Dear Las Vegas,
John can't come in today. He doesn't want to lose several thousand dollars to statistically unfair games only to be consoled by a complimentary room and syphilis.
Best,
Mom
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Bathroom Monologue: Bio I composed in the bathroom and feel I really shouldn't use
John studied Literature at Bennington College. Long before that he was thirteen and crippled, and the works of Mark Twain, J.R.R. Tolkien, Stephen King and various others gave him the will to make it to the next day. Now that he is able to walk, he feels he owes Literature something. Bennington College now feels that is somewhere in the six-figure range.
He writes The Bathroom Monologues, a blog of micro-fiction, list fiction, character sketches, monologues and other brief prose at www.johnwiswell.blogspot.com, which is now at over 750 entries. He also writes short stories and novels in various genres, because a stroke victim and a guy who thinks the world is full of evil pod people are both really interesting. He has been published at Inside Pulse, Alien Skin Magazine, the Story Library, Flashshots, Microhorror.com, Powder Burn Flash, and by Acorn Press. He is always looking for new venues for fiction, online and off.
He writes The Bathroom Monologues, a blog of micro-fiction, list fiction, character sketches, monologues and other brief prose at www.johnwiswell.blogspot.com, which is now at over 750 entries. He also writes short stories and novels in various genres, because a stroke victim and a guy who thinks the world is full of evil pod people are both really interesting. He has been published at Inside Pulse, Alien Skin Magazine, the Story Library, Flashshots, Microhorror.com, Powder Burn Flash, and by Acorn Press. He is always looking for new venues for fiction, online and off.
Bathroom Monologue: Brutally Honest
“Et tu, Brute?” Julius asked, turning to his old friend.
“Not well, really,” Brutus said, shrugging his shoulders. He hated doing this. “I’ve got a lot of issues with you.”
“Que?” asked the leader of the empire.
“Your refusal to abdicate consolidated power makes a mockery of our republic, many of your domestic decisions show incompetence, and your war lust both taxes the treasury and threatens to dissolve our empire.” He pulled his right hand from behind his back and showed Julius the knife. “Frankly, I’d come here to stab you. That’s how bad it’s got. And your hygiene…”
“Not well, really,” Brutus said, shrugging his shoulders. He hated doing this. “I’ve got a lot of issues with you.”
“Que?” asked the leader of the empire.
“Your refusal to abdicate consolidated power makes a mockery of our republic, many of your domestic decisions show incompetence, and your war lust both taxes the treasury and threatens to dissolve our empire.” He pulled his right hand from behind his back and showed Julius the knife. “Frankly, I’d come here to stab you. That’s how bad it’s got. And your hygiene…”
Thursday, June 18, 2009
BM:“Do you people even know how to play this game?” –some jerk on Left 4 Dead, OR, What I came up with once I’d left the game and went to the bathroom
“Yes, I do. There’s a gun sticking out of my camera. I point it at things and fire until they stop moving. It’s very simple. It’s you who seem to think we’re playing another game, one where the object is to walk in front of me while I’m firing as often as possible. But I figure you can’t really think that’s the object, because if it was a high score logo would have popped up on your screen by now. Man, this is such a good burn. I’ve got to log back in, find him and use it.”
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
The Nearest Thing in Flash 40 Contest
This week voting began in the Editors Unleashed Flash 40 contest. Winners receive cash prizes and see their work published in an upcoming e-book. Anyone who registers with that forum can view and vote on all of the entries up until the 25th, and those who receive the highest public votes get better weighing in the judgment. I'd sincerely appreciate it if any readers could head over there and check out my "The Nearest Thing." It is a stringently revised version of "The While Walking from Borders to Home Depot Monologue," following Felix and Creed, two boys from the same town who barely ever met, even after they ran away from home in the same direction.
If you think it sucks, vote like it sucks. But I'd appreciate the eyes. You can see the story itself at this URL: http://editorunleashed.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1318
If you think it sucks, vote like it sucks. But I'd appreciate the eyes. You can see the story itself at this URL: http://editorunleashed.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1318
Bathroom Monologue: Previously On #001
Previously on the Bathroom Monologues...
A girl woke up with questions.
A waitress dressed as she pleased.
And gravity turned against us.
And now...
It took Wendy fifteen minutes to make it to the diner down the street. She held onto the neighbors’ bushes and made a slow go of it, watching as cars hit the mid-street speed bump and floated away, their drivers honking angrily. She waved with one hand, but held onto shrubs and mailboxes with the other.
Once inside the diner she happily drifted up to the ceiling, kicking off it with her slippered feet and landing on one of the tables. She scurried across it, navigating the edge until she could scoot her legs under the table. Then she was secure, though she kept at least one hand gripping the booth’s cushions at any given time.
The diner was almost empty, save a group in the far corner. There were tall men, all old and in beat-up clothes. One had a raven on his shoulder and seemed to be talking to it. Wendy wondered how much the raven understood. The tone of their conversation was grumpy, though all seemed relaxed, none apparently bothered by the lack of gravity in the town today.
