"How did you get stuck again?"

  "It doesn't matter right now Harris.  I'm freezing cold, drinking stale coffee all by myself in a crusty waiting room at Tom's Tire and Body.  Are you coming?"

  "Yeeeeess.  I'm on my way, but don't hang up I need to talk to you about Pippa.  Why isn't she with you?"

  "She got called into work?"

  "That's a question."

  "Yes.  A statement.  Called into work.  They're understaffed."

  "Don't you lie to me."

  "I'm not lying baby."

  "You said she had the day off this morning.  This is B.S.  Your story's not congruent."

  "I'm not my sister's keeper babe.  She'll turn up."

  "That's what I'm worried about."

  "There has to be something other than vegetable oil here."

  "Sorry.  You eat that.  I can't see it being bad for orifices anyway."

  "Good point."

  "You call this fun?"

  "For me it is.  Even if you don't really like it.  I appreciate you letting me try, but you know - it's all relative.  Some call the circus colossal.  I call it a colossal waste of time.  Shopping at Macy's is torture for Bob and euphoric for Nancy.  Depends who you're talking to I guess."

  "You have a very high pain threshold.  Don't you?"

  "Some might say."

  "Well it's time to get organized - to stay out of psycho babble loops that lead to nothing and plan ahead."

  "You need to have your algorithms checked out."

  "Urine deep."

  "What's that?  Oh you mean 'you're in deep' with what's happening.  Gotta' stop it with the wordplay dude.  Cut it out.  I feel like I'm talking to a dodo salesman.  Geez."

  Harris answered his phone.

  "Yes Tom... I got the paperwork.  Look man, let me level with you...you understand business finance.  Yes.  Absolutely.  But a very minute percentage of what you're saying and trying to teach me is difficult to wrap my brain around because any insight you might have is nothing that you seem to be applying to your personal budgeting or lifestyle choices.  Mmhmm... I know entertaining clients is part and parcel with... yep...  uh huh...mmm hmm... and that's the problem we're facing here Tom.  For starters, I've done my homework on your little operation and it seems to me that you're a chain smoking felonious drug addict and alcoholic with all caution being thrown to the wind continually.  I don't think you're a violent guy.  That being said dude, I'd like to try and get something figured out soon, but to me it doesn't sound like you want to join the winner's circle, 'cause that's the firm you're working with.  Matter of fact, right now you seem heavily intoxicated.  Listen let me call you back."

  "There's a rebuttal for that."

  "Let's listen to your calls for training purposes.  Not your really good ones that you could write and article in Forbes about, but one where you sound like a complete idiot who knows not a thing he's expostulating - no more than a lap dog or overdressed chimpanzee talking about buttholes like it involves interest rates and risk assessment."

  "At ease general!?!  Damn!"

  "Ughhh..."

  "Are you role-playing with me?"

  "This is nuts.  Can you believe this?"

  "You're really fast at typing.  How long you been doing this?"

  "I try not to think along those lines."

  "Why not?"

  "Just leave it at bay man.  Chill for once."

  

  The doo doo gooder's™ embroidery division began to show a spike in productivity when the Skirt Chasers started popping wheelies down Adain St. at four in the morning.  Every once in a while, on of the Wampum Warriors would ride by, shaking their fists in aggression, marking their territory.  Fifty plus miles down and around the circle.  With fireworks mindu.  Out at the business park, everyone was seated in the boardroom sipping their mochas and hot chocolates from mugs that looked like they were ganked from a LaQuinta conference room.  Pippa knew failure wasn't an option.  She had told herself this time and again during those rare quiet moments that would seem to zoom around in her cranium every forty eight hours or so.  The deli sandwiches on the big table by now were very crusty and coagulated.  Stale mayo.  Food poisoning on a hot tin tray for sure.  Addison shrugged and grabbed a piece of ham and pimento club.  He said he didn't care, that it was mostly sodium anyway.  Pippa shrugged back in silence.

  "OK guys," she said, standing up next to her Family Dollar dry erase board with marker in hand, "let's get started.  Let's talk goals first.  Nic?"

  "Uh... not enough?"

  "You got that right.  You're having a piss poor week."

  "Seven."

  "That's it?" said Pippa, looking back and forth, scribbling.

