Bathroom Monologue: Deputy Wallace Handles Zombies

I'm dropping this into Tuesday Serial. I'm not sure if I'll actually follow Wallace through the zombie apocalypse or not. Would you folks want to read that? If enough do, then I'll get a serial in gear to alternate with Possible Origins.

No sooner had he locked the Holding Room door, then the radio on his belt crackled. He pulled it free and let it crackle into his ear, hoping it would dampen the noises coming from the station outside.

The crackling gave way to a harried voice. "Deputy Wallace, are you there?"

"Present."

"This is Central. The disease your department has been combating today is more complicated than we originally thought. At least three officers from your department are dead."

Wallace looked at the oak door. He squinted so hard he might stare right through it, at what was going on in the P.D.

"Yeah, at least three."

"Have you made physical contact with any infected civilians?"

"No."

"Warning signs including staggering, prolonged disorientation and inexplicable irritability. Be warned that they bite."

He pulled a chair from the stainless steel table. He had the sudden desire to sit.

"They try."

"You've had no fluid exchange with any potentially infected individuals? It says here they also… I don’t know what shambling is, or if that’s spelled wrong."

"I’m pretty sure I haven’t swapped fluid with anybody this week."

"Be warned that infection does not terminate in thirty-six hours like originally believed. Patients who appear to lose vital signs may return to consciousness in another stage of the disease."

"Yeah, a pissed off stage."

As though to agree, fists banged on the oak door. He could hear them panting.

"These individuals cannot be cured. You are advised to discharge firearms against any infected person who appears to lose vital signs, or who enters the post-comatose state. You must aim for the head."

“When can I expect you guys?”

“Evacuation is on indefinite hiatus. We will contact you again with updates sometime between six and eight in the evening tomorrow.”

“Really? Tomorrow?”

He looked at the radio speaker. All it gave him for response was static. He set the plastic thing on the bare table. He laid his gun next to it.

Fists banged louder on the oaken door. He looked between it and his fingers, trying to estimate the number of hands outside, and the number of bullets inside.

Bathroom Monologue: Monologue for an Edward Norton who, for whatever reason, thinks he's Woody Allen

To hear today's monologue either click the triangle on the left to begin streaming audio or click this text to download the MP3.

I do think artists have a personal, moral, ethical, religious obligation to their audiences. Well, not most artists. Not Pablo Picasso or Oscar Wilde. In fact, only I have it. That's because I'm an irrational self-loather, and personal, moral, ethical, religious justification within my work is very difficult and not at all fun, and those are the sorts of things you do if you hate yourself.

A single person frowns in offense and I get a little electric twinge in my diaphragm. There's no way to convince me I don't have these obligations to them - I've tried convincing myself, read much in defense of the artist, and have listened to many persuasive arguments.

I mean, the speakers were thought to be persuasive.

Come to think of it the speakers were already convinced, so they couldn't be persuaded, and they didn't change my mind, so I wasn't persuaded, but we both came away thinking them very persuasive arguments. Perhaps these arguments actually possessed personal, moral, ethical, religious failures, disservices to me as the audience, but I don't begrudge my friends. I begrudge myself. I should have been convinced.

That's my philosophy of art, it's much like life: if there is fault, it's probably mine.

Bathroom Monologue: One-Liners on Love

Jodi MacArthur recently requested a bunch of one-liners on love. I sent her a batch and she re-published her favorite foursome. Here is the entire list. They are not all funny, not all one-liners, but I swear love was somewhere in the context of each.

-Love is an illusion more resilient than reality.

-Love is a four-letter word.

-Love is never having to say, "Go away."

-Love conquers all. The occupation is harder.

-Love is the radiation that kills cynicism.

-Love is owing nothing and still wanting to give.

-Love is like flatulence: you're lucky if anybody else tolerates yours.

-Love is irrational, inconvenient, divisive, and unfortunately altogether worthwhile.

-Love is a fate I wish on all my worst enemies - nothing more embarrassing.

-Love is what's waiting for you once you calm down. If nothing's there, then you know.

-Love is fifty of the best reasons to take a day off from work - and one day, the utter worst.

-Love is a disappearing act. It's not in your pockets, your bank account's empty, and the car is gone. Oh, that bitch!

-Love is more likely to create families than emerge from them.

-Love has a silent 'e' because it knows when to shut up.

Bathroom Monologue: Mr. Goliath, OR, "Goliath Must Be Slain" -Maria Kelly

This story was inspired by Maria Kelly's title, "Goliath Must Be Slain." My initial reaction was, "Must he?" My second reaction was the following dialogue.


"It’s all here. Gold. Fruits. The coastline. We have a lot of resources. That's why your goons are invading us."

"They're not goons. They're my countrymen."

"Do you like your country? Better than here?"

"Well, it's a country. I guess you’ve got nicer gardens."

"You like gardens, Mr. Goliath?"

"Kind of. But in a manly way."

"We don't judge men for liking gardens here. This pink flower? We call it a rockrose."

"That is manly."

"How much are they paying you?"

