PEP-TALK PRESIDENT:  Jordy!

JORDY:  What?!?!

PEP-TALK PRESIDENT:  Hustle!!

JORDY:  You want me to swindle coach?

PEP-TALK PRESIDENT:  Watch it.  You know what I'm talking about.  Give me the ball.

JORDY:  That's the definition of hustle.  You mean you want me to be more aggressive and persistent.

PEP-TALK PRESIDENT:  That's it.  Hit the showers pal.  You're done for the day.  I'm not going to let a little brat like you insult my intelligence and authority.  Let's go.  Hit it.

JORDY:  Whatever.  I ain't your hustler.  Weirdo. 

PEP-TALK PRESIDENT:  I'm having a word with your folks after practice, so if I were you, I'd give it a rest.

JORDY:  Fuck if I care.

PEP-TALK PRESIDENT:  Chip.

CHIP:  Coach?

PEP-TALK PRESIDENT:  Run ten consecutive two three zone drills until I get back.  LET'S GO!!

..........reformat?  DREAM SEQUENCE NARRATIVE:  

  "You're not leaving the house looking like that," said Trent.
  "What's a house?"  laughed Melody, wide-eyed.
  "A place where people go to..."
  "Hey I have an idea."
  "What?"
  "I don't know.  Never mind."
  "Swat I figured."
  "Hey."
  "Come on - don't."
  "Don't what?"
  "Play games."
  "Huh?"
  "Yeah."
  "Yeah what?"
  "Games."
  "Please."
  "Hand."
  "Ya."
  "Uh."
  "What?"
  "..."
  "Why?"
  "Games."
  "Yo!"
  "Airhead."
  "Bimbo."
  "Shimbo."
  "Shimbo?  What the hell's a shimbo?  I know you didn't just call me a shimbo."
  "Want to go on a nature run with me?"
  "Nah."
  "Come on.  Exercise will do you a globe of good.  I don't think you should be wearing those glasses.  Please remove them when you're around me.  You don't need them anyway.   They make you look like a nerd."
  "I need 'em."
  "You should try some different frames or think about trying contacts then," said Melody.
  "I'm not playing house with you babe."
  "I'm not playing house with you either - I'm just making a few simple suggestions that might help."
  "I thought you loved me unconditionally - just the way I was."
  "And I DO love you Trent - but there is a TON of work to be done.  Forget I even brought it up."
  Several months later, Melody became more impatient with Trent's inability or motivation to find any stable work and moved in with her cousin in San Bernardino.  They tried the long distance thing for a while, but it was really just Melody weaning him off.  She knew about his short fuse and didn't want to see him try anything dumb like steal a car and drive to California, screaming and crying outside of her bedroom window, or something ten times worse.  Trent applied for work at fast food restaurants, coffee houses, even freelance landscaping and car washing jobs.  He'd do just about anything to make a cheap quick buck as his options were starting to run out.  He thought about dying his hair purple one night, but decided not to, believing purple headed people belonged working behind the counters at adult novelty stores and counter-culture fashion shops at the mall.  He thought about getting ink or going a gauge higher in the ears and thought about how he could get the money to do it.  The cotton candy dreams began to flood his memory of the times he and Melody had shared, acting as a constant reminder about his future goals and aspirations.  They were dormant, but alive.  The need to travel.  The desire to take the reins of life.  These subliminal concepts that Melody had firmly planted in his subconscious, starting the day they had met at a Zaxby's.  After she had left, Trent began to drink a lot of water and jog much more frequently.  There were simple yet very complex and systematic brainwaves that Melody had implanted within his mind - such as how to meditate and become resourceful in any situation, all the way down to making a bubblegum buying decision.  The Hubba Bubba or the Bubble Yum - and so forth.  He began to understand the deeper parts of the human condition on how and why wars and violence and religion had started and found some sort of resolution.  Why some people don't even think for themselves at all - their minds completely controlled by various corporations and enterprises - because they have no direction or ambitions of their own - but to be used as a type of vessel for something much larger and meaningful.  Harris' mind began to shrivel and retract - not in horror mindu - still, he couldn't really grasp what was happening, but there wasn't much he could do to stop it, nor did he care to at any time.  He began to think about flying - sexy flight attendants with lavish amounts of mascara and high heels - the mile high breadwinners and what it means to become one that has been enlightened with the Vison of Lankorym to the tip of Shakoonta.  This wasn't a form of sexual titillation or any kind of erotic fantasy, but a consideration of anatomy and the study of the human mind and all of its neurons bouncing and popping into one another throughout a twenty four hour period of time.  Holy cow - that's a ton of neurons!  But this wasn't a subconscious or subliminal notion like some kind of advertising or marketing trick done by the good people of Johnson & Johnson - because no one could understand the intricacies of marketing better than Melody.  This is something Trent began to admire more each day about her.  After she had left him, he began to watch her videos, her YouTube channels, and read her blog and books.  She did non of it for money, but for something much more integral any systematic than mere personal finance.  She felt happier when she was in Scotland studying horticulture and fashion, but now that she was stateside, her desires were now focused on putting a new particular skill set to work.  