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 We find that game system is outdated.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.

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

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.

One of those quote ones

Bathroom Monologue: “Would you rather spend a day reading a book or going to a big box store?” –Somebody asking Neal Stephenson a question on his At Google interview

We started in the sports section. One can always rely on some Nerf or Nerf-knockoff ball to come in minimal packaging and thus be useful for testing. Nat went long, sometimes as far as two aisles as my wide receiver. Vanessa rolled her eyes and laughed, nearly peeing herself when I completely overshot Nat’s department and hit a mirror. It did not break, but our luck was out and we migrated.

We migrated to the toy aisle, examining points of articulation on action figures and arguing over what lines of toys we’d actually like to see. Toys begat videogames, and the price tags on videogames shuffled us further over to the media section, to watch the newest crappy blockbuster DVD release play out on HD TV sets we couldn’t afford. We ogled superhero movies and shiny fantastic journeys before settling on the row of $5 DVD’s. Thank You For Smoking was quite a steal at that price, and Nat made sure to go through every DVD. And why not? We had all day.

We feasted on twizzlers and Reese’s cups, picked up potato bread, milk and other grown-up necessities, and complained about how expensive drinks were becoming. If you broke it down, wasn’t this red stuff a dollar-fifty a bottle? Scandalous.

Full on candy and sports drinks, we charged to furniture, figuring out what would look nice in the hypothetical apartment we’d one day rent. The three of us playing like this in a room of our own on the upper east side, or the way lower side of something with more reasonable rent. That black coffee table, these coasters, and the sofa we all nearly fell asleep on, until someone in a Target shirt walked by.

As the day closed we headed for the exit, meandering through the book section. I grabbed one of the new paperback copies of something I’d longed for but couldn’t afford in hardcover.

I thumbed through it on the way to checkout, and Nat asked, “Weren’t you supposed to be reading today?”

“I read everyday,” I told him. “Pounded four books already this month. Then I woke up this morning with this strange and somewhat stupid idea that all I could do all day was read or go to Target. No clue why I couldn’t have gone and then come back home and read, or go do something else entirely – but I felt stuck in the ultimatum. And I figured if I was going to do one of the two all day I should do the one I could do with friends.”

Bathroom Monologue: The Good with the Bad

"Honey, I've got good news and bad news."

"Let's hear the bad news first."

"There's a killer in the house. I saw him in the corner of the mirror at the top of the stairs. He's got a knife."

"Oh my God!"

"And he cut the phone line."

"Oh my God!"

"It's okay! It's okay, because there's good news!"

"What the Hell is the good news?!!"

"I'm the killer!"

Bathroom Monologue: Grin, OR, Oh yes, another pun one.

“You’re going to have to grin and bear it,” said Dale, shaking his head at the protestors.

Three hippies in tye dye were dumping red paint on Edmund’s truck. He wasn’t even a hunter – they’d just gone fishing for the day, and tossed back everything they caught since their wives were allergic.

“Yes, Dale.” Edmund reached for the latch of the cage. “We are going to.”

Edmund grinned. Dale grinned back at him. Then Edmund opened the cage door and released their trained bears.

Bathroom Monologue: Ahimsa

“Ahimsa is the principle of non-injury, a religious Hippocratic oath that commands you do no harm to living things. No man, woman, child, horse fly biting that child, mad cow chasing that fly, or a serpent that’s figured out how to pump a shotgun and is sick of the whole fly business. It is at least a nice principle when moderated with others, and at most a heck of a way to get into the Guinness Book of World Records. But it’s always been flawed, because micro-biotic life forms like bacteria are constantly entering the body and being killed by your immune system. You can’t stop it from happening except by killing yourself, and killing yourself would condemn all the bacteria in your intestines to death. And even your bodily cells are dying all the time. But these things didn’t matter to the ancient mystics because they didn’t know about them, and modern mystics say that made it okay. That’s where I got this idea. You see, a lot of ahimsa-believers are great people, but they’re getting sick because they don’t get enough vitamins in their vegetarian diets. Healthy vegetarianism just isn’t viable in this region of the world. But my Special Vegetarian Chili is viable. The secret? Beef. Sometimes chicken. Because they’ve never tasted it before, they don’t know what they’re eating. And because they don’t know, their ahimsa is in tact. I’m going to Hell for it, but several thousand very kind people are about to live a lot longer on my karmic bank account.”