After a moment, someone popped out from the kitchen. It was a stocky woman wearing an eye patch and a blue military uniform. She carried a menu under one arm and walked cheerily towards Wendy’s table. Wendy stared, asking before the woman had even circled the counter.
“How can you walk on the floor?”
The one-eyed woman chuckled, one hand gripping the edge of Wendy’s booth.
“Restaurant floors get pretty sticky from spills and people not wiping their shoes. I haven’t mopped in a while.” She deposited a menu in the girl’s lap, instructing, “Don’t let go of that. Lot of menu-related injuries today. I knew we should have put rounded corners on them.”
Wendy braced her knees under the table, gripping the menu to her chest. She looked over the woman’s uniform again.
“Are you a marine?”
“No, honey,” the woman smiled. When she smiled her eye patch got stuck over her cheek and rode up, like a giant eyebrow. “I’m your waitress.”
“Waitresses don’t dress like that.”
“They let me dress up however I please, and I wanted to be an astronaut today given current events.”
“But you’re wearing marine clothes.”
“A navel officer, actually. I don’t have any astronaut suits and this was the closest I could get.”
Wendy frowned, then shuffled through the menu.
“Can I have pancakes?”
“You sure can, but it may take a while. Fred hasn’t got the reflexes down yet and they keep floating away when he flips them.”
“He should use a second spatula to keep them in check.”
Wendy flattened her hands and mimed one spatula hovering over the skillet, slapping down any imaginary pancakes the other hand flipped up. Her waitress laughed.
“Capital idea, honey. I’ll tell it to him with your order. For now, here, take this.”
The waitress reached under the booth and produced a pink nylon tether. One end was fixed to a table leg, and she tied the other to Wendy’s right ankle.
“Compliments of the chef, so you don’t drift away while you wait.”
“That’s a good idea,” Wendy said, running her fingers over the nylon.
“They’ll probably be mandatory by law in a week,” the waitress said. “If the weather doesn’t clear up.”
“Is this weather?” Wendy tilted her head out the window. It was mildly overcast out. Could that nullify gravity?
“What else could it be?” the waitress asked back, heading to the kitchen. Her shoes squelched on the sticky floor, and Wendy thought she heard her making Darth Vader breathing noises.
A girl woke up with questions.
A waitress dressed as she pleased.
And gravity turned against us.
And now...
It took Wendy fifteen minutes to make it to the diner down the street. She held onto the neighbors’ bushes and made a slow go of it, watching as cars hit the mid-street speed bump and floated away, their drivers honking angrily. She waved with one hand, but held onto shrubs and mailboxes with the other.
Once inside the diner she happily drifted up to the ceiling, kicking off it with her slippered feet and landing on one of the tables. She scurried across it, navigating the edge until she could scoot her legs under the table. Then she was secure, though she kept at least one hand gripping the booth’s cushions at any given time.
The diner was almost empty, save a group in the far corner. There were tall men, all old and in beat-up clothes. One had a raven on his shoulder and seemed to be talking to it. Wendy wondered how much the raven understood. The tone of their conversation was grumpy, though all seemed relaxed, none apparently bothered by the lack of gravity in the town today.
After a moment, someone popped out from the kitchen. It was a stocky woman wearing an eye patch and a blue military uniform. She carried a menu under one arm and walked cheerily towards Wendy’s table. Wendy stared, asking before the woman had even circled the counter.
“How can you walk on the floor?”
The one-eyed woman chuckled, one hand gripping the edge of Wendy’s booth.
“Restaurant floors get pretty sticky from spills and people not wiping their shoes. I haven’t mopped in a while.” She deposited a menu in the girl’s lap, instructing, “Don’t let go of that. Lot of menu-related injuries today. I knew we should have put rounded corners on them.”
Wendy braced her knees under the table, gripping the menu to her chest. She looked over the woman’s uniform again.
“Are you a marine?”
“No, honey,” the woman smiled. When she smiled her eye patch got stuck over her cheek and rode up, like a giant eyebrow. “I’m your waitress.”
“Waitresses don’t dress like that.”
“They let me dress up however I please, and I wanted to be an astronaut today given current events.”
“But you’re wearing marine clothes.”
“A navel officer, actually. I don’t have any astronaut suits and this was the closest I could get.”
Wendy frowned, then shuffled through the menu.
“Can I have pancakes?”
“You sure can, but it may take a while. Fred hasn’t got the reflexes down yet and they keep floating away when he flips them.”
“He should use a second spatula to keep them in check.”
Wendy flattened her hands and mimed one spatula hovering over the skillet, slapping down any imaginary pancakes the other hand flipped up. Her waitress laughed.
“Capital idea, honey. I’ll tell it to him with your order. For now, here, take this.”
The waitress reached under the booth and produced a pink nylon tether. One end was fixed to a table leg, and she tied the other to Wendy’s right ankle.
“Compliments of the chef, so you don’t drift away while you wait.”
“That’s a good idea,” Wendy said, running her fingers over the nylon.
“They’ll probably be mandatory by law in a week,” the waitress said. “If the weather doesn’t clear up.”
