Tag Archives: chapter excerpt

The benefits of a faceless society

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Their lives are busy.

Too busy at times.

Between managing the “Chips-n-More Shoppe,” volunteering for two charities and attending their friends’ parties, the couple next door whom you saw move in but’ve never met seem, are rarely home.

So, when they are home, they relax, forgetting about impulse purchases from the Internet.

Packages bake in the Sun, propped up against the front door for days, until one of them opens the front door to make sure the security system is active.

They have no idea when packages are delivered or by whom.

They typically drive home late at night, tired, weary, exhausted, on autopilot as they pull into the driveway, their thumbs pressed against the fingerprint reader on the garage door opener built into the dashboard without realising what they’re doing, gliding out of their matching sport sedans and into the house mere minutes before they fall asleep in bed.

Sunday morning, he wakes up early, debating whether to risk his gimpy leg, ligament damage from last year’s touch football game still bothering him, to jog around the neighbourhood and see if there are any neighbours out and about at 5 o’clock.

Instead, he stops at the end of the driveway, dumbfounded, speechless.

How could he have missed this?

The Mailbox – Chapter Four

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When an order is placed on the Internet, a signal is sent, blasting in all directions, bouncing off walls, passing over houses, through billboards, under railways and out into the stratosphere.

Signals are received loud and clear.

Alone atop an abandoned castle, a gargoyle, once feared for its ice-cold, unending stare, savours a memory triggered by an unseen signal.

A storm sends swirls of dust around the parapet on which the gargoyle contemplates the emptiness of time, a single dream on its lips.

To live again!

To lead an army into victory!

To eat the vanquished and innocent victims of the spoils of war in broad daylight, without shame.

Eternity of waiting after rising from ancient, carved rock, forged in the depths of an infernal volcano that seethed and foamed with molten lava made from minerals of the birth of time, has come to an end.

The haunted nightmare of a stonemason will own the skies!

Do you Roku?

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While the tech world buzzes about the latest mass media consumption device, I play with a refurbished unit called the “Roku XD 2050X 1080p Streaming Player, 802.11n/g, Ethernet Port, Enhanced Remote with Instant Replay.”

Purchased one at Woot.

Well, I actually made the classic “duh” error when I ordered the box.

I pressed the Big Button (if you’ve wooted, you know) and got an HTTP 404 error that the page I sought no longer exists.

So I pressed the refresh button…

Four times!

Tried to cancel but the Wootiers behind the virtual wall told me, “Sorry!  Our robots are scurrying through the warehouse, happily scooping up four Woot boxes just for you.”

Anyway, the one box that I wanted, I opened.

Within minutes, I was watching a free Amazon On Demand movie on the ol’ 1999 55-inch standard definition projection TV in the comfort of my overcrowded living room.

Letterbox version of a popcorn flick, “Mission Impossible 3: We Suckered You Into Watching This Fluff a THIRD Time!”

Easy as making a pie.

No, easy as pulling a frozen pie out of the freezer, sticking it in the countertop convection oven and cooking it unevenly, burning one side and leaving the other side nice and cold.

As a comedian, I’ve got to find something funny about the inconvenience of convenience foods.

Besides, writing satyrical skits gets old.  And the burlesque dancers even more plastic-looking than Cher singing at a NASCAR race full of robot drivers and their plastic, Valley of the Dolls, Stepford wives!

Enough already.

Let me save the insults for the young kids.

Time to get serious, if not a few Syrians.  Assyrians, you’re time has come and gone.  I’ve got my safari gear on and ready to hunt cougars.

Experience counts where experience counts but who’s counting?

I know there’s somebody important in this time period who died I’m supposed to add to the list of celebrity eulogies but I’ve forgotten.

Thanks to Kristyna, Connie, Muriel and others.

Respect the Sanctity of the Cones

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There is a phrase, common to officers of the law patrolling Colorado streets at night, that defies description here in the Martian colonies.

“Respect the sanctity of the cones.”

