Another Ten Minute Play Not Quite Right for the Book but Just Right for Blog

THE REDNECK AND THE ALIENS

by BENJAMIN DITMARS

CHARACTERS

BEEZ 106,981,454: An honest, law abiding Alien from planet Beez.  Selfless, always putting others’ welfare first.  Sports large eyes and antennae in the stereotypical fashion.

BEEZ 106,890,355: A rebel of sorts; smart ass college student.  Sports large eyes and antennae in the stereotypical fashion.

HANK JOE DAVIS: Drunk and confused.  Hank is a good ole boy, suspicious of most everything different from himself.  He has a white tank top and a mullet.

SETTING

A fishin’ hole somewhere in the woods.  A man, Hank, is humming country songs to his self and drinking heavily.

            [HANK, fishing, sees a light shine behind him]

HANK

Hey ya dab nattin’ hooligans, turn that truck ‘round befo’ I git mah gun!

            [The lights dim]

Thas mo’ like it!

            [Lights return]

I’s warned ya, I’ll git mah gun!

            [HE grabs a gun and a bottle of alcohol, heading toward the source of the light]

‘N now, I’m gonna shoot ya so dead ya –

            [HE passes out]

           

            [Two aliens, BEEZ 106,981,454 and BEEZ 106,890,355 emerge]

BEEZ 106,981,454

Why have you brought harm to the human?  This mission is purely academic!

BEEZ 106,890,355

Relax, 454, I have no weapons.  The male human has simply over consumed a mind altering substance called rum.

BEEZ 106,981,454

Still, I best report it.

BEEZ 106,890,355

The hell you will!  This is our research project and they don’t need involved!

BEEZ 106,981,454

We must be very careful 890, 355.

BEEZ 106,890,355

You’re using my formal numerical designation now?  You really are too full of yourself.

BEEZ 106,981,454

If we make one misstep we could be putting the entire universe in danger!

BEEZ 106,890,355

I’ve heard that load a million times.  You expect me to believe it?

BEEZ 106,981,454

I do.  If humans got a hold of just one ship they could reverse engineer and conquer entire galaxies.  There would be no stopping them.

BEEZ 106,890,355

Their weapons aren’t that good, 454.

BEEZ 106,981,454

They aren’t?  I remind you, when every other galactic federation was working toward prosperity and perfecting their societies humans were killing each other.  They’ve killed and killed for millions of years.  And they are experts.  They needn’t weapons to be dangerous.

BEEZ 106,890,355

So, you’re saying that that’s…

            [Points at snoring figure of HANK]

The most dangerous creature in the universe?

BEEZ 106,981,454

You may underestimate the ape descendant, but yes.

BEEZ 106,890,355

[Moving toward HANK]

I think I might try a little probing.  You in?

BEEZ 106,981,454

I’ve long since outgrown old fraternity pranks.

BEEZ 106,890,355

Then why are we here?

BEEZ 106,981,454

We are gathering information for our database.  It is important for posterity that we document these creatures and their habitats before what is certainly an inevitable extinction.

BEEZ 106,890,355

Can’t we have a little more fun than that?

BEEZ 106,981,454

[Sighing]

Why did you come on this mission, 355?  You have no interest in anthropology or Science in general.

BEEZ 106,890,355

I needed the credits.

BEEZ 106,981,454

Well, next time just stay at home and I’ll say you tagged along!

BEEZ 106,890,355

Really?

BEEZ 106,981,454

If it keeps you away from a project of universal importance then yes!

            [HANK wakes up swinging]

BEEZ 106,890,355

Should I restrain it?

BEEZ 106,981,454

No, we can’t risk it harming you.  Stay back!

HANK

What in tarnation are you callin’ an it?

BEEZ 106,890,355

It spoke!

BEEZ 106,981,454

Of course it did!  Didn’t you hear it before?

BEEZ 106,890,355

No, I just heard you say I was causing it harm.  When you think it’s more likely to hurt me anyway!

HANK

I say’d stop callin’ me it, dag nabbit!

BEEZ 106,981,454

All right, human.  What is your preferred title?

HANK

They call me Hank down at the bar.

BEEZ 106,981,454

Okay, Hank Down At The Bar, what is your position on this planet?

HANK

Posat what?

BEEZ 106,890,355

Can you translate what he’s saying for me, 454?

HANK

I talk English dag it!

            [BEEZ 106,981,454 gestures confusion]

BEEZ 106,981,454

We are inhabitants of a distant planet known as Beez.

HANK

What’d ya sneeze?

BEEZ 106,890,355

I think you might have overestimated Hank.

HANK

Hey, I knows whats ya are!  You’s them funny lookers from the picture box!

BEEZ 106,890,355

Picture box?