“Is this weather?” Wendy tilted her head out the window. It was mildly overcast out. Could that nullify gravity?
“What else could it be?” the waitress asked back, heading to the kitchen. Her shoes squelched on the sticky floor, and Wendy thought she heard her making Darth Vader breathing noises.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Bathroom Monologue: Penultimate, Ultimate, See Older Posts
The first end came when God was browsing creation and hit the back button too many times. Suddenly the perfect world was deleted. He fretted and hit undo, to no avail. The recycling was similarly unhelpful – it was stuffed with too much crap downloaded and deleted on whim for even the omniscient to be able to find a single good file in it. He went back to older drafts and found no good saves. Most of them were made up of notes and things He ought to try in later writing. He sighed and tugged on His infinite beard in frustration; He’d never be able to get the world that right again. Nothing ever topped the good draft that got away. So He opened all the documents He hadn’t lost and began copying and pasting, hoping none of the life forms that popped up on this planet would notice the gaps.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Bathroom Monologue: Broadcasting From Unconfirmed
"Listeners, all we know about the situation is that we know nothing. We can only report that the dead may or may not be rising. We’d like to tell you more, but that would require us to make something up. That would be lying, and listeners, we do not lie. We are here to inform. Unfortunately all we can inform you of is that we know nothing. We are the Socrates of radio and this is the Agnosticast. We cannot confirm that a satellite from Venus crashed near a cemetery and started this. We cannot confirm that a strain of viral rage extracted from monkeys broke out and started this. All we can confirm is that our very dead stationary manager just came in and tried to bite me. Is still trying to bite me. God dammit, Karl, will you please him in the other room? Listeners, I’ve just been informed that Karl does not have the key to the other room. I cannot say where it is because – Jesus, get him off of me!"
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Bathroom Monologue: “What’s your sign?” –Guys throughout the ages who thought you were pretty but didn’t have anything to say
-“Stop.”
-“Smoke signals. Do you mind if I set you on fire while we talk?”
-“Cancer. It’s terminal.”
-“The sea anemone, made up of four stars visible from your planet and nine that aren’t. They map the way to my homeworld. Do you have any spare rocket fuel?”
-“Cancer. I have crabs.”
-“Taconic Parkway 7. Then it’s just two miles, and I’ve got a waterbed.”
-“.” This one was in sign language.
-“Cancer. That’s why I’m bald and emaciated. Am I really the most attractive woman in here or do you have a horrid fetish?”
-“The dollar sign. Before you sit down you may want to speak to my pimp. It’s almost 12:00 and rates change at midnight.”
-“Smoke signals. Do you mind if I set you on fire while we talk?”
-“Cancer. It’s terminal.”
-“The sea anemone, made up of four stars visible from your planet and nine that aren’t. They map the way to my homeworld. Do you have any spare rocket fuel?”
-“Cancer. I have crabs.”
-“Taconic Parkway 7. Then it’s just two miles, and I’ve got a waterbed.”
-“.” This one was in sign language.
-“Cancer. That’s why I’m bald and emaciated. Am I really the most attractive woman in here or do you have a horrid fetish?”
-“The dollar sign. Before you sit down you may want to speak to my pimp. It’s almost 12:00 and rates change at midnight.”
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Bathroom Monologue: The Boy Who Didn’t Cry Wolf
The boy grew up keenly interested in wolves. Just one wolf could ruin the herd, killing many and spooking the females out of breeding. Sheep were the life of the tribe, so to him, wolves must have been the death. He asked many questions about them.
“How big are their mouths?”
“How much of a sheep can one eat in a night?”
“How fast can they run?”
“How big does a pack get?”
“Is this a sign that they’re stalking?”
To him this was necessary information. To the town fathers it was a nuisance, and soon the only answer he got was to ask later. That answer came increasingly with an adult turning away from him mid-sentence, and later, not bothering to turn and look at him at all.
The shepherd boy was left him feeling that he should fend for himself. Bags grew under his eyes from long nights thinking, and those bags felt full whenever wanted to ask a question.
He didn’t want to bother anyone, not with questions of wolves or requests for help. Once he sprained his ankle and limped through work for two days until one of the tribe fathers asked what was wrong, and then called him stupid for not reporting it. He was called stupid many times that night.
“What made you stupid?”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“How can we trust you with an attitude like that?”
“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”
“Got any smart questions now?”
He had no questions that week. They were so loud to him, even when quiet.
Still, he stood watch with his staff. Because he was so loyal he often served more hours in the field than the adults. Because he was so loyal the adults sometimes sent him out alone. Because he was too quiet to complain, they sent him out alone more often. It let them start drinking earlier.
Wolves came one night. It was a bigger pack than any of the town fathers had described. He fought valiantly, trying to stand between the sheep and the wolves, but there were too many. No matter the direction he faced, another set of teeth could come snapping from another.
No one had taught him to fight effectively. Hitting one with the blunt staff didn’t drive it away for long. He used fire, but they always got another sheep that strayed for fear of it. He needed to sound the bell, to call for the help of the adults, but something made his hand heavy.
