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Chapter 20: Slim Pinch Lot

  Other people and townships can show you things you'd like to do; places to go, people to meel over, but all it can really do ultimately is show you, tempting you and your coder.  I know we're cutting it pretty close to the bone here folks, but you didn't grow up like me.  So I'll eat Lima Beans for three hours, but daddy needs at least a solid fifteen minutes of ice cream dipped in fudge - in any order.  It's only right.  Acceptable vs Unacceptable - Rated [G]  Word processors?  Emancipation Puke-la-Nation?  I'll break a fax machine over your head you fucking imbecile.  Take two of THESE and consider it my parting gift to you... you dunce.  Cause the price IS right.  It's always been right.  Truer than any Toledo Mudhen really.  Too many repressed bj's and questionable moments of pin-point regressive activity.  Out of order?  Out of sequence.  That sure WAS a seamless elongated Conversation, cause it's more than just the one, two, two and a half, two and three quarters that leads to Time Drought Mister - 'cause we're talking lilac switches and soup ladles with from broken baseball garden house wind up pitch and musty fourth cellar door to the right and just down the stairs.  She couldn't believe some of the filth that was being posted at the rotten crab apple patch.  Well hell yearmn good cookin'.  No lie.  Shit 'cha I need legal counsel.  Saint no fallout shelter!!  Micropolis and range licker.  Real nice.  Sturdy as she blows.  

  "You're my new editor," said Fenton throwing Nic's long-board in the car.
  "Do your parents know you smoke?"
  "This is the stuff my dad grows.  Oh.  I don't know."
  "Oh.  Alright."
  Stall.  Cha-chunk. 
  "I got it."
  "Fine.  Easy on the gas.  Easy on the ignition.  Easy on the clutch.  Easy on the whine and caustic nasal timbre.  You got a deviated septum kid?  I'm joking.  Hey!!  Look both ways first.!!"
  "I got this!  Let's go to your bank."
  "Life is more fun with money.  Isn't it Nic?"
  The reports were due every other Wednesday.  Fenton could now overproduce quality material and creative content faster and more efficiently than anyone in Sage Mountain.  Not only that, but he could tell who was and wasn't reading his novels and articles - typically in sixty seconds or less. 
  "Is this Rockwell?"  said Nic.
  "It's better than that.  It's a dreamscape.  You don't like it?"
  "I ain't like that.  But I do like your first book that travels into the future," said Nic removing his lid.
  "Hey that incident earlier really shook me and the Rello up.  We'll leave in a half an hour or so.  I have to call some people first."
  "No."
  "Fine.  I don't think Trent's going to make it.  He's gonna fuck it up out there and be back in a month or less."
  "Probably."
  "Hey, don't roll that stop sign."
  Stall.  Ca-Chunk!!
  "Car," said Fenton.  "Hit the hazards.  Pull the e-brake.  Get out."
  "Fine.  Hey this material is incredible.  Did your boy Copperfield write this?  His music is sacred you know.  He hardly shares it with just anyone."
  "Yep."
  "FYI - I don't cut and paste and plagiarize as some of you guys accuse me of doing.  But this chapter I just cranked out is almost too good to be true.  Don't worry - I'll hide it somewhere in Stale Catfood."
  "Your cryptic-socio-commentary-experiment that puts people on the floor begging for mercy and another way to shed belly fat?"
  "Get out the pimento spread and salt shak..."
  "Yep," interrupted Nic.  "Squirt Ta-Ta Chase!!"
  "And all this time I thought you were a ddg."
  "Nope."
  sssssssssssif you want the experience for yourself, you have to pull the funds and resources together to do it.  Some days I do with the internet never existed.  Dollars to donuts.  In hindsight, yes, I could have done a lot more with my life if I hadn't been around during the internet boom and housing market crash, still, opportunity awaits.  Connections.  Intervestibles.  Inter-actuaries and the like.  I know this is challenging.  I don't do simple.  I'm so sorry you hate these new words I'm inventing, but TV/film/internet are completely boring and counterproductive to self-improvement and actual human interaction.  Any company a person works with (referral, commission, salary, even under the table) needs proper communication within its collective state of irrationality to achieve its own wants, needs, and desires.  Latency isn't my issue.  Now if you work "FOR" a company, you're a weak minded individual, and probably a hood.  I myself hate repetition.  

-NOT A RESUME: extension 79-m
(I'm never retired.  I'll never be retired; yada yada etcetera ** addendum 98.t)

  Poor Seeder began his afternoon suffering from congenital heart failure and would need to be taken to the hospital by Wendy ASAP.  He had been collecting SSI and disability for the past eight years.  He also suffered from insomnia.  Fenton's bank account had been whittled down to eleven dollars or so and his secured credit card had mysteriously been canceled - likely by the same person(s) who expropriated his social media account - posting extreme vulgarities about a former colleague in his old organization.  With little to no prospects for employment, he called his half-sister, Kara, to come up with a plan to start making money again.  He wouldn't let his depression that leads to heavy drinking and diabolical grin with The-Care-Bears-Movie-blackened-eyelids that render him completely lecherous as the film implies.  And now, himself in exile from granite walls of posterior motion and more thrusts of gal... well you get the picture; notwithstanding against the indictment of shoulder shrug to Harris' baby cow ride from the QT & GC where the Pringle Pit Stop wuz; hoppin on them youngins' Hoss - how bad was Terry Mangled!?! cited Danny bo - that neck brace git you high or don't it? they'd wondered.  At the four by four - where my backrub Harris?  That ketchum hustle tranny parts hard nowp had the best redneck lessin' in his life bo - evern' Rougie felt like Fenton was dominatin' the conversation and chicken scratch that evenin' and let-im-have-it!!  Twain't no tickle fest of Corner Slocket!!  He didn't need no more term papers on Paul Anka nugh.  



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

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Chapter 20: Slim Pinch Lot

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