You see, back in 2012, the President of the United States, seeking reelection, decided to interfere with the operation of police and firefighters to offer his condolences in the midst of a state emergency.

Ask yourself if you would rather have a firefighter working hard to save YOUR house rather than standing for a photo op with the Prez.

Or a police officer holding back traffic for a firetruck heading into your neighbourhood rather than an entourage of national security folks establishing a clear perimeter of security for the Prez.

You see, I’m reading historical blog entries like these:

I support any person who wins the majority of electoral college votes for U.S. President.

But I can also call into question his motives when he puts his reelection campaign ahead of a real emergency.

You ask me, this stinks.  Mr. Obama, you are making yourself an annoyance in this case.

It is poor decisions like these that make me question your honest attempt to be a leader rather than a vote chaser.

Remember, I am one of the Undecided.

Unfortunately, I live in the state of Alabama, which is all but guaranteed to support your opponent to take office in 2013.

But those of us in swing states, we look to our President for a true vision, not just another politician gladhanding the homeless and asking to remember you come November when you blocked the way for those who are really sacrificing themselves.

You see, I thought I lived in a great country where protection of the people was not just something that happens “over there” in Vietnam, Grenada, Iraq or Afghanistan.

I expect protection of my people here and now.

But go ahead, bring the posse down to the Centennial State and see exactly who remembers you for what you did to those people whose homes were destroyed because one too many police and firefighters were diverted from their primary duties to shake your hand on primetime TV.

Hey, I’m just a regular citizen, occasionally remembering to donate plasma to the Red Cross and give clothing to Goodwill.

I’m no saint.

But I am a voter.

And there are a lot of people like me not expressing their opinion in the ocean of voices floating in the blogosphere.

We read the history of your times in the early decades of the 21st century and wondered when we were supposed to see the Rebirth of the Enlightenment cause it ain’t happened yet!

Getting old, can’t remember how to insert a table…

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Have you ever forgotten the simplest capabilities such as inserting a table into a blog entry or how to create a macro in a spreadsheet?

Boy, am I getting older, not so much more forgetful, just more stuff to push to the front of my thoughts, letting the less-used thoughts sit in unused neuronal pathways.

That’s why I’m listening to the Cikada String Quartet on earphones while I write this.  Nothing like a little Kaija Saariaho, John Cage and Bruno Maderna to rearrange my thought patterns and make new connections to old habits.

I digress.

I came here to catalog a thought that bugged me while traveling a long distance between two cities.

What is the value of keeping my old car — with no monthly payments and little in the way of major repair costs — in relation to fuel efficiency of more modern vehicles?  Is there a significant difference such that I should spend time hunting investment-quality instruments to “play”?

For instance, my car gets 25 MPG (U.S. Miles Per U.S. Gallon) in the city and 30 MPG on the highway.

Traveling 25,000 miles a year back-and-forth to the city, I burn about 1000 U.S. gallons.

If I had a vehicle that got 40 MPG, I’d burn about 625 gallons.

A difference of 375 gallons, about 1 gallon per day.

What is my monthly cost savings using average cost per gallon for those 375 fossil fuel units?

375 gallons x [$/gallon] /12 = cost savings per month

$/gallon ….. cost savings per month
3 ….. $93.75
4 ….. $125
5 ….. $156.25
8 ….. $250
10 ….. $312.50

Therefore, by not purchasing a new vehicle with more efficient fuel usage, I spend about an extra $100 per month (ignoring new vehicle monthly payments vs. old vehicle average monthly maintenance, insurance, licence fees, etc., which would make the difference negligible (in fact, the costs would be significantly more in the other direction [it saves me money to keep the old car])).

Conclusion: I have no one to impress (no need for the latest gadgets, shiniest rims, sleekest lines, Internet access while driving, surround sound system or safety features), so the old bulldog, the baby BMW 325i, sits at the top of the driveway, ready to burn 25-30 miles per gallon at my request, saving me money in comparison to purchasing a new vehicle, costing me money in comparison to walking or riding a bicycle (since public transportation is nonexistent in my neighbourhood).  Now I can throw away that scrap of paper on which I scribbled the calculations!