  "Eight then.  Is eight good enough?"

  "Is it good enough for you?  What are you going to do with all that money?"

  "Don't talk to me like I'm a baby.  Fine.  Ten.  How's that sound?"

  "Better," said Pippa erasing the eight, replacing it with a 10.  "Git you a nice new pair of jeans this week.  Tim?"

  "It's Timmy."

  "Timmy... whatever.  Sure it is."

  "Ummmmmm..."

  "Spit it out."

  "Fourteen."

  "Can you live on that?"

  "I'll have to I guess."

  "New record for you?  I think it's attainable."

  "Cool."

  "Trent?  Harris?"

  "..?"

  "How about team night?"

  "At the rec center!?"

  "No.  The nature trail like last time.  Yes the Rec Center off Albermarle Toad.  Sit down you!  All in for roller skating at the Rec Center and Free Scoop Night at Pritchell's afterward?"

  "I want pizza!!"

  "And video-games! Yeah!!"

  "And who doesn't," said Pippa.  "Who's in charge of frozen gummy bears?"

  "April?"

  Then along came this guy Joe.  Joe is a guy who is obsessed with witches and not just any soap opera, but one in particular called "Passions."  It ran from 1999-2008 on NBC.  In it there is this actress named Sheridan.  To him, she looks exactly like Natasha Richardson. (not to be confused with Natasha from "The Rocky & Bullwinkle sub-show: "Boris & Natasha.")  Joe is completely obsessed with her - her movies, her television appearances and interviews.  Let's talk about some of her films then.  Shall we?  She plays in The Parent Trap, Maid in Manhattan, Asylum, Evening, and The White Countess - among others.  Natasha looks like Joe's Aunt Ashley.  And here my friends is where the real scuttlebutt commences:  

  "Your writing is really starting to mess up our conversation," said Harris.

  Joe fell silent.  Everyone shut their mouths.  With every eye bowed and every knee closed, the silent prayer cut through the atmosphere and all anyone could hear would be gentle laughter and the pitter patter of typing laptops and tablets and the thumbing of smartphones.  For there were salient reports to be done.  The giggling continued and grew louder by the second.  Joe rubbed his head and scratched his foot, continuing to laugh with a big goofy grin.

  "Tell me how you feel about me," dreamed Addison.

  Joe was again, silent.

  "Go."

  Joe pretended to fall asleep, faking a catnap, his jet black hair planted firmly on on the head rest of the old yellow couch.  He yawned deeply several times.  Then he began to ooze on the virgin couch.  Joe's apartment was like a time warp.  One foot inside his place, and you'd think it was 1987 all over again, minus the TV/DVD/VHS combo that sat in the corner of the living room.  A fully furnished two bed, two bath with screened in porch on it's exterior.  Joe had never been in a sexual relationship before he had met Addison.  But Addison, having committed suicide was not completely female in the afterlife, and wanted to touch base with Joe on a variety of topics.  Addison had become intoxicated with Qorltainisrep, an afterlife beverage having similar effects of alcohol on the human body.  She whooshed in from under the crack in the apartment floor and got into a huge fight with Joe's memory and subconscious. 

  "I'm trying to write a fantasy story that involves both of us, but you're not working with me.  I'm putting you back to sleep.  (5 minutes later)  WAKE UP!!!  Have I been too rough?  Ahh..." 

  Wink.

  Joe began to look at his text messages and fumbled for offense but couldn't respond with anything coherent.  "I'm a boy-witch!" he thought.  "I'm a ten-year-old-boy-witch who's obsessed with a soap opera from the late nineties and dressing up like a witch and not just on Halloween!!"  He hummed and went back to his nap.  Scratching his neck, he thought about how to playfully confuse the heck out of Addison, who now a member of the spirit world, would come to make unannounced appearances with a variety of Dream Shareholder Troupe Lessons on the side.  This time there were Salmon Steaks in the fridge and butter and broccoli.  Pretzels ready for baking in the oven avec Grey Poupon.  Addison wanted to start eating, but remembered that spirits don't eat.  Either way she wasn't about to stop the dream sequence she'd started.  Then everything became choppy.  Misanthropic fear and anxiety permeated the cold apartment.  