"A bunch. I'm going to get a lot for killing you all."

"A bunch? What if I pay you two bunches?"

"Two bunches?"

"Three. Three bunches. When I take out my sling, you turn around and attack your guys. Afterward we'll give you three bunches."

"I don't know about this."

"We'll leave them in your garden."

"My garden?"

"We'll set aside one just for you."

"Will... will there be rockroses?"

"You bet there will be rockroses."

"That does sound nice."

"Doesn't it? Just turn on them when you see the sling."

"I don't want to be called a traitor."

"You'll live here! Nobody will call you a traitor here. Everybody'll be very grateful. If foreigners ask what happened, I'll make something up."

"Three bunches..."

Bathroom Monologue: Adaptation at Work

Observe two siblings. The firstborn likes nearly all sweets. Chocolate, vanilla, peanut butter, candy canes, mint ice cream. She will eat anything unhealthy for her first three years alone except for strawberries. Not chocolate-covered strawberries, strawberry-flavored drinks or candies. Nothing.

During her third year, her younger sister is born. After the time it takes to wean her, the new sister shows a similar great love of sweets. Chocolate, vanilla, peanut butter cause her to exhibit great excitement. It all sounds familiar.

But her older sibling intervenes, stealing her treats whenever the parents are not directly watching. Though the parents attempt to counter-intervene, mass candy theft continues for four months. The younger sibling exhibits great distress.

At the four month mark, treat theft declines rapidly. Observe that the younger sibling no longer asks for candy bars or caramel apples. The parents are happy she has shown an interest in fruit, but she is not omnivorous. She is only consuming strawberries. Strawberries by the carton, strawberry milk, strawberry cake for dessert, chocolate-covered strawberries for her birthday, and every day's lunch has a strawberry fruit roll-up.

Treat theft is at zero, while treat consumption is on the rise. That, my friends, is adaptation at work.

7 Necessary Elements of a Blog Post

The internet doesn't have enough guides on how to write blog posts, so I'm giving you another one. No other you stumble across will be like this one because I'm entirely right. You're welcome.

1. Bold Headings

Not in all-caps. ALL CAPS IS TOO AGGRESSIVE. Bold is just authoritative enough. We’re lulling people into thinking they’re learning here. Also don’t let

2. Keep it Short

the text beneath any heading go on too long. Being pithy lets you avoid concrete examples, detailed explanations, and even being right. Don’t be right. Make declarative statements with the possibility of rightness and move on.

3. Positive Filler

After the second item dump in a few extra bits that nobody will disagree with but that don’t really matter. It can be common information. A few items your audience already knows will make them feel smarter. People love to think they’re smart. This positive fluff will also help pad your list above

4. More Than Five

five items. Below five and it seems like you don’t have enough wisdom. Above nine and nobody will click because they don’t have the attention span. They need the truth quickly. If you were writing for people with attention spans, you wouldn’t be writing in list format.

5. Link-Drop

During your list hyperlink to other blogs and information sources that support your thesis. You don’t even have to discuss the linked content – casually linking makes you seem info-savvy, and whatever claim you made while linking suddenly becomes 55% more convincing.

6. Impersonal Personal

Relate to them, but don’t relate yourself. Mention a funny story from your bestselling client, your dean of studies, your drunken weekend with Seth Godin – people who, by association, create an illusion of you that people want. People don’t want your story. They want success.

7. End with questions

The best final item is asking for more items! You need lots of Comments so your post will seem important, and asking enthusiastic non-experts for their expertise is the best way to get words flowing in the blogosphere. In no time you’ll seem like a magnate. Don't you agree?

True Stories of John 7: Dumbest Thing You Could Do

You know what the dumbest thing you could do is?

All you need is a hammer, a bag of salt, a crappy ladder, and a snowstorm.

No, an ice storm. Yeah. Sleet, slush and slippery crap everywhere. You can barely walk down the steps with this little traction.

You go to the garage and get the rickety wooden ladder. It’s the only one you have because you’re cheap.

You carry that all the way up to the deck and set it on a patch of ice. Why on a patch of ice? Because that’s near the gutters, silly. And because it’s on this narrow deck, you’re only a foot away from the edge at all times.

You climb up this ladder that was designed for people fifty pounds less than you, carrying a bag of ice-melter and a hammer. Make sure nobody else is home to hold the ladder for you, because that would be a competent thing to do.

You get to the top and survey the gutters. Thoroughly frozen over. Icicles as long as your leg. The only way to stop this is to empty those gutters.

So you start hammering at the ice with the teeth of the hammer. Nowhere to hold onto, the ladder wiggling beneath you, ice chips spraying into your eyes.

That’s uncomfortable. Shake your head rapidly to warm up. Now get dizzy, because that’s what actually happens when you shake your head rapidly.

And then you look down to steady yourself. Instead of steadying yourself, you get hit in the face with vertigo.

Keep hammering at those gutters. Wonder if the ladder is swaying or if your sense of balance is just off. You’ve got to ignore it and swing faster at the ice. The family will be home soon and this will be a great surprise.