BEEZ 106,981,454

It means television.  It’s an audio-video display of scheduled programming.

HANK

Are ya two thingers invadin’ earth?

BEEZ 106,981,454

Of course not, aliens don’t invade.  That’s a human notion.

HANK

Then git your ass off mah planet!  Ya done scurred the fish ‘way!

BEEZ 106,981,454

Patience, earthling.

HANK

I’ll git mah gun!

BEEZ 106,981,454

Try.

            [HANK pulls the trigger; nothing happens]

We invented a force field for this expedition.  Normally, amongst other galactic entities we’d have nothing to fear.  But, this is of course with humans requires special circumstances.

HANK

What ya space hooligans wantin’ wit me?

BEEZ 106,981,454

We simply require answers.

HANK

Ya have any Jack?

BEEZ 106,981,454

Who is Jack?

BEEZ 106,890,355

[Looking at something like a high-tech cell phone]

Searching Earth’s Google, Jack might possibly allude to a 1996 film with actor Robin Williams, a chain of restaurants called Jack in the Box, or a whiskey from the Tennessee region.

HANK

The last!

BEEZ 106,981,454

I’m sorry we don’t have any.

HANK

[Crossing arms defiantly]

No Jack, no answas!

BEEZ 106,890,355

I’ll tell you what Hank.  Help us out and we’ll take you in our ship to get you some.

            [HANK smiles]

BEEZ 106,981,454

You might be useful yet, 355.

BEEZ 106,890,355

That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!

BEEZ 106,981,454

Now, Hank, enlighten us.  What is your job?

HANK

Well, I’s unemployed right nah.  I used to make fries at the McDonald’s.

BEEZ 106,981,454

I see, and does this unemployment bother you?

HANK

Course it does!  Would anybody!

BEEZ 106,981,454

I must ask for our records: what do you see as the value of the current system known as Capitalism?

HANK

It’s Amer’can.

BEEZ 106,981,454

Could you elaborate?

HANK

Freedom!  We don’t need no Gov’ment tellin’ us what to do and what not!

BEEZ 106,981,454

Forgive me, Hank but I don’t see the current system benefiting men such as you.

HANK

Meanin’ what?

BEEZ 106,981,454

You’re fishing, possibly even living, by the lake and you have no larger role to fill in society.

HANK

Well, it could benfit me, I’s jus’ unlucky.

BEEZ 106,981,454

I find your own and others complacency intriguing.  Don’t you have a desire for more than this, a socioeconomic system that actually works?

HANK

Course, that’s why I plays the lottery ticket ev’ry week.

BEEZ 106,890,355

Ease up 454, I think you’re going a bit fast for him.

BEEZ 106,981,454

I’m doing no such thing.  Do you notice Hank the lack of actual government that plays out in your existence and the abundance of comparative corporate control?

HANK

Hey nah, don’t go all commie bitch!  Amer’ca’s the best country on face of the Earth!  Thas a fact!  If you don’ like it you can go back to Arabia!

BEEZ 106,981,454

I also have questions on that topic.  Why do humans insist on living in factions?  Couldn’t you accomplish more as a single unit?

HANK

With the A-rabs?  I don’t think so!

BEEZ 106,981,454

What is it you find unappealing about these A-rabs?

HANK

[Counting on fingers]

Well they hate freedom fo’ one.  They wear turbans fo’ two!

BEEZ 106,981,454

How do they hate freedom?

HANK

They’s done bombed us on 9/11!  I sees it on the picture box and all dem memorials!

BEEZ 106,981,454

But it wasn’t all Arabs.  It was a small group that happened to be from that region.

HANK

They all think like!  One mind, those Muslim towel heads!

BEEZ 106,981,454

So all Americans think alike as well?

HANK

Course not, we gots freedom.

BEEZ 106,981,454

It seems you use this idea of freedom to back up your own intolerance and dismiss higher reasoning.

BEEZ 106,890,355

I think we’ve digressed from the mission by now.

BEEZ 106,981,454

355, you can go back on the ship anytime!

BEEZ 106,890,355

No thanks, this is too good.  Mr. Professional has finally lost his nerve.

BEEZ 106,981,454

Perhaps I have.  Now, Hank, if I told you all humans were over 99.9% genetically identical what would you say to that?

HANK

I’d say it’s those same scientists that done faked global warming!  I ain’t no Mexican!

BEEZ 106,981,454

But besides skin color, how are you really different?

HANK

Genetics, like you says.  I’m 99.9% superior.

BEEZ 106,981,454

That’s not what I said.

HANK

Then what are ya tryin’ to say?

BEEZ 106,981,454

That you, all humans, are equal and you shouldn’t treat each other with such hate and abuse!