A-shopping we will go!

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The wind howled outside the window, a long wailing.

Some called it the Scream of the Banshee.

When you heard her voice…

Well, it’s best we not talk about it, eh?

Inside, a young couple were going about their business, one looking at websites, the other slaying monsters on the big screen tellie, videogame controller slashing the air.

They only had five business days to replace the curbside mailbox or the Homeowners Association was going to mark them with their first demerit.

Demerits meant fewer privileges — blackout dates for prime golf tee times and tennis lessons — a punishment no neighbour dared mention when arriving at the clubhouse hours after others had already hit the course or taken a shower following a morning of backhands and double sets.

She read the suburban covenant again.  No mention of what the curbside mailbox should look like.

Only “height from ground to mailbox opening” and “distance from the curb to mailbox post.”

She surfed the Web for a while, checking her social media status, making sure she was getting plenty of views of her recent tea party in the backyard and her husband’s “BBQ with the Boys” night.

As co-owners of a fish-and-chips franchise, their status amongst their peers was more important than anything, they supposed.

After a couple of hours reading friends’ daily updates and digesting the news, she returned to the task at hand, randomly selecting, from the list the search engine had given her, a website selling mailboxes…

The Mailbox – Chapter Three

Another secret revealed

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In the arena where this blog-in-reality meets reality-outside-of-this-blog, we watch the words reveal the past and the future through your present reading.

Turn on the Suite No. 2 for Orchestra, Op. 64, from Romeo and Juliet, by Sergey Prokofiev.

Or the Orchestral Suite No. 3 in D Major by J.S. Bach.

Then, sit back and watch this video…

Before you see the video, I’ll ask you a question.

What is your password, any password?

You see, Rick left the room a few minutes ago and I noticed a Bible askew on the bookshelf nearest the computer terminal.

I thought for a few seconds what he would be doing and then it hit me.

An old world globe on top of the bookshelf fell on my head!

After I replaced the globe, I thought about why the Bible would have moved on its own.

Then I logged onto this network; that is, Itried to log on.

Then it hit me.

The cat perched on the headrest of the chair gave me a whack across the forehead, begging for food.

After I fed the cat, I figured out why Rick had moved the Bible.

He had created a new password for the network.

And what’s one of the best known phrases, or verses, in the Bible?

I typed J3164GSLTW and logged back in.

C’mon, Rick?  John 3:16?  That’s the most difficult password you could come up with, “For God so loved the world…”?

Dude, you’ve got to make it harder than that.  I guess “Jesus wept” was too short, wasn’t it?  I’m sure Genesis 1:1 would have been too easy for me to figure out, wouldn’t it?  I suppose I could have tried the 10 Commandments next.

Oh well, now that I’m back, I wanted to share with you the infographic that summarises the secret code that unlocks the world of Rick’s writing (and thus, mine, the plagiaristic copycat that I am).

Short, but sweet, the secret of storytelling.  Rinse and repeat.

Suite No. 2 for Orchestra, Op. 64 Ter from Romeo and Juliet

Walking on sunshine

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I wonder how much I can trust the person we gave my old job if he didn’t even bother to change the password.

Anyway, this is Rick.

Many years ago, a path was cut through the woods owned by the local land baroness, Margaret Ann Goldsmith.

After the path was cut, TVA power poles were raised and strands of wiring strung high in the air like trapeze artists use, arching from one pole to another over hilltops and roadways.

At first, I was sad to see the forest cut down.

Then, the scientist in me stepped forward, taking notes on the change in flora and fauna.

Today, as I walked underneath the lines that are there only in case of emergency and note used regularly, I found a ripe passionfruit.

But this was a rare subspecies, the “Nectar of the Gods,” the local natives called it.

I hold it in my hands.

The aroma alone is making my writing difficult.

I would venture to guess that driving is inadvisable at this time.