  24 hours later:

  It was a little warmer today that it was the day before, but there was a dingy must about the place that smelled all to familiar.  Like Sonic Deja Vu or Congressional Freeway Pornographic Plainview Dairy-ish.  Then came Azgeir.  How does one with a name that sound like you're saying the words 'ass gear' off the tip of your tongue?  Is it even possible to keep a straight face while speaking with a person with a name like that?  If you're a guy, I don't think it's possible.  But that's just me.
  As Joe lie fast asleep dreaming in parallax memory and in the realm of Insignificant Boredom, he began to twitch, his jawbone began to crackle, cause his pecker don't work as good as it once did.  Joe was a twenty-three-year-old guy who had never experienced an orgasm in his entire life.  This kept him away from a lot of girls and women growing up, but he felt as though he had a good support system in check.  His rent was paid, he enjoyed his work, and was generally a pretty content and happy person.  His found his new job exciting - a drugstore cowboy who knew how to play the game.  You wanna' talk about pill runs?  This guy had it down to a science.
  The heater in the apartment was extremely loud and Joe was an efficiency expert if there ever was one.  He couldn't handle wasting energy on any level albeit a TV or light left on, or a door being left open for more than five seconds on a cold day.  Some might say he was mild LD.  He felt guilty running up an energy bill on his aunt and caretaker.
  "Stop talking about work!"
  "I'm not!"
  "Yes you are.  It's all you do - like you're hiding out in work-life twenty four seven trying to cover up something about yourself you don't want anyone else to know about."
  "Like what babe?  What do I gotta hide?  Hmm?"
  "This is not easy stuff to talk about."
  "Then drop it."
  "Well you're unoriginal.  You don't really do anything unique at all.  Everything you come up with is a rip-off of someone else's work."
  "It's all been done and sold. What's it to you anyway?   Wanna take this outside?"
  "I'd outwit you any day of the week"
  "It's cause you scared.  Ain't you?  Punk ass beotch."
  "What'd you say?"
  "Na... you'd run and tell your mommy.  I don't need that you lil' Skirt Chaser.  Come here bitch!  I ain't done.  Don't you walk away from me when I address you!  I'll put a dress on YOU moth... eh... forget it."
  Pippa was just as fearless.  She'd hop right in your car and tell you to drive to the nearest grocery store no problem - like there was something bigger and better right around the corner.  So trashy and insightful - not afraid to wait and make thoughtful suggestions on where to go and what to do when the gang was bored out of their skulls.  She had a real thing for Mexicans and selling seafood of the frozen variety at wholesale prices.  She'd stand and stare at you working on your computer, still as a mannequin, as you typed the day's end reports.
  "What babe?"
  "Nothing.  I just love to watch you work."
  But this girl was really making me eat.  At least it was a food gut and not a beer one this time, 'cause we'd be making love constantly, devouring everything in sight in between bonking sessions to sustain our energy to keep it all going.  Chicken and rice, pizza, pork steaks, salmon steaks, steak steaks, boxes of Chips Ahoy! and Oreo's, hot pretzels with mustard, roasted chicken and potatoes with garlic, ham and cheese sandwiches with gobs of mayo, cases and cases of Sun Drop, Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream, Ballpark franks, shoestring fries, and tons - I mean TONS of mac and cheese.  All brands.  Didn't matter.  The legs on this chick were ravishing.  So long and slender.  How the hell she stayed so thin I'll never know.  She'd rub my back and chest, and I'd cook her dinners, 'cause she was a real lasagna box freezer babe.  She didn't eat salad which bothered me a little, and she didn't like hot sauce like I did, but we were a good fit for each other.  It just seemed like scalding hot Taster's Choice.
  "It just feels like you're making your entire personal life public record.  Why are you doing this?"
  "It' sort of a 'life barometer.'  You're right.  A social experiment.  What's it to you?"