HANK

Survival of the fittest!  The market does us good ‘n don’ deny it!  If you’re lazy, good fo’ nuttin’ you fall behind.  And good riddance!

BEEZ 106,981,454

Hasn’t it left you behind?

HANK

I… well, not… damn.

BEEZ 106,890,355

Congratulations, you’ve outwitted the witless!

BEEZ 106,981,454

[Ignoring BEEZ 106,890,355]

On planet Beez, in fact the whole universe, we don’t have these distinctions.  We work together and make sure every citizen is treated fairly… with respect.

HANK

That sure soun’ nice.  How ‘bout ya take me wit ya?

BEEZ 106,981,454

What!?

HANK

Yeah, I thinks you right.  It’d be nice to git away, have mahself a new life without all the struggles.

BEEZ 106,981,454

I’ll tell you what.  We’ll do just that.

HANK

Can I still have my Jack?

BEEZ 106,981,454

I don’t see why not.

BEEZ 106,890,355

Weren’t you just saying how all humans are dangerous?

BEEZ 106,981,454

I think this one’s learned his lesson.  Besides, I can’t go thinking all humans are bad on the actions of a few no more than Hank can blame an entire group of people for 9/11.

BEEZ 106,890,355

Ah, of the two of us, you’d think I’d be the one learning a valuable life lesson.

BEEZ 106,981,454

Well, the smartest often have the most to learn.

HANK

Are we gittin’ mah Jack or what!?

BEEZ 106,981,454

The smartest, and Hank that is.

            [Laughter]

END OF PLAY

The Cola Wars

Some say Coke fired the first shot.  Others say Pepsi.  Regardless, it began the long and arduous struggle known to the victors as World War Zero, named respectively for Coke Zero.  Some interpreters will still cling to the usage World War One, named for Pepsi One and not that other thing in 1914.  They are few and far between.

It is hard to make sense of the carnage that ensued.  Casualties are still undetermined.  The last struggle on the peaks of Mountain Dew alone weighed in at over ten thousand ounces in blood.  The two companies insist on measuring blood spilled in ounces even as the world community at large pleads that they convert to milliliters.

Pepsi from the outset was faced with a severe shortage of resources.  They invaded Boeing and almost succeeded at stealing their aluminum.  Several valuable airplanes were left Swiss-cheesed in the process.  Coke, aligned with Lockheed managed to repel the invasion.

Allies looked as scarce as resources to the taste of the next generation.  Coke had already acquired Dow Chemicals, Intel and Wells Fargo on their side.

Pepsi was forced to catch up.  They therefore aligned themselves with Aunt Jemima in hopes their sugar would prove useful.  Quality production Pepsi assumed would help them beat the Coca Cola hegemony.  They were very wrong.

Dow dropped chemical dirty bombs from B-2s day and night on Pepsi headquarters resulting in horrific genetic deformities.  Intel viciously disabled computer systems, isolating Pepsi from the outside world.  Wells Fargo froze all assets available bringing them into financial ruin.

As the Coca-Cola trucks closed in a blockade began. Unconditional surrender was called for.  The employees of Pepsi had no reply.  They kept on producing as Coke hammered away at their defenses.  Live Wire was strung up but easily plowed through.  Sierra Mist came to nothing with the use of night vision goggles.

Faced with total annihilation the CEO of Pepsi decided to lay down his arms, which were both blown off in an explosion mere minutes before.  Thus ended the most costly struggle in beverage corporation history.

Untitled

You don’t need people who don’t need you

Don’t let them sink in, they’ll never get out.

Some friends come and some friends go

True friends stick around.

So, take off your raincoat and

Soak in the sun.

Don’t mind the thunder

It’s only more fun.

You only need friends

Who want to be friends.


Inspired by Only the Good Die Young by Billy Joel

Dragonsbreath

Once upon a time, at the foot of a mountain, there stood a small town known as Dragonsbreath.  It was an unusual place to settle brought on by even more unusual circumstance.  A nomadic tribe, the Kulates, had founded Dragonsbreath after wandering lost in a blizzard for four days without water or food.  Most would have perished.  The Kulates, however, against all odds emerged from the frozen tundra to find green grass and trees.

They picked fruits and laughed together, marveling at how good fortune had finally, at long last, shined down on them.  But their joy was short lived.  The blue sky they had thought to herald triumph suddenly became a dark, dark red.  An immense flapping caused all to cover ears.  Loud, shrill cries took place of laughter as what little there was left of sun became eclipsed with massive wings.

In the spirit of their ancestors who had lived to face far worse, none fled.  They stood their ground as three enormous dragons descended down in front of them.  The men, bows strung up towards the mighty heads, guarded women and children behind.  They would block the path of the dragons in as great defense as they could make.