Grin on Flashshot

My Bathroom Monologue, "Grin," is the story of the day over at G.W. Thomas's Flashshot. It's one of the pun-based monologues, and points to you if you see the end coming.

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

Bathroom Monologue: Finally Got Shelves

I love shelves. You put things on them, and suddenly they aren’t in storage anymore.

Where a pile of boxes says, “Good luck finding that Campbell anthology,” shelves say, “Labels on the spines.”

When gravity says, “Everything falls down,” shelves say, “You’ll have more floor space if you put the paperbacks and anime DVD’s up here.”

Shelves. I hadn’t really moved in until I met you.

Bathroom Monologue: Bolshevik Swine

(This was written in response to a challenge to do a six-sentence piece relating to the above picture)


The hogs hit the switch and those miserable cheerleading oppressors were yanked skyward. A baton clattered before them, and Louis-14 caught it in his snout.

He squealed, "With this baton, we seize the reigns of cheerleading.”

His second in command snorted, "The revolutionary pigs on that farm will probably lead more productive lives."

Louis-14 twirled the baton about his snout and declared, "But one only half as fabulous."

Bathroom Monologue: Gradients of Goodbye

There are gradients of goodbye. The goodbye one morning as you rushed to the school bus was nothing like the goodbye before you got into the car so mom could drive you to college. Certainly neither was like the goodbye when I stayed with mom after the stroke, while you had to get back to campus. There were those four goodbyes that one day, when we hugged and cried in the morning, then ran into each other outside the bathroom, then you got delayed packing and we had to say some sort of goodbye after lunch, only for you to forget your alarm clock, drive back half an hour later, and impart one last and most embarrassing goodbye. If only I’d known that what was wrong with mom was wrong with you, I wouldn’t have had to say the last goodbye, the one to which you couldn’t respond. And because your life with us was so punctuated by “goodbye,” I wonder why you chose for your headstone to read: “HELLO.”

Bathroom Monologue: Earl and the Muslim

Earl blew his nose and looked up to find they were the only two left in the weight room. He, an American-looking American with an American beard and an American Nickelback t-shirt, and this enormous Muslim on the chest press, Arabic tattooed across straining biceps, glowering at Earl in-between reps and making weird gestures at his face.

Earl checked himself to see if he’d done something wrong, but all he was doing was rubbing his nose and lounging with a foot up. Oh crap, wasn’t showing your soles to a Muslim a death-worry offense? He quickly pushed both feet to the floor, but the guy was already coming. The guy pushed a box of tissues at him and muttered, “Dude, snot in the beard.”

Bathroom Monologue: Astral Plane or Astral Plain?

It's kind of both. It's a plane of existence if it’s anything, but there are also rolling hills. The souls of buffalo roam, and long-extinct races of antelope play. They do not, however, play harps. It’s lovely at night as instead of daisies, stars bloom in the grass of these fields, and twinkle a far sweeter music than man has ever known. He has felt it in a fashion, though, and expressed it by accident in every song that bring to mind places without using words.

Bathroom Monologue: Sir Wallace Prepares for the Immortal

The Immortal slapped Sir Wallace across the cheeks and said they’d fight it out right here.

Sir Wallace mopped his brow and said nay, they’d duel seven noons from today.

It was a spirited reply, so off the Immortal went with a wench, and off Sir Wallace went with his maid, preparing in hush and haste for the inevitable. They ducked into his house, locked up the shutters and shut up the doors, and such a clatter came from inside that by Day Two minstrels sang of his brave preparation.

On Day Five there arrived a fencing teacher who looked suspiciously like the town lothario in an eye-patch and rapier, announcing he’d instruct Sir Wallace as he slipped inside the shrouded abode, one arm entwined with the maid’s. Come Day Six a new sort of clatter came from the premises and the Immortal kicked in the doors to find only the swordsman and the maid in Sir Wallace’s bed – and Sir Wallace six days ride away.

Six Sentence Week 3

You guessed it. It's my third Six-Sentence Story Week here at the Bathroom Monologues. From Monday to Saturday I will feature only six-sentence bits, covering dueling immortals, Communists and cheerleaders, the astral plane, and much more. A poll will pop up around Wednesday. Please vote for your favorite, or leave feedback begging me to stop this.

