Bathroom Monologue: Something About Douglas Adams

According to a census every family owns 2.5 hyenas. As cruelty to animals is illegal in most fashionable parts of the galaxy, GalaxyCo has opened up a covert disposal area for any half of a hyena you may or may not have hidden in your basement. It is discrete, sterile, and if you don’t have a sack to throw the thing into, they will provide one for a minimal service charge. They have no idea why they are not doing better business, but think it has to do with poor lighting in some facilities.

Bathroom Monologue: They All Fall

Gravity was a good god, and that was his downfall. He always did his job, pulling things down or together, and did so with such reliability that humans could measure him. How Loki laughed at the idea of a god with such low self-esteem that he let himself be measured. But Gravity broke none of the rules: humans still couldn’t see him or talk to him directly, and he never tampered with someone else’s domain. Loki never had to fear Gravity playing tricks.

The problem came, then, that humans didn’t fear him like they did Loki or Zeus, and they certainly didn’t revere him as they had the sun or that Jesus kid. They made planes, helicopters and went to the moon without so much a prayer – except the typical calculations for landing and such. Even when he did something nasty it was always the suicidal prick that jumped off the bridge that got the credit, not Gravity for providing the very force that enabled the tragedy.

The rise of scientific thought only insulted him further as people believed less in his friends, but never even bothered to question his existence. He wasn’t even part of the cultural debate. One year Carl Sagan, of whom Gravity had always been very supportive, actually mocked theology by saying no one prayed to gravity. Then one morning Gravity picked up Scientific American (well, not “picked up” – he never picked anything up that he didn’t have to) and saw some theorist asking why gravity was so weak in this universe.

“So weak.”

Gravity snapped and finally took old Loki’s advice. They’d regret not appreciating him. They’d regret it when gravity ignored them, and they learned the terror of floating.

Bathroom Monologue: Market Place of Ideals

Where am I going to publish a story about Homer getting mad and cussing out an intermediary? Or a series of letters between Godzilla monsters? Or a monologue synchronizing economic jargon with steam punk? I need some kind of super-intelligent audience with really low standards. Incredibly well-read people who laugh at fart jokes. Educated Asshole Quarterly, I guess I’ll call it. I’ll have to invent it to get any of this stuff out there at all. Leather cover, certainly, put with tissue-grade recycled paper that deteriorates so quickly that you either get the joke or buy another copy. I wonder if Alex Ross would do a couple of illustrations for the inaugural…

Children's story on Flashshot

A new version of "John, what would your children's book be about?" is the story of the day over on G.W. Thomas's Flashshot website. It's obviously about how my children's book would go. And you know how much I love kids.

You can check it out at this URL: http://www.gwthomas.org/flashshotindex.htm

I’m not projecting on Homer here, so I don’t know what I’m really doing...

HOMER,
OR,
I’m not projecting on Homer here, so I don’t know what I’m really doing

"Homer, aren't you done with your epics yet?"

"Well maybe if somebody would invent paper I wouldn't to do it all in my head!"

"We gave you listening boys--"

"Because when I'm composing, what I really need is brats rolling their eyes at my epic meter!"

"How can you tell? I thought you were blind."

"You don't know because nothing has been recorded about me! I only gave you the foundation of European literature."

"Bitter, old--"

"Is it recorded that I'm deaf now? Get out and don't come back until you've developed something more durable than parchment. I want this stuff written down, but I'll feed myself to the dogs before I let it get lost in a library fire."

"We don't have dogs in our--"

"Do I have to invent the fucking metaphor around here? It was hyperbole! Get out!"

When it sounded like the intermediary had left, Homer sat down in the cool shade and rubbed his temples. When was someone going to invent coffee?

He began again, "Muse, sing to me of..."

Bathroom Monologue: “Where do you live again? Copack Lake? Cupcake Lake?” –One friend too many

"Yes, Cupcake Lake. Just off of Candy Cane Lane. The houses are gingerbread and the snow is vanilla frosting. The female deer are made of cookie dough, and the beavers build dams of cinnamon sticks. When I turn on a faucet, out pours ginger ale. When I wipe my feet, I stain the carpet with chocolate dirt. It rains gumdrops and when a diabetic’s mother cries her tears are only salty at first."

Bathroom Monologue: The Men Who Went Thursday

"One Texas newspaper reports that the Rapture actually happened two Thursdays ago, but few noticed as only five people ascended. Ironically, all five were together at the time, clasped in an argument over who had the correct religion. More ironically, it happened a couple of seconds before three of them would have done something with a pool cue that would have probably kept them from ascending at all. Some theologians take this as a hint. Other theologians say that’s it and we’d all better invest in solar power right away."

Story on MicroHorror

My monologue story, "Broadcasting From Unconfirmed," was accepted over at MicroHorror.com. The monologue gives you a radio host's nervous experience of the undead.

You can check the story out at this URL: http://www.microhorror.com/microhorror/author/john-wiswell/broadcasting-from-unconfirmed/

Bathroom Monologue: Left Wanting

For want of a nail, a shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe, a horse was lost.
For want of a horse, the king was lost.
For want of a king, the soldiers played tennis instead.
For want of soldiers, the war was called off.
For want of a war, trade was gained.
For want of poverty, education was gained.
For want of ignorance, the public governed itself.
For want of inefficiency, officials were elected.
For want of comfort, the president has someone else change his tires.