“People of Kulate,” one of the beasts said approaching.  Arrows released but were quickly incinerated midair.  “My sisters and I mean you no harm,” the voice continued, “our fires have long kept this valley warm and vibrant.  We offer its sanctuary to you who have bore so much in way of trial.”

The other two dragons did not speak.  They merely bowed as the speaker stepped back and flew away leaving the people stunned in wonderment.

Generations passed and the exchange became legend.  Debatable passages were added to the speech as it was continually retold.  The dragons, some said, came from a distant land, disgusted with the excesses of their kind.  They arrived to live above the Kulate whom they envied and admired.

A select few still claimed to feel the Sister’s warmth within the valley, or within them, even as outside the world remained a frozen wasteland.  But the more rational of the Kulates discounted such nonsense as religious hocus pocus.  The weather, they said, was clearly a force apart from any Gods.

Children through the ages did not take philosophy into account.  They often told stories, sang songs and drew pictures for the mighty dragons.  Bolder ones would climb onto the mountain itself and leave their offerings.  Occasionally the offerings were found to have disappeared the next day.  Parents were seen suspect by those most astute.

Little changed in this way for many centuries.  One day, however in the 635^th year was very different.  The climate, always so temperate took on the opposite extreme from outside its boundaries.  Grass dried.  Sun burned.  Children played outside less and less and always early in the day.  Something in the air was different.  Had the dragons grown upset?  The town, despite those faithless, still delivered its yearly offering of livestock.  Did they want more?

The elders approved an emergency sacrifice.  A quarter of all livestock were burned high up in the mountain.  Still… nothing.  The temperatures continued to climb.

Was it a freak heat wave?  The logical said yes.  Too much manure was being burned in fires.  The townspeople had to cut back.  The solution, however, did not resonate with those in panic, seeking blame.

These early alchemists were strung up and left to wilt.  Disbelievers were to blame!  The elders did nothing to stop the onslaught of mob violence.  If sacrifice had not worked, they surmised, the dragons must have been irate at those doubting their grandeur and those suffering their sacrilegious thoughts as well.

It only got worse.  Soldiers were sent up into the mountains in attempt to reason with the dragons.   Children themselves were given in tribute.  Every family surrendered their youngest for the greater good.

No soldiers returned.  Those scaling the brutal rocks, however, were forced to endure the smell of burning flesh – sometimes, most assuredly from children of their own.  Bodies of a great many were seen mangled at the base, as if they had leaped in anguish to their death.  They were ignored and left to rot in the ever hotter sun with disbelievers.

Hope dwindled and the sweet winds took hold.  Outside air was no longer safe for human habitation.  The breeze seared flesh, leaving corpses that no longer reeked.  They smelled appetizing and were seen as much worse.  The Kulate had long been without food and some gave into the unforgivable temptation that presented itself.

The conditions of myth and legend appeared to be returning.  The sky was dark red fire once again.  If ever it appeared the dragons were returning it was then.  Every noise began to sound as flapping to those delirious with thirst.  The remaining hardly trusted their own eyes when the three dragons finally returned.

“People of Kulate,” the now ancient voice spoke “we have returned.  I gather few of you remain.  This is for the best.  Over the past six centuries my sisters and I have watched you murder in our name.  This was never our intent.  We are not Gods but you have made us into them.  It seems today that role is fulfilled.”

The heat lifted as those left emerged.  A young man, thin and filthy spoke “What have you done to us?”

“My sisters and I are cooking you.  You have offered us your faithless and children and now we want more!”

“We only sought to appease you!” An older woman yelled.

“That is a strange way of doing so.  Your faithless were right, it was a heat wave, and your children were pure.  They alone showed us true faith and love.  And your gift to us is killing them?”

“It wasn’t an easy choice – at all!” Another said.

“Yet you still made it.  We will leave you now.  May the winds marinate your flesh, so that we may have a worthy meal, lest we return, which we sincerely doubt.”

The heat began to rise again.  One or two people raced back inside but the rest remained.  There was no fighting the reality.  Their ancestors, who had risked everything and more defending the Kulate people, had been brought to shame.  Why hadn’t they lived up the great legacy passed down?  None had answers.

In the distance the three dragons could be seen.  They were carrying something – somethings!  Those left of the children and faithless were finding a new home.  Those remaining in the heat felt marred bliss watching from afar as their last breaths withered and their eyes closed.

Nature reclaimed the town in years after.  White snow fell year round making the plateau no different from the rest of the icy tundra surrounding it.  No green grass returned, no blue skies could be deciphered.  Yet, if you were lost and weary you might spot stones.  They would be severely cracked as writing stood out perfectly; each inscription dedicated to the most noble of Kulates.