I stood and watched bumblebees fumble into the passionfruit flowers on the vine and fly away drunk.

Would I have found this natural gateway drug if Margaret Ann hadn’t sold the rights to TVA to remove swathes of mature trees and underbrush from her land, just barely a stone’s throw from where her father sold property to the builder of my cabin in the woods?

I feel giddy, mischievous, desiring to pull a joke on someone.

Should I change the password of this account and see how the person who took over my network responds?

You don’t always have to be taller and stronger to win…hehe…we rarely forget the lessons we learned the hard way, rather than reading about them in books!

Late-Night Advert

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Are you tired of giving your business away to a government that scares and intimidates  you with doomsday predictions?

Do you question why you convinced your friends and family to fund your venture when a large part of the profits you’d like to share with them goes to fund pork-barrel projects from which you don’t benefit?

Well, don’t change that channel!!!

Call the number below and we’ll show you how to:

  • Incorporate your business as an offshore shell holding company
  • Have no employees, thus avoiding personnel tax accounting (in fact, you won’t have to hire accountants at all!)
  • Own no assets and have no liabilities
  • Protect the integrity of your name as a generous philanthropist to your peers

Wouldn’t you like to sleep soundly knowing that the time and money you sacrificed, losing precious hours with your little ones and your first second third fourth spouse have not gone to waste?

Stop texting your BFF and make that free Internet phone call to us right now.  We have outsourced VOIP telephone operators sitting in hot warehouse conditions waiting to take your call.

For one low setup fee and a wee bit of your monthly income, we’ll ensure you have no trouble with the laws and regulations of every country, municipality and political entity that’s trying to take your precious cash away from your attempt to give an honest wage to honest workers, and an ROI for those business associates who, to coin a phrase, are about to bust some kneecaps if they don’t get paid because they don’t care about your excuse that you have to pay taxes and licence fees to your government.

Thanks to us, you’ll be sailing around the world, free from dilapidated bridges, malnourished unemployables, empty art museums and other relics of a time when people had no choice but to form businesses that were forced to turn over their profits for the sole purpose of propping up unfair socialistic governments keen on shoving your face to the grindstone and emptying your cashbox for their pet reelection projects.

Don’t delay.  Your future and the future of your darling children depends on making that call.  Who knows, your fifth spouse may turn out better than all the rest once you have real money to burn!

Hole Punchers and Drive-Thru Windows

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“Yes, yes…what is it, Rick?  I thought you were harvesting fungi and making algae soup for breakfast this morning.”

“Well, I was looking at the growth patterns of vines in the woods this morning, paying attention to capillary action, when I saw a branch of the future you might want to tell my…I mean, your readers.”

“Rick, Rick, Rick.  How can I do that?  I’ve already told them you’ve retired and here you are, still setting up your supercomputer to extend prediction paths out into the forest.  That doesn’t sound like you’re retired to me.”

“‘You young whippersnappers!’  Why, I ought to give you a good whoopin’ for backtalking me but then you are taller and stronger.”

“Oldtimers.  Geez.  Look, am I or am I not in charge of your network?”

“Let’s just say you were handpicked for the job.  Kinda like the way we maneuvered the population of the United States to put a man who had an African Muslim father and Caucasian Christian mother into the White House.  Which goes with one of these future predictions I see.  The way the vines tell it, now that we’ve secured a member of the Muslim Brotherhood as president of Egypt, we need to convince one of the U.S. President’s daughters to marry a member of the Muslim Brotherhood, thus cementing the bond between the U.S., and thus the West, and the Middle East.  It’s the only longterm way to secure peace within certain circles of the Muslim community and get rid of terrorist breeders within their ranks.  And if they adopted a Chinese baby, that’d perfect the deal!”

“Man, you and your wildlife.  I suppose the ants were talking to you again today, weren’t they?”

“Now that you mention it…”

“Naw, forget it.  I’ve got my own show to run.  You want this gig, you gotta take it from me!”

Rick says to thank Nancy for the smile and laugh she shared this morning.