sucks.”
    “Once I smoked two blunts, picked up some Melville, and it straight jumped right out of my hands onto the pavement within five pages of reading it.  Single spaced too.”
    “Sounds like acid.”
    “Who cares.”
    “You’re writing right now.  You’re writing silence.  And when you're not doing that you're interviewing everyone.  Like a game show host.  Cept you're getting paid in peanuts. when you lucky.”
    “You guys like any Paul Simon?”
    “It’s a pay to play world.  That ain't no lie.”
    “He sucks too.”
    “What don’t suck then?”
    “Your mom.”
    “Why is that?’
    “Let's go get some Chick-Fil-A.”
    “Why ain’t you fix your stereo?”
    “Why don’t you fix it grandpa.  Go get your duct tape and scissors.”
    “I actually haven’t had any physical contact with anyone for the past… uh…. eight… maybe nine years.”
    “And why is that?”
    “I’m broke.”
    “Why don’t you just go and be a sugar daddy then?  Cassa-blow-doll.”
    “How fine that thin red line.  No?”
    “There you go with that fourth wall thing again.  Who are you Pepe Le Pew now?  You need to screw your head on straight … and not two hours into the future… but this instant!!”
    “What you sayin’ is you mean he need a sugar momma is what you mean.  You know… em dude who that act all tough around they friends, don’t have no Muh Fuh job, and cry like little babies on they phone for hours… I mean muh fuh wah wah muh fuh three straight hours wh e-e-e-e-e when they can’t scow for they boo.  Straight taxidermy.  On they check now.  Hep.”
        “Can's say it hasn't crossed my mind.  Eh.  That’s not how I roll.  I need my ‘me’ time, and you don’t get that when you’re in a serious relationship.”
    “You don’t really like people all that much.  Do you?”
    “I wouldn’t say that.  Is that how I come off?  I like people on my terms… I’ll agree with you there.  I’m no master at morals and ethics, but I understand the human condition to a certain extent I guess.  Some days I do feel like an alien though.  I ain’t gonna lie.  Ain’t life funny?”
    “You’re crazy.  That goes without saying.”
    “Nice observation professor.”
    “I was a little less selfish today.”
    “You’re telling me this because?”
    “Sorry.  You take AMEX right?”
    “Kidding.  How’s the fam?”
    “Eh.  These fries are cold.  Don’t eat in the car.  Wait till we're home.”
    “Did she forget the ranch?  She did.  Didn’t she?”
    “I… eh.. I don…”
    “How bout the ketchup?”
    “A few packets… I think… wait…”
    “You got this down solid.”
    “What are ‘yall doin’ tonight.  Man you wasted.”
    “You’re high.  You guys like sweatshirts?  I don’t know where all of these sweatshirts came from.”
    “I’m good.”
    “Nah.  Why he drivin?”
    “Hands off.”
    “Yeah.  Give me one… actually…. Actshy…gimme two.”
    “Man yall eat a lot of burgers.  Damn look at them wrappers.”
    “You want some?”
    “I’m good thanks.”
    Aprils house wasn’t far.  She was an expert at jumping jacks and pickle ball.  Her cartwheels… about a six – but sometimes a seven or eight on rare nights when she was wearing her Jordache overalls – I think they were tailor made.  We’re talking gymnastics instructor American style.  Man could this girl eat though.  I seen her shovel down boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts in the gas station parking lot and then go hit a speed bag for an hour in her apartment complex rec-room.  She’d turn off The Carpenters and play a Pantera album full blast, and start chain smoking Doral Lights in front of the whole bloody choir.  All of her makeup was from either Big Lots or Marshalls – a real fabric queen of sonar and intellect. The words cascaded out of her lips like the world was her business… hers alone… and every head of hers in that tiny little corporation of hers had to roll baby.   Somehow.  Someway I guess.  Mirror mirror how’s you’re drawl?  Bingo.
    “Where did April say she was going again?” said Harris on his cell, switching ears.  “Mm hm.  Yep.  You got a pen?  Write this down.”
    “She better have it.”
    “She’ll have it.  Chill.”
    “Right.  Mm… hm.  Yep.  Righteous canker sore.  Yep.  Mm hm,  Ok… look...Eighty-six the corn syrup, cause remember, she’s already got the food coloring.  Yes. Yeees.  Forget the pen and paper and listen to me.  You listening?  Shut up.  Good.  Listen to me… she’s at the fire pit ain’t she?  AIN’T SHE?!?!  Bye.”
    “She’s got my headphones.  Go.  You can’t stay parked here.”
    “I look like a ninja turtle to you?”
    “I uh…..”
    “You … uh… yall better get out of here now.  Aw hell….”
    “Easy on the clutch.  Please.”

This post first appeared on The Tangible Tangerine, please read the originial post: here

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