The Almost Deleted Story

I started writing a story earlier this week.  I was really excited as I thought it up in the car and got home to write it.  But, it didn't quite turn out as I would have liked.  I finished the second part the next day and just felt nothing was working as I imagined.  So, I tinkered and thought over the plot and writing over the course of the week.  Considered just deleting it, coming back to the idea later.  The thought of throwing five pages of writing away though didn't seem right.  So, I figured for good or ill, for smiley or frowny face, I would just post it on here and see what suggestions you might all have.

*****

Dev

Life changing experiences are few and far between in the span of a lifetime.  I’ve heard it and I’m sure you’ve heard it too.  We go to school, we graduate, we work, we maybe get married, have kids and then we die.  That’s the macro view of things.  But, occasionally something comes along and throws us so far off course, that such notions, as true as they are for the majority, appear ridiculous.

My comfort zone and easy going path in life were interrupted one July night, now five years ago.  I couldn’t tell you the exact date – too much had happened much too quickly.  But what I can say is sufficient that you’ll get the point.

It was after work and I had gone out to a nightclub with some friends.  It was just one of those workdays where we needed a good deal of drinking and dancing to get by.  The club provided both to excess. 

In the chaos of hitting on women, showing them my grandpa's old switchblade, dancing and consuming ever more alcohol I managed to meet someone.  This, someone happened to be famous.  It was an odd feeling when you could barely remember your own name to talk with someone you admired.  Her name was Dev.  You know, the girl who sang in the song Like a G6?  It had been one of my favorite tunes when it came out.  Unfortunately in my advanced inebriation I began singing it to her.  She laughed a strange laugh that seemed almost techno.  I knew my mind was going south and I had to seal the deal quick.

“You want to go back to my place?” I asked her, just barely audible over the noise of the club’s music.  Strangely she consented.  I must have asked almost over twenty other women the same thing that night with no success.

We went back to my apartment.  I can’t recall for sure if we took a cab or if she had had a driver of some sort.  The next thing that I know for sure, however, was that we were making out, my hands moving swiftly up her back.

She took off her shirt and we headed for the bedroom.  Her body seemed cold but I ignored it in the anticipation of getting laid.  It’s what any guy would do in the same situation, I surmise.  There’s a million girls with frigid skin, right?  Maybe not as cold as Dev’s but close.  It was like she had rested on top of steel girders or something.

These thoughts stayed in the back of my mind as much as I wanted to dismiss them.  Even as I continued to feel her up, go down on her, she seemed to lack a certain warmth.  Something was very different inside Dev, however.  There was warmth, at long last, in abundance.  I was consumed, feeling like I might have never stopped.  I went for ten minutes, twenty minutes, past an hour.  The ten alone was a record.

After the hour passed however, my amazing drunken luck began to change.  Dev’s breathing slowed.  She stopped moving.  I didn’t feel a heartbeat.  In a frenzied panic I ran over to the nightstand where I had hastily placed my cell phone.  I never got the chance to dial 911.

Men in white coats broke through the door, restraining me.  I was pinned to the ground as they hit my stomach and tied a rag over my eyes.  I caught one last glimpse of Dev in the apartment.  It appeared as if she were open; an assortment of wires sticking out her chest cavity.  But that couldn’t be the case…

I was pushed down along a flight of stairs and into a car.  The driver made several jerking turns as if he thought I was memorizing the way.  I was too consumed with questions however, to plan a daring escape.  Who were these men?  What did they want with Dev?  Why did they need me?

We drove and drove; much longer than the required route I’m sure.  None of the kidnappers talked with each other and I had no interest in talking myself.  The legal part of my mind told me I should wait for a lawyer.  But, it was obvious from the way Dev and me were abducted that, if this was indeed any part of the government, it would not be held accountable.  Such was the way of the military…

The next voice I heard was after I had been led out of the vehicle and inside some sort of facility.  I didn’t need to see to realize it as some sort of laboratory.  The grass and air outside smelled over manicured and highly treated in the way an industrial firm will try and compensate for the debasements of nature occurring inside.

“Hello,” I heard.  The blindfold had still not been removed.

“I bet you wonder why we’ve brought you here,” the cold, officious voice continued.  I didn’t reply.  “I suppose it’s best to uncover your eyes now.”

He must have motioned to assistants as I could finally see once more.  My eyes struggled adjusting to a bright, white light and continued to sting for several minutes after.  I imagine I had brought it on from trying to focus too quickly.

“As your eyes adjust, let me tell you a little about ourselves.  We are an industry known as Fabrilite.  The name is not meant to be creative.  If anything, it is what you might call inconspicuous.”