The town fathers came the next day. A few sheep were left, but none of the boy.
“How big are their mouths?”
“How much of a sheep can one eat in a night?”
“How fast can they run?”
“How big does a pack get?”
“Is this a sign that they’re stalking?”
To him this was necessary information. To the town fathers it was a nuisance, and soon the only answer he got was to ask later. That answer came increasingly with an adult turning away from him mid-sentence, and later, not bothering to turn and look at him at all.
The shepherd boy was left him feeling that he should fend for himself. Bags grew under his eyes from long nights thinking, and those bags felt full whenever wanted to ask a question.
He didn’t want to bother anyone, not with questions of wolves or requests for help. Once he sprained his ankle and limped through work for two days until one of the tribe fathers asked what was wrong, and then called him stupid for not reporting it. He was called stupid many times that night.
“What made you stupid?”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“How can we trust you with an attitude like that?”
“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”
“Got any smart questions now?”
He had no questions that week. They were so loud to him, even when quiet.
Still, he stood watch with his staff. Because he was so loyal he often served more hours in the field than the adults. Because he was so loyal the adults sometimes sent him out alone. Because he was too quiet to complain, they sent him out alone more often. It let them start drinking earlier.
Wolves came one night. It was a bigger pack than any of the town fathers had described. He fought valiantly, trying to stand between the sheep and the wolves, but there were too many. No matter the direction he faced, another set of teeth could come snapping from another.
No one had taught him to fight effectively. Hitting one with the blunt staff didn’t drive it away for long. He used fire, but they always got another sheep that strayed for fear of it. He needed to sound the bell, to call for the help of the adults, but something made his hand heavy.
The town fathers came the next day. A few sheep were left, but none of the boy.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Bathroom Monologue: The Gay/Straight Alliance - Where you just make out with everyone!
“How does this Gay/Straight Alliance work?”
“We look out for each other’s rights.”
“But as a straight guy, I have all my rights. I don’t need you to look out for them.”
“That’s not the point…”
“Tell you what. I’ll look out for your civil unions if you look out for mowing my lawn.”
He was driven out of the meeting minutes later by bisexual politicians wielding foam bats.
“We look out for each other’s rights.”
“But as a straight guy, I have all my rights. I don’t need you to look out for them.”
“That’s not the point…”
“Tell you what. I’ll look out for your civil unions if you look out for mowing my lawn.”
He was driven out of the meeting minutes later by bisexual politicians wielding foam bats.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Bathroom Monologue: Web 2.0 is the Millionth English Word?, OR, The Preposterisk
Preposterisk (n): An upside down asterisk traditionally used by readers and copy editors to mark a word, phrase or passage they consider ridiculous. It is differentiated from the asterisk in that it correlates to no explanation or elaboration later on the page, merely denoting how stunned the reader was that something so stupid could make it into print. Widely used by Freshman English teachers and people who read the lyrics of Hip Hop. While not in common use yet, the preposterisk will be found in any dictionary, encyclopedia and/or web-based wiki dumb enough to let John Wiswell register as an editor that admits the phrase "Web 2.0."
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Bathroom Monologue: Maroon of the Blue Hair
Some folk asked why a girl with only one eye and that figure was so into dressing up. You’d think she would want to take attention off of herself.
Not Uz Maroon, though.
She’d dress up as a cartoon character, and not just for those annual conventions up in the city. Uz dressed up like Betty Boop to go to work. She’d roll into the diner dolled up like Marilyn Monroe, and if you seemed like a tipper, she’d do an impression for you. One time, dolled up as a president’s wife of whom no one had heard, she explained it wasn’t denial of what she was, but embracing everything that was already in her. It wasn’t imitation of external forces, but letting out things that were inside. Something she’d picked up from an interview with Marlon Brando, an actor of whom no one had heard. She explained it from behind the cash register, which she treated as a podium in the White House pressroom.
Not Uz Maroon, though.
She’d dress up as a cartoon character, and not just for those annual conventions up in the city. Uz dressed up like Betty Boop to go to work. She’d roll into the diner dolled up like Marilyn Monroe, and if you seemed like a tipper, she’d do an impression for you. One time, dolled up as a president’s wife of whom no one had heard, she explained it wasn’t denial of what she was, but embracing everything that was already in her. It wasn’t imitation of external forces, but letting out things that were inside. Something she’d picked up from an interview with Marlon Brando, an actor of whom no one had heard. She explained it from behind the cash register, which she treated as a podium in the White House pressroom.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Bathroom Monologue: Magic Ring of Invisibility Vs. Scientific Injections of Invisibility
"Your retinas require light to bounce off of them so you can have perception of the light in the world around you. That's all your sense of sight is. Since science has rendered you invisible, it's made your eyes transparent, and thus accidentally blinded you. Meanwhile my magic ring of invisibility makes me unseeable while I can see just as good as ever because I didn't screw with physics at all. I just put on a magic ring. And that is why magic is better than science. Oh, I'm sorry. Did you take a swing at me? Missed by a mile, not that you could see, and I didn't even have to put on the ring!"
Monday, June 8, 2009
What is your favorite Serial Bathroom Monologue?