  "Look, people cling to chaos and unbridled energy, and it's your brand they're after.  Can't you see that?  And if it seems like they don't need you, it's all a ploy 'cause you got real charisma - even if you rarely ever make sense.  That Murdick guy sure as hell doesn't, but I wouldn't call him impoverished or socially irrelevant.  These people are drawn to you like snow to leaves, peanut butter to jelly, flies to poop.  My opinion Harris?  You're way out in la la land coddling clients and telling them they need to brush their teeth and put on an old Barney DVD before bedtime when what they really should be doing is signing on the dotted line.  Am I an idiot when it comes to certain things?  Absolutely.  I have a PHD in Playing Dumb.  I figure I got x amount of things to accomplish and x amount of time to time to get it done.  I don't have time to waste.  You say I live my life in some sort of comfort-laden-perpetual-loop, but it's not the case at all.  I'm a risk taker.  I have personality.  I ain't no stick in the mud."
  "How am I supposed to respond to that?"
  "You're not! at the risk of sounding like someone out of a Nicholas Sparks novel.  Mmm.  Gimme those lips."
  "..."
  "Look.  I love you babe, but I don't do drama, and I don't do romance.  Got it?"
  The five-day forecast seemed promising, but the chop shop was running out of raw material pretty quickly.  The checks were in the mail, the dogs were feed and groomed, and all the chickens came home to roost for another gathering at the Sand Trap off of the Mull Cree Freeway by the construction at the old exit that was no more.  You gotta be kidding with the McDonald's "holy shit I need to turn this car right back around and buy that carton of milk I forgot after work anti cop car tailing maneuver" because I am NOT on a rampage.  I'm good for the economy for one.  I'm resourceful, trustworthy, beyond reproach, a great listener, aggressive, but not overly so in my own opinion.  You don't ever have a second chance to make a first impression - to get off on the right foot so to speak.  You got one crack at it, and that's it.  But buyer beware, the intrepid pursuit of product shifting in a room such as this one isn't for the faint of heart.  Dark, dark, sinister jokes that pop up at a workstation with a quiet smile of concern and mystical labyrinth give way to to the siren of 'go-get-em-ness.'  For there in that place, fear is but a strange abstraction integrated into alice and deconstruction of he mental wallpaper that never ever curls or peels, as well as a pasty like substance that has no legs or mouth or eyelashes whatsoever.  Capisce?  I don't care if none of this registers, and quite frankly, all of this is one huge inside joke.  It's probably for the best for you to not be fully aware of the magnitude of what I'm alluding to, because I don't do any of this for you, I selfishly do all of this for my own mirth.  Again, I'm sorry you don't like my sense of humor, but this is just the way the ball bounces.  And to the vicar go the spoils of war.  Now.  Who would like a cardboard treasure chest?  One for the road?  Pretty please?  STOP SAYING PLEASE!!  STOP SAYING THANK YOU!!  I'M DOING YOU THE FAVOR HERE!!  STOP SAYING SORRY YOU FUCKING NANCE!!  Oooh! who made this coffee?  Is that tuna casserole?  I'm gonna need to run to the Walgreens for a bag of Twizzlers real quick, 'cause my roommates need them some peace and fuckin' quiet for just one damn minute please.  Thank you.  Gotta' learn to do sit ups and keep gas in the car.  Always keep the gas gauge above the freezer marker when you can't make... hey your odometer is screwed up.  You need to get that checked out before my id catches up, and you know when my id and ego get going, well hey, no one's looking for a free seminar in adoration and snowfort craftmatters 'cause we just picked up a case of the tastiest soda pop that goes great with the Klondike Bars that ooze down your hand unless you keep the wrapper neatly wrapped around each side.  Snug now, before the avalanche of chocolate and ice ream product starts rolling down your fingers onto your brand new work slacks.  The napkin?  Keep it.  It will be my souvenir to you to tell all your friends about the brunch here at the Hop-O-Matic Sandwich Shoppe and Dairy Mill.  You won the contest.  Hu-fuckin'-ray.  How was your grand prize lunch.  No I don't give autographs.  But I do endorse checks.  Sorry.  Don't count the pages, but the scroll length.  That will be much more beneficial.  Better than Shakespeare's vocab... 'cause some say the guy invented new words and ghost words every one point five seconds on average even though I hear he was a little en you know but that's what you get with a liberal education mindu, classes on how to be a complete fag without being called one, unless you want to to in the opposite direction entirely and just dominate like a real tru blooded right winger.  That's the stuff.  That's the leadership and readership we're looking for at an organization like this one.  Cause if Bull got it right, if anything, it's more about the numbers than the letters at the end of the day.  