I could finally see something.  There were people in the same white suits from before, some of them I recognized and the man who had been speaking.  He wore a business suit as if he were a bureaucrat or politician of some kind.

“From your squinting, I can guess you see more clearly.  So, take a good look; indulge!”

He smiled as I turned my head from side to side.  He had clearly got the reaction he was looking for.  All around me, with the exception of the straight aisle we were standing in were celebrities; gorgeous celebrities!  Beyonce was no more than two feet away; I could reach out and touch Rihanna!

I did just that.  But she didn’t acknowledge me.  I wondered if it was the callousness of fame or something else.

“Do you notice anything peculiar?” the suit-clad man began once more.

“They aren’t blinking.  They aren’t… breathing.”

“And why do you think that is?”

Once more, my instinctive response of silence took hold.  The scientists in lab coats were carrying a heap of something and laying it on the floor in front of us.  But it wasn’t a heap it was Dev…

She was in worse shape than before.  I ran over to her and stopped halfway in my tracks.  I hadn’t imagined the wires… they were mangled, tied and sticking out in droves from her pried open chest cavity.

“What have you done to her!?” I accused to no one in particular.

“We brought her… home.  Dev had strayed significantly off course tonight.”

“You’ve kidnapped her, you’ve kidnapped all these people!  They need medical attention!”

“Oh, how very thick you are.  These celebrities are far from kidnapped.  They were born here and this is where they come at night to charge.”

“You’re insane!”

“No, it would appear that you are simply ignorant.”

“Is Dev dead?” I asked, suddenly caring solely for her.

“Of course not.  Dev was never alive in the first place.”

“Don’t say that!  We shared something together!”

“I’m afraid your intimacy with this creation was no more than would be gained from an internet porn site.  Most, if not all, pop stars, if you have not figured it out, are robotics manufactured for the entertainment industry.”

“What?” I replied stunned, putting years of evidence together in my mind.

“Pop stars are the perfect advertisers; more noticeable than billboards, more enduring than commercials.  They sell albums, movies, magazines, cosmetics, concert tickets… a nearly endless range of products.”

“B-but why robots?”

“There needs to be some element of control.  Humans as a species have trouble processing the sheer amount of attention required in being celebrities.  They kept burning up.  We needed more staying power.  Fabrilite has allowed the industry to streamline the process.  All that’s required is the occasional rogue entity to make the farce appear more real.”

“Rogue entity?”

“Oh, yes.  Occasionally a celebrity will commit suicide or overdose.  This has all been planned far in advance.  We also make movies stars.”

“So, is Cher, you know?”

“Real?  Yes, Cher is indeed the real deal.  We can’t create all, only most.”

“Why did you bring me here and tell me all this?”

“You had seen too much; became a risk.  Contrary to popular belief secret organizations cannot merely wipe memories.”

“So, do I swear an oath of secrecy?”

“No, we would kill you over doing that.  We have grander plans.”

Dev stirred.  A mechanic of some sort was on the floor looking her over.  “Boss,” he said getting up “she’s totaled.” 

“Murray, call Entertainment Tonight,” the boss replied, “tell them she had a drug overdose.”

“She’s still moving!” I yelled seeing her fingers reach out.

“It’s much easier and cheaper to move on.  Besides, she was merely a robotic.  Did you get this attached to your Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Robots as a kid?”

“She’s more than that!”

“Yes, so we’ve heard.”

“No, I felt skin, I felt life.”

“Well, not all of Dev was faked.  We did use some real flesh from a struggling singer.  But you can’t expect us to create everything.”

“Then she is alive!”

“No, she just has parts of someone who was living.  Believe me, there’s a difference.  A picked scab does not qualify as a living being.”

“Let us go!” I said as a team of people restrained me.

“You can’t possibly expect us to concede to that demand, given all you now know, so why say such a thing?”

I had no response again.

“Now, as for you.  What do we have in store?  I have a feeling you already know.  Despite that last statement you aren’t completely stupid.”

“You’re going to… use my flesh?”

“Yes, quite a bit, actually.”

“How much?”

“Let’s just say you won’t even miss it.”

I reached inside my pocket.  Through some stroke of luck they hadn’t taken the old switchblade.

“Are you ready to join Dev?” he said approaching me.  I never gave him the chance.  With a swift movement I stabbed his stomach.  He backed away with blood on his hands and stumbled to the ground.

The others began advancing.  I knew I had to grab Dev and take her with me.  The metal composing her body was lightweight.  I easily picked her up as I had when we made love mere hours, seeming days, before.

Her hand grasped mine as we ran toward the exit.  Her eyes flickered open but only just and momentarily.  She was far from recovery.