There's a new poll up today asking what your favorite serial Bathroom Monologues are. Sometimes I get a chain of short ideas, and then you get something like the Holegators in the Bathroom Twitter Experiment, or the five perspectives on Rufus Osbourne's story. I'm curious which ones people remember fondly, and if they'd like to see anything like those again. The candidates (with links if you haven't read them) are:
-Letters from Giant Monsters: Open letters from giant monsters including King Kong, Godzilla and Mothra, reflecting on their careers.
-Rufus Osbourne's Story: Different (and questionable) angles on the life of Rufus Osbourne, legendary demon slayer and war profiteer.
-Strange Company: In my humble opinion, the internet's best existential sitcomic strip. Featuring men in pink tuxedos, assassins, vampires, superheroes, warrior queens, planets, and absolutely no illustration.
-Rejected Proposals: Pitches for products and projects that would never be funded.
-"Perspectives:" News stories explaining radically different perspectives on life, like possessed people protesting against exorcism. Dedicated to Tim Meadows.
-55-Word Stories: Pretty self-explanatory.
-Six-Sentence Stories: Pretty self-explanatory, but I put the number in word form so it could feel different.
-Ad Wars: The titanic struggle of attack ads between New York and California, delivered upon imaginary billboards.
-Bathroom Twitter Experiment: A man's home is infested by tunneling alligators. As told by the home owner, through Twitter.
-Letters from Giant Monsters: Open letters from giant monsters including King Kong, Godzilla and Mothra, reflecting on their careers.
-Rufus Osbourne's Story: Different (and questionable) angles on the life of Rufus Osbourne, legendary demon slayer and war profiteer.
-Strange Company: In my humble opinion, the internet's best existential sitcomic strip. Featuring men in pink tuxedos, assassins, vampires, superheroes, warrior queens, planets, and absolutely no illustration.
-Rejected Proposals: Pitches for products and projects that would never be funded.
-"Perspectives:" News stories explaining radically different perspectives on life, like possessed people protesting against exorcism. Dedicated to Tim Meadows.
-55-Word Stories: Pretty self-explanatory.
-Six-Sentence Stories: Pretty self-explanatory, but I put the number in word form so it could feel different.
-Ad Wars: The titanic struggle of attack ads between New York and California, delivered upon imaginary billboards.
-Bathroom Twitter Experiment: A man's home is infested by tunneling alligators. As told by the home owner, through Twitter.
"A Moment for the Duck-Billed Platypus" on Not From Here, Are You?
Mike Solender is running a series of guest essays and micro-fiction on the theme of not fitting in or being an outsider over on his blog, http://notfromhereareyou.blogspot.com/
Today you can see my part, "A Moment for the Duck-Billed Platypus," a brief Bathroom Monologue that some may recognize from way back when these things started. You can read it here: http://notfromhereareyou.blogspot.com/2009/06/not-from-here-project-write-3-john.html
Today you can see my part, "A Moment for the Duck-Billed Platypus," a brief Bathroom Monologue that some may recognize from way back when these things started. You can read it here: http://notfromhereareyou.blogspot.com/2009/06/not-from-here-project-write-3-john.html
Bathroom Monologue: Scientific Injections of Invisibility Vs. Magic Ring of Invisibility
“You see, while your magic ring made you invisible and emboldened you, it was also corrupting your soul and addicting your body. Now you’re a wizened little worm man with bad teeth, jonesing for your ring. Meanwhile, while my invisibility treatments did blind me, it was a step towards scientific understanding of invisibility. A couple years later my sight was mostly restored and science brought us that much closer to safe, non-damning invisibility. Oh, did you take a swing at me? I couldn’t tell if it was at me or your reflection in the water. You talk to it a lot.”
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Bathroom Monologue: Thanks for the new mirror in here
"I steal the breath away from sirens and make Medusa stare. When I step out to get the mail all TV goes offline ‘cause the satellites snap over to me. These jeans, I only wear on Sunday mornings - because if the ladies aren't in their purest frames of minds their eyes will set ablaze. I tell you that I part seas with a smile and command more wine than France not for vanity, but as a warning. My hotness is a firm orbit, and if you stray too close you will never escape. I’m like the sun, but the planets are more coy in how they revolve around me."
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Bathroom Monologue: In the Middle of Half-Life
Wendy had some weird thoughts first thing in the morning. What did grilled cheese taste like to dogs with their limited brain wiring? Wasn’t there a more efficient way to dispense scotch tape?
Tuesday morning she awoke with a most untuesdaylike query: if the earth really had been made a few thousand years ago by an omnipotent creator that had snapped everything into place, only making it look older, how would she know? There was carbon dating, but carbon dating could be forged as easily as fossil record by such a Figure, and it would make sense if He was setting everything up that He’d synchronize all the atomic times. En medias res was a popular device in human fiction, so why not divine?
She chewed her lower lip and batted around whether this Figure would stop time eventually, the same way He’d started it. Would she notice?
Wendy looked out her window. The sun shrugged at her. Then it was time for breakfast.