Don't tell me my life is manufactured or that I abide by a certain code or any such nonsense, but don't go calling me an anarchist either.  Who do you think you are trying to paint that crap on me?  Excuse me?  This conversation has ended.  I'll have the last word.  Not you.  This isn't a manifesto or credo or something like that because I got all my trig homework completed and I can't wait to show that prof just how completely wrong he is.  Do I have to?  That's a good question.  Not a moral or ethical one, but one of principle.  I guess you could say I'm a man of principle and honor.  How someone gets from A to Z doesn't really involve me in any way.  I'm not local, state, or federal paw enforcement.  Although I'm much cooler than most park rangers.  I've just learned to forgive and forget - so to speak.  Don't give me this "time heals all wounds" bullshit either.  I ain't mad, but you need to keep all of these papers organized or there will be a serious commencement upon the hill of Labrador and collie mutt to deal with.  And I ain't cleanin' up after that fateful mess.  No sir.  Harris, having totaled his new Korean crotch rocket, bought an old liquor-cycle for a buck fifty from Trent.  He had to get to work.  There were no two ways about it.  There were three potential clients on his checklist, and he was almost certain one of those prospects had potential for a long term partnership.  He was new to the game, but fearless and ready to step things up a bit.  One chilly afternoon, he met up with Pippa for half priced Bahama Mamas at the GPB&G.
  "So I'm moving," said Harris.  "I can't stick around this little village any longer.  Sage Mountain is really waning on me.  Put your purse down.  My treat."
  "Where would you go?  Madrid or something?  You'd make a great matador."
  "I've been thinking somewhere out west.  It's too wet out here - cold winters."
  "You could do a lot worse.  You have cold out there too - especially at night.  Wouldn't you miss the gang too much?"
  "Not really.  I mean, you guys are alright, but..."
  "Don't set the bar too high dude.  You're a big fish in a little pond around Sage Mountain, and I think it's blown your head up some.  Either way though, the Skirt Chasers wouldn't be the same.  It'd be back to the drawing board."
  "I know.  That's why I've put together a comprehensive diagram of new checkpoint coordinates and a few suggestions for my replacement."
  "..."
  "I'm kidding.  You know right?"
  "You sound serious as hell."
  "Well I'm always keeping my eyes open for new opportunities.  Can you blame me?"
  "Sounds like you mean 'better' opportunities."
  "It's good to know I'm needed around here."
  "OK... enough ego inflation.  Anyone have a safety pin and a piece of Scotch tape?  This guy's head might burst at any second and I won't be held liable."
  "Finish your drink," said Harris lighting a cigarette.  "It's time to get to work."
  Several hours later, Harris and Pippa were stumbling down the sidewalk over to Trent's grandma's house.
  "Y'all can have some squirrel if you want to," said Trent, "but the rabbit's mine.  Either of you have any salt and pepper on 'ya?  Pippa, why don't you run out to the store and grab us some Merlot and bacon.  I hope y'all brought your appetite."
  "That's all you do now man.  You living in this shack?  You need to get your shit together quick man.  I'm giving you two days to get this mess cleaned up.  Nic is your replacement."
  "He don't know how to grill anything.  You need me here.  I keep food costs down and provide an experience for the new recruits."
  "When we started, yes, but things have changed and we're doing business with much higher profile clients.  These ballers don't eat mountain man grub."
  "Sounds to me like you're losing faith.  Like you forgot all about where the Skirt Chasers came from.  Roots man."
  "It's not that, but you can agree with me that it's getting harder ever week to deal with the doo doo gooders™ and their presence in town.  They've really one into one heck of an expansion phase to take us out if we don't  start wising up quick to their revamped business model.  They're really onto something, and I'm going to figure out their little magic tricks.  I feel as though yeti are involved."
  "Oh?"  said Pippa.  "How so?"
  "I'm not getting into details on that just yet, but we might need to relocate headquarters."
  "Gimme' your phone," said Trent.  "I need to call Melody."
  "No," said Harris.  "I don't want you talking to her.  She's turning your brain into banana nut muffins and soy hazelnut lattes."
  "No she ain't.  Gimme' the phone."
  "You'll have to pry it out of my cold dead hands.  I'll summon Addison if I have to beotch."