Against all odds we managed to steal the large van parked outside and escape.  I can’t say to where, but it’s not so bad.  People don’t ask questions and I can work rebuilding Dev.  She’s beginning to remember again.  Small things.  Her old name, Jessica.  The real town she grew up in.  Little by little she’s becoming more than living.  She’s becoming human.

When Ads Attack!

All the flavor of being a girl.

Timeless, elegant, sustainable.

Now that’s progressive?

Maybe she’s born with it.

Easy breezy beautiful.

Now 100% natural.

Real solutions for today’s women.

Delightfully tacky, yet unrefined.

It’s that refreshing.

It pays to discover

The power of yes.

Is it in you?

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows pt. 2

"Come on Tom," says movie preview Harry, "let's finish this the way we started it. You know, like jump off the tower? It didn't happen in the books but it's more cinematic. Of course no one will question how we also dived off Hogwarts when I was a baby. They didn't have a problem when the Death Eaters burned the Burrow, did they?  It only made the whole point of a secret keeper redundant.  I mean honestly if it were that easy you could have shown up and killed me like a hundred times.  Who needs elaborate hedge mazes with port keys when you've got that?"

Disposable Friend

Used up, dull razor that you threw away –

you could have sharpened it but, hell,

who has that much time?

It’s easier to toss it in the bin,

move on to sharper, newer models

with less history.

Never mind the skin and blood

you gave, we shared.

It’s meaningless.

Indian giver.  Charlatan.

The labels just peel off.

But not for me.

I see you shaving with

your new electric whore

and it cuts deeper than four blades.

A knick to my jugular,

Blood loss, bleeding out.

Please, no stitches… let me feel!

Love in Hyperbole

You touch my shoulder,

I touch yours –

Our whispers shake the ground.

A lean in and a kiss

With static sparks

And thunderclaps.

Biting gently all along

Your form as waves

Crash down beneath.

I enter as an asteroid

In an ocean,

Blanketing your world.

Crying, smoke from cigarettes

Heats and irrigates our earth

To bring new life.

Bases

I overheard a conversation

Between two older men

Regarding bases and relationships.

One, named Phil, bragged

He’d reached five-hundred

The other, Ted, had claimed a thousand.

“Excuse, me,”

I naively interjected,

“Aren’t there only just the three?”

They laughed the way

A parent laughs at children

Discovering their world.

“When you’re young,” said Phil,

“But as you age you’ll see

There’s so much more.”

Looking at the lines and wrinkles

On their skin I saw these extra “bases”

Exceeding the mere three I knew.

The crease above Phil’s eye

Might have been the stress of paying rent

Together with his wife.

Ted’s sagging cheeks

The grief brought on

By raising kids.

First, second, third,

Were fading memories,

Irrelevant.

Put in Bay Pics (As Promised)

Put in Bay

Hello, Bloggers and Blogger fans.  Will be gone until Thursday exploring the wonders of Put in Bay.  But don't think I'll forget about you.  Will take plenty of pictures and post them here, for your enjoyment.  So don't touch that dial.  If for some reason you access the internet via remote, flipping through sites.

Renaissance Man

Gregarious reformer

With greensleeves.

Vain Tudor,

One seater.

Anglican, post-Catholic

Destructor of the Shrines.

Egotistical obesity and

Headless Ann Boleyn.

Became a robot man,

Moved with mechanics.

Blood all but settled in a

Heart of steel.

His battery run down at 55 –

Monks, Monks, Monks!

Better to Wake up to Than Coffee?

Text Me*

Brick me in with boxed up wine

Asphyx me with your cigarettes

Strangle me with anal beads

Bleed me out with kitchen knives.

Text me.

Maybe I will see.

Text me.

I think it's all I need.

Text me.

How hard can it be?

Burn my skin with hot wax, baby

Let the fire spread.

Kiss me with a nail gun

As it pierces through my jaw.

Text me.

Maybe I will see.

Text me.

I think it's all I need.

Text me.

How hard can it be?

Go Orwell's 1984 and put

A rat cage on my head.

My brain will be its sewer system

Isn't that just great?

Text me.

Maybe I will see.

Text me.

I think it's all I need.

Text me.

How hard can it be?

*A trash romance poem based off Call Me by Blondie

Contemplations

I used to contemplate

Making it illegal to be mean

When I was young and hopeful

That the hearts and whims of evil men

Might respond to legislation.

I used to contemplate

That if I spun around just fast enough

I’d fly and leave my problems

On the ground.  But I’ve since gained

Too much weight for that.

I used to contemplate

The dead would rise and

Try to hurt me in some way

Before I realized they were gone for good,

And I’d take zombies over nothingness.

I used to contemplate.

And now I know.