Tuesday morning she awoke with a most untuesdaylike query: if the earth really had been made a few thousand years ago by an omnipotent creator that had snapped everything into place, only making it look older, how would she know? There was carbon dating, but carbon dating could be forged as easily as fossil record by such a Figure, and it would make sense if He was setting everything up that He’d synchronize all the atomic times. En medias res was a popular device in human fiction, so why not divine?
She chewed her lower lip and batted around whether this Figure would stop time eventually, the same way He’d started it. Would she notice?
Wendy looked out her window. The sun shrugged at her. Then it was time for breakfast.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Bathroom Monologue: Kronological, OR, Another of those oral puns
Hours later, Kronos tracked the titan war party down. He followed the curious path of destroyed zoos, all the cage doors ripped off and animals freed. Elephants and zebras were slaughtered, left roasted and partially eaten, while tigers and hyenas were scattered in terror.
He found them lounging at the remains of the last state zoo, skinning lions to make victory pelts. They offered him a zebra steak before seeing the anger in his eyes.
“You fools!” he exclaimed, slapping the shortest titan in the back of the head. “I said attack Zeus! Zeus!”
He found them lounging at the remains of the last state zoo, skinning lions to make victory pelts. They offered him a zebra steak before seeing the anger in his eyes.
“You fools!” he exclaimed, slapping the shortest titan in the back of the head. “I said attack Zeus! Zeus!”
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Eniglet on Audio
I've been toying with my microphone to record some Bathroom Monologues today. I uploaded an MP3 of "Eniglet" to sendspace. If you'd like to listen to it, and maybe throw a Bathroom Monologue on your iPod, you can grab it here: http://www.sendspace.com/file/oto8xg
Feedback on hosts, audio quality or what I sound like as a narrator are welcome. If this is popular I might turn MP3 editions of Bathroom Monologues into a weekly feature.
Feedback on hosts, audio quality or what I sound like as a narrator are welcome. If this is popular I might turn MP3 editions of Bathroom Monologues into a weekly feature.
Bathroom Monologue: An Open Letter to String, from my Sister’s Cat
Dear String,
Fuck you. One day I will catch you, and I will bite the crap out of you. I will claw until there is nothing left, then I’ll get a little bored, and then I’ll bite you again. You think you’re so high and mighty, with your magical ability to fly. Well I can’t fly, but I’m a carnivore. Did you see what I did to that bird? Yeah. That’s an eighth of what’s coming your way the day you let your guard down. I will unravel you until the dog can swallow you, and then I’m going to see to it that you’re digested. She eats my turds. You’ll be a delicacy.
Sometimes I wonder why I hate you so much. It seems like we’ve never gotten along. Then you twirl over my head and it all comes back to me.
I never knew my mother. All I remember is a cardboard box and people picking my cuter siblings. When I see you swinging near me, I suddenly know that you stole my family. I don’t have any evidence, but I’m a sub-primate mammal. That means I don’t need evidence. I know what you did, and I’m going to kill you. Keep dancing over my head, you cocky son of a bitch. You won’t always escape me, and one day I’m going to introduce you to the business end of a dog.
Sincerely,
The Cat
Fuck you. One day I will catch you, and I will bite the crap out of you. I will claw until there is nothing left, then I’ll get a little bored, and then I’ll bite you again. You think you’re so high and mighty, with your magical ability to fly. Well I can’t fly, but I’m a carnivore. Did you see what I did to that bird? Yeah. That’s an eighth of what’s coming your way the day you let your guard down. I will unravel you until the dog can swallow you, and then I’m going to see to it that you’re digested. She eats my turds. You’ll be a delicacy.
Sometimes I wonder why I hate you so much. It seems like we’ve never gotten along. Then you twirl over my head and it all comes back to me.
I never knew my mother. All I remember is a cardboard box and people picking my cuter siblings. When I see you swinging near me, I suddenly know that you stole my family. I don’t have any evidence, but I’m a sub-primate mammal. That means I don’t need evidence. I know what you did, and I’m going to kill you. Keep dancing over my head, you cocky son of a bitch. You won’t always escape me, and one day I’m going to introduce you to the business end of a dog.
Sincerely,
The Cat
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Bathroom Monologue: Three-Pronged Inference
“If triangles made a god, he would have three sides.” –Sometimes attributed to Charles de Montesquieu
“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Amen.” –Common Prayer
“Oh my God. Humans are triangles.” –John with his head buried in his hands, until he realizes his hands are making a triangle
“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Amen.” –Common Prayer
“Oh my God. Humans are triangles.” –John with his head buried in his hands, until he realizes his hands are making a triangle
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Bathroom Monologue: Casper the Friendly Director
[The booth exists not in a bar today, but on the surface of Pluto. GARY sits alone on his side of the booth, wearing an astronaut’s suit. SPIDER, in a spandex superhero costume, and DARKLOSS SOULRIPPER VON ALUCARDIA, in a smoking jacket, sit on the opposite side of the booth. The exposure does not seem to bother the superhero, the vampire or the planet.]
Gary: It’s a dark cartoon. Casper the Dead Child.