Most of Europe she found agonizingly boring ad nauseam, but a challenging learning experience nonetheless, and this is just what her strawberry shortcake girly mind needed - not water bottles, no War of the Boyles - it was now simply rewarding and just the education she desired to make her life in the US a better, more fulfilled one.  When Melody was a little girl no older than eight, she had every intention of becoming a ballet instructor for the underprivileged.  She wanted her own studio, her own line of tutu's, rooms full of mirrors, carefully placed water bottles and ankle warmers, and a voice activated heating a cooling air conditioning system that would only work on her command alone.  Trent, Harris, and Addison found the campfire story amusing yet insightful.  It wasn't the content of her story, but the mechanism of delivery they found unique and worth considering for extended periods of time - even though they couldn't understand why.  Lycra syntax among hilltop ragamuffin antics and weather reports of cool breezes enveloped the collective jargon circulating around the city of Sage Mountain.  Even the mayor, county commissioner, all park rangers within a sixty mile radius, and local 'paw' enforcement came with ribbons and fliers and fanfare and correct grammar and pronunciation.  Many of these were dressed up like doggies from some kind of out dated yet twisted Don Bluth Production that never really existed, but realms of antiquity abounded wholly until the Reign of the Skirt Chasers came for a visit.  "Look at her hair!  Check out that halter top!  Can you believe that?" and other phrases began to circulate within the once 'puritan' community along with the funny hat people - you know- the type that talk like they're narrating a teleplay by Dick Wolf or a journal of science and medicine.  It was now impossible for anyone to talk with a straight face when these gangs rivaled each other because they knew every syllable uttered from their lips were complete and total fallacies.  The doodoo gooders™ (they switched to complete lower case and trademarked the organization by unanimous decision at a finance meeting) and the Skirt Chasers began their pretend turf war with the entire Grumble Neck County church crew system and began devising a much more efficient and tactile method of achieving their collective goals.  Shots were fired, necks were sliced; sure, it wasn't a complete bed of roses, but insight and the culmination of what followed brought about a better realization to the complex code of ethics that now permeated most of the resident's minds at all times.  Before too long, drivers (legal or otherwise) were not wearing safety belts.  Some would go as far to remove the safety belts from their cars and trucks without even thinking about what they were doing.  After all, what did they need safety belts for?  They didn't.  There was a higher percentage of the population within  the community that didn't have anywhere to drive to anyway - other than into a pond or lake.  So this is why they figured they didn't need to have their safety belts on - as sort of a 'worst case scenario' if you will.  Over the chancy ravines came a multitude of transverse thought any hypothesis with Board of Calisthenics and inquiry of the fort track mind.  Construction continued along county highways and interstates - tirelessly along the entire eastern corridor, although out of town-ers would say they were constructing and deconstructing in a twenty four hour loop to confuse certain snoopy government officials that were part of a higher team of intelligence outside of the jurisdiction of the United States government.  Nothing was safe but still remained as part of the collective group within the misguided intentions of the doo doo Gooders™ and Skirt Chasing glue tape legion began to materialize within Harris' subconscious.  The bumps and bruises they left would be forever locked into the subconscious minds of certain individuals and taken to the Posture Marketing Troupe of 'funny-ha-ha' type monkey business that was also in a perpetual looping dream sequence.  These collective thoughts were as shallow as a single droplet of water on the searing hot sands of the Windinghouse desert, and the Mull Cree Freeway began their construction zoning conferences every other Tuesday night at the biker bar that was overrun by the upper-class-gated-community-type.  "Put that down!" shouted Paula as the bikers ignored her frequent outbursts.  They saw what she was doing, but they weren't on her side.  They could see the gleaming Cleopatra eyes and many had already experienced her Ringling Bros. make-up soirees on a number of occasions.  They saw where she was going without even batting an eyelash.  Harris came to the conclusion that the entire scenario was a bad dream and carried out his original plan in the weeks that followed.  Trent agreed that he should seek professional help and put a personal game plan together that would ultimately suit everyone's needs and purposes excluding his own.  This wasn't going to be an easy task to achieve, but the results would continue to remain conclusive throughout.  The Action Wrecker was a big 'ol truck of straw that swung by the phone store for a turn of some peanut at the zoo repository.  "We couldn't be any happier," said the committee.  "You dating anyone Miss Sewer Homewrecker Potpourri Holly Crackenstumula?" - like a bull whip out of nowhere.  "Halleluia!" the satanists would respond.  "We can't get enough of this place!!  Can we stay here forever?"
  Simultaneously full of angry trance and synapse and Saratoga sadness.
  "I thought you were nuts.  OK... I see what you did here," said Trent.  "You go on a short mind bender and then come back to reality in this paragraph right... here."
  "I do?"
  "Yeah.  It's supposed to be a spontaneous no-frills comedy... so..."
  Crumple crumple crinkle.
  "Thus."
  "Wep..."

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