Bathroom Monologue: Things You Should Not Accept For Free

-Piercings
-Financial advice
-Warm firearms from nervous people as sirens are getting closer
-Anything wrapped in a towel that is dripping something red, regardless of how close the sirens are
-Boxing lessons in a meat packing plant
-Pills someone refers to as “candy”
-Old cheese
-Rides from strangers over long distances when your cell battery is low
-Your cousin’s friend’s backpack just seconds before you pass through Customs at the border
-Uwe Boll DVD’s (dreadful director)
-Drinks he insists on mixing in the other room, and no that’s okay he’ll go do it alone
-Directions that include shortcuts through the woods at night near that camp where all the counselors were beheaded twenty years ago as of tonight

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.

Bathroom Monologue: The Bizaar

This is the setting for a lot of my stories. Like a lot of my names, it’s a pun: “the Bizaar.” Few stories cross through it by name, but most have some proximity to it. It’s next door, it’s dashed through during a foot chase, and it’s on the TV when she isn’t paying attention. Yes, it is sometimes in the fiction of the fiction, because fiction can speak of what ought to be in the world instead of what we have to settle for.

Here you can get your magic carpet cleaned without fear of it losing its vibrant colors of accelerative capacity. Here you can buy swords that anyone can swallow. Here a couple from abroad spit blue flame, and use that breath to roast meats with more savory flavors than anywhere else in riding distance.

The pet store has wyverns, chimeras and hydras – though that last creature is actually a microscopic aquatic organism with a two-way digestive system, meant more for kids interested in biology than the dark arts. The big seller in the petshop is eggs. Some are fossilized dinosaur eggs. Many more will hatch to live and obedient slime molds, serpents and rocs.

There is a man to sell you a ticket in. The same man sells you a ticket out. He wears a turban and has a tan, which disguises him, so you won’t recognize that he’s me.

Bathroom Monologue: United Prussian Airways introduces Socialist Class

United Prussian Airways introduces Socialist Class. This is a response to Economy Class seats, which are supposed to be budget-priced by comfortable. These are the Capitalist Swine seats. Socialist Class deems all airplanes to be the property of society and allows ticket holders to sit wherever they want. There are no seats and passengers are liberated to sit on the drink cart, on the laps of First Class Passengers, or on the wing. Any passengers who fall off the wing will have to take up burial with their local funeral parlors. There is no word if funeral parlors will introduce Socialist Burial, beyond one undertaker in coach saying the liberated wing passengers, "can bury themselves, for a truly liberal experience."

“What would a ghost be scared of?” –Some guy on Supernatural, Season 2, the Hollywood Babylon episode

a) The ghost of a bear
b) The ghost of a shark
c) The ghost of a bigger guy than he was
d) The ghost of another guy who is holding the ghost of a shotgun
e) The ghosts of a bunch of bees
f) The ghost of a rusty bear trap
g) The ghost of that babysitter that never shaved and insisted on going around nude as soon as his parents left
h) The ghost of a new bear trap
i) A katamari
j) The ghost of an IRS agent

I feel There Will Be Blood was the weakest of the Saw films

The famed "Jigsaw" killer was arraigned today on 35 counts of kidnapping and reckless endangerment. The District Attorney, Patrick Straus, said the state may also bring him up on charges of whatever that law is that lets thieves sue homeowners when they slip on their property.

"We figure, if legally a Wal-Mart is liable for you slipping in the Produce aisle, this guy is screwed."

"Jigsaw" is famous for his M.O. of abducting seemingly innocent people who were somehow related to him being sad he got cancer, and then trapping them in houses full of booby traps that force them to either mutilate or kill themselves and each other. The classic argument has been that the killer doesn't actually do anything.

"The idea that a guy puts a bear trap on your head and gives you sixty seconds to choose whether it kills you or just rips your jaw off seems pretty fucking semantic to me," says Straus. "Apparently someone in the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals has gone senile and said we couldn't try him for Homicide. So after we try him for every trivial thing possible, which ought to drag him into court to sit and watch people think he's nuts for twenty years, we'll try him for Manslaughter."

Manslaughter is the class of crimes where someone is intrinsically related to a death without having actually caused it. "Of course, Jigsaw would know that if he'd watched an episode of Law and Order," said Straus. He concluded his address to the public by saying that even if the terminally ill killer won't be tried for Homicide, "it's good that we can stop people from saying the fucker didn't do anything."

Bathroom Twitter Experiment V.1, P.001

This story has been removed as it was sold to a magazine. Sorry it's no longer here, but you'll be able to read it there soon. Heck, it may already be up! And if it is, it's linked.