Shoe Shoppe

There was a store near other stores.  It was shabby, rundown looking in comparison to jewelry outlets, Urban Outfitters and the Apple Store but I went in anyway.  The sign above the entrance was not excessively creative; it merely said shoes and was hard to make out at that.

The inside was no more impressive.  Rows of shoes were stacked on top of each other giving the impression of little organization or care.  The tips of helter-skelter shoes I managed to see poking out from the conglomeration were UGLY to put it nicely.  I had to wonder who would own such an establishment.  It didn’t take me long to figure out.

           

“Hello,” an older gentleman said greeting me.  “You’ve come to see shoes?”

           

He wasn’t wearing any himself.  The old man had greeted me inside a shoe shop wearing slippers.  I immediately took it as an indication of faithlessness in his product.

           

“I’m, um, just looking, thanks.”

           

“Many say that, and many are surprised.”

           

“Really?  I might be blunt with this, but this is one of the most rundown, shoddy looking stores I’ve ever seen.  You don’t even try to make your product presentable!”

           

“It is… old shop.”

           

“I see that.”

           

“No, old shop.  I sell old shoes.  Tried, tested, traveled!”

           

“And why would anyone buy such a thing with a Footlocker down the mall?”

           

“Footlocker has nothing.  New shoes are slave shoes.  I don’t sell trash.”

           

“Then what do you sell?”

           

“As I told you, I sell old shoes.  These shoes, they’ve been places.  There’s a memory about them guiding you.  Have you not heard of soles?”

           

“This has gone too far.  Soles are spelled differently than souls.”

           

“But should they be?  Look at your shoes.  They are Nikes, are they not?  I imagine they were made in a sweatshop no earlier than last year.  And what is the condition of their soul?  It is in poor shape.  It was made of blood, sweat and fear.  My shoes are made of trust and love.  They have shared bonds with their owners; bonds your Reeboks and Nikes will never have.”

           

“And where are these owners now,” I asked.

           

“They have moved on but left their impressions and their lessons in the leather all around you.”

           

Call me crazy but I looked around and I saw something just then.  Faces smiled up at me, though less somber than a graveyard.  There was eagerness in their eyes to go someplace new, with someone new and pass on old experience.  I knew, I had to have a pair of shoes; a pair with character.

The Pete Sessions

Rep. Pete Sessions (R-Texas) and other Republicans on Friday introduced a bill to privatize Social Security. They then spray painted 2012 on a large wall outside and proceeded to run head first into it repeatedly.

To Lose a Friend

To lose a friend

But not to death,

Rather, something colder

And more sinister is worse.

I speak, of course

Of time.  The ticking hands,

The blowing sands,

The fading of the sun to moon.

There’s nothing in that dark

For you to feel your way,

Not memories.  Not photographs.

Just blackness and your whimpering.

Yet, emptiness still brings the seasons

Where you endure Saharan sun,

The Arctic breeze – sometimes

With no Spring or Autumn in between.

There is no hell,

There’s only Earth;

You’ve lost your friend,

You’ve lost your world.

Caned

I’m no longer sane

Can’t keep on going with the pain

I feel the water from the rain

Hittin’ me just like a train.

I see the concrete gettin’ stained

I hear there’s good men gettin’ caned

But, no it ain’t ever be explained

We jus' accept the drip, drop, drain.

The Good Man (An Unrhymed Villanelle)

The good man does what he can

And though it’s never enough

He’ll still do more.

Changing oil, giving money –

But not time – to cancer funds;

The good man does what he can.

Perhaps he’ll get laid off

But have enough saved up to be secure –

He’ll still do more.

He won’t sacrifice his family

He won’t sacrifice his job

The good man does what he can.

Though so many things

Distinguish him from great

He’ll still do more.

Driving kids to soccer practice,

Or signing a petition;

The good man does what he can

He’ll still do more.

Links and E-Houskeeping

The reading at the Palace went wonderfully last night.  Thank you to all who showed up!  If there's a charity you're perhaps looking for, the topic of my reading was the tragedy in Tucson earlier this year.  So, please, if you can, donate to the Christina Taylor-Green Memorial Fund.  She was the nine-year old girl shot in the senseless chaos.  Christina was very into helping the less fortunate children of her community when alive and this helps continue her work.

On another note, I've added an abundance of new links in addition to the last:

You can now view my writings accepted by the Cornfield Review (2010) online by clicking the links under the Babycakes section.  Also, the Shine Journal has accepted a Flash Fiction you may remember me posting entitled Wisconsin.  A link to that is also available in the same section.  Furthermore, there are links under Flings to the publications themselves.  So check that all out!  And, if you've done all this and your appetite is still insatiable, you can as always read my novel Gnomes of Coyûl on Kindle, Nook, or paperback!  Phew, dense post, eh?