Pluto: It’s Casper the Friendly Ghost!
Gary: He’s the ghost of a child. How do you think that happened? It’s bleak.
Darkloss: It’d make Hitchcock cry.
Spider: I always thought Casper looked like Hitchcock. Pot-belly, round-faced, and something about the eyes.
Pluto: Maybe he is the ghost of Alfred Hitchcock, who secretly died as a boy.
Darkloss: That’s why he was so emotionless in all those movie trailers and intros. He was actually a husk.
Pluto: A borderline zombie.
Spider: It’s an attitude that makes handling diva actresses a lot easier.
Gary: Plus, look at all the movies he did with Jimmy Stewart. Don’t exactly need an ace director to get that to work.
Pluto: Then it’s settled. Casper is the ghost of the true Alfred Hitchcock.
Gary: That sounds surprisingly less bleak than any of the components that brought us to that conclusion would have made me think.
Spider: I wonder who the little witch he hangs around with is…
Gary: It’s a dark cartoon. Casper the Dead Child.
Pluto: It’s Casper the Friendly Ghost!
Gary: He’s the ghost of a child. How do you think that happened? It’s bleak.
Darkloss: It’d make Hitchcock cry.
Spider: I always thought Casper looked like Hitchcock. Pot-belly, round-faced, and something about the eyes.
Pluto: Maybe he is the ghost of Alfred Hitchcock, who secretly died as a boy.
Darkloss: That’s why he was so emotionless in all those movie trailers and intros. He was actually a husk.
Pluto: A borderline zombie.
Spider: It’s an attitude that makes handling diva actresses a lot easier.
Gary: Plus, look at all the movies he did with Jimmy Stewart. Don’t exactly need an ace director to get that to work.
Pluto: Then it’s settled. Casper is the ghost of the true Alfred Hitchcock.
Gary: That sounds surprisingly less bleak than any of the components that brought us to that conclusion would have made me think.
Spider: I wonder who the little witch he hangs around with is…
Monday, June 1, 2009
Bathroom Monologue: Eniglet
One begins as a small confusion in the womb of a hog. The double helix forms a question mark, and a deity is involved, as they usually are in miraculous conceptions. It’s said that the droppings of an eniglet can be read to accurately determine the will of the Fates.
Or horoscopes. Something like that.
You can’t fault the owner of an eniglet for trying to profit on its feces when you consider how expensive it is to maintain one. They won’t eat garbage or standard chow. Just what they’ll want on a given day is unpredictable; maybe a brick wall, maybe some 1982 text books, or maybe the shell casings for your shotgun (but not the gun nor the explosive contents of the shells – and they will crap them out if they don’t want them). An eniglet can eat through anything, so there’s no sense in penning them unless you’re sure you can keep them content. The only thing eniglets really like to do is chew, and the only thing they will eat with any regularity are the bones of detectives. Why is a mystery.
Or horoscopes. Something like that.
You can’t fault the owner of an eniglet for trying to profit on its feces when you consider how expensive it is to maintain one. They won’t eat garbage or standard chow. Just what they’ll want on a given day is unpredictable; maybe a brick wall, maybe some 1982 text books, or maybe the shell casings for your shotgun (but not the gun nor the explosive contents of the shells – and they will crap them out if they don’t want them). An eniglet can eat through anything, so there’s no sense in penning them unless you’re sure you can keep them content. The only thing eniglets really like to do is chew, and the only thing they will eat with any regularity are the bones of detectives. Why is a mystery.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Felix and Creed Redux
I've submitted a lot of fiction lately, and one of the pieces that took the most polishing went to the Editors Unleashed Flash 40 Contest. Long time readers will recognize "The Nearest Thing" as what was originally, less publishably called "The While Walking from Borders to Home Depot Monologue." It follows Felix and Creed, two boys from the same town who barely ever met, even after they ran away from home in the same direction. Editors Unleashed took submissions on its forums, so if you register you can see the new version of Felix and Creed's story here: http://editorunleashed.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1318
Bathroom Monologue: Items Not Found In Videogames
-Morning After Pill – 500 Gold – “For Unwanted Status Effects”
-Chinese Finger Trap – 1 Gold – “Challenge any boss monster to escape it to skip boss fight.”
-Red Bull – 50 Gold – “Regain nominal amount of health, but in half an hour your HP will crash.”
-First Aid Manual – 1 Gold – “A medical explanation of how to treat wounds, infections and other dangerous physical states, OR, How picking up a first aid kit does not save you from a bullet to the skull.”
-360 Degree View – Free – “All your enemies have lined up in front of you, leaving you the right, left and behind if you feel like running away.”
-Get Out of Jail Free Card – 1000 Gold – “Because the means the plot was going to use to explain how you escape were just too ridiculous.”
-Quaker Guide to Mediation and Conflict Resolution – Free – “All Those People Don’t Have to Die, Do They?”
-Chinese Finger Trap – 1 Gold – “Challenge any boss monster to escape it to skip boss fight.”
-Red Bull – 50 Gold – “Regain nominal amount of health, but in half an hour your HP will crash.”
-First Aid Manual – 1 Gold – “A medical explanation of how to treat wounds, infections and other dangerous physical states, OR, How picking up a first aid kit does not save you from a bullet to the skull.”
-360 Degree View – Free – “All your enemies have lined up in front of you, leaving you the right, left and behind if you feel like running away.”
-Get Out of Jail Free Card – 1000 Gold – “Because the means the plot was going to use to explain how you escape were just too ridiculous.”
-Quaker Guide to Mediation and Conflict Resolution – Free – “All Those People Don’t Have to Die, Do They?”
Saturday, May 30, 2009
A Very Unfunny 'Driving Back From the Airport' Monologue
Growing up is hard. We find out those jokes weren't so clever. We find that game system is outdated. That kid we hated for acting like a spaz was actually sick. Our shoes were made by children that had no rights. The cartoons that captivated and inspired us were made to make us buy sugary cereals and plastic toys. And oh man, the fats were bad, the cholesterol was bad, the calories were bad, the preservatives were bad, the carbohydrates were bad, and that what's left will leave you farting for the rest of your life.
We find out our heroes, those that weren't fictional, were sexists, racists, liars and murderers. We find our religion, if it isn't just plain wrong, draws us scorn from all across the spectrum. We find that doctors, soldiers and astronauts don't make a decent living. We find kings were dictators, that the only people not involved in the slave trade were slaves, and for whatever reason no one ever liked the Jews, even when they gave up everything that defined them. We find innocence unpopular, and ideals labeled ignorant.
And worst of all, the smartest of us dumb kids figure out that there is someone trying to become a millionaire off of every revelation of these evils through his or her book deal, movie or miniseries. We find a world of bitter young men who are bound to become sad old men; we find a world that is much better at tearing down than building up. It disenchants, makes us bitchy, and creates fear and suspicion of strangers who smile. We have so many holes in us from the things that have been yanked out that we can only muster the same hurtful emotions and behave just as badly as those who made us this way. We tear pieces off of other people to fill ourselves up, but what’s stolen can’t sustain. Once we grow up, once we're thoroughly indoctrinated, the only thing we truly do better than children is resent the people who question us. We are perhaps even more dangerous than we would have been had we remained uneducated and unworldly, and at best we are just as dangerous, just in different ways. Unless we decide to stand for the things we love regardless, and keep how much we take from others in check.
We find out our heroes, those that weren't fictional, were sexists, racists, liars and murderers. We find our religion, if it isn't just plain wrong, draws us scorn from all across the spectrum. We find that doctors, soldiers and astronauts don't make a decent living. We find kings were dictators, that the only people not involved in the slave trade were slaves, and for whatever reason no one ever liked the Jews, even when they gave up everything that defined them. We find innocence unpopular, and ideals labeled ignorant.
And worst of all, the smartest of us dumb kids figure out that there is someone trying to become a millionaire off of every revelation of these evils through his or her book deal, movie or miniseries. We find a world of bitter young men who are bound to become sad old men; we find a world that is much better at tearing down than building up. It disenchants, makes us bitchy, and creates fear and suspicion of strangers who smile. We have so many holes in us from the things that have been yanked out that we can only muster the same hurtful emotions and behave just as badly as those who made us this way. We tear pieces off of other people to fill ourselves up, but what’s stolen can’t sustain. Once we grow up, once we're thoroughly indoctrinated, the only thing we truly do better than children is resent the people who question us. We are perhaps even more dangerous than we would have been had we remained uneducated and unworldly, and at best we are just as dangerous, just in different ways. Unless we decide to stand for the things we love regardless, and keep how much we take from others in check.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Bathroom Monologue: Renegade Sons and Gatorade Moms, OR, Brought to you by Styx’s “Renegade”
(This can only truly be appreciated if you’ve heard “Renegade” by Styx. It can only be properly comprehended if you’ve listened to the song fifty times in two days.)
Dear Son,
Firstly, the state of West Virginia abolished the death penalty ages ago, so no hangman is coming down from the gallows for you.
It sounds like you're being melodramatic again. You’ve been like this ever since I was elected to the Senate. I know it was hard, but you’re in your twenties now. You should really move on and meet a girl. Are you taking your pills? I'll never forget the night you had a nervous breakdown because that nice officer pulled you over for speeding.
You weren't speeding again, were you? Lord, if your grandfather could see you.
Anyway, your father is out wiring you bail money now. By the time you read this you’ll be a free man. So remember, little renegade, that your father and I worked very hard so you could have it made, and we'd appreciate a little gratitude. At least stop getting arrested in verse.
Love,
Mama
Thursday, May 28, 2009
A friend wants a concise explanation for a Communist superhero team
Paragon City’s government has failed. The bourgeois police force is unable to combat magical or extraterrestrial invaders. It isn’t even able to stop the thugs robbing old ladies and curiously attractive teens on every street corner. It is time for the proletariat to rise, and that bold everyman army is the Red Sky Gamblers. Born of people tortured by gang war, alien invasions and fairy bullying, they unite to fight the power – and not just the evil one.
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