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The Iron Weasle
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 Posted: Thu Aug 18, 2005 9:25 pm Post subject: |
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Gary started walking up the step. It was a beautiful day, the kind of day that makes you just wish you were outside, instead of being cooped up in an office. Being in an office wasn’t Gary’s problem, for he was a man of might! A plumber!
The birds sang their song, and flew from tree to tree. Gary was happy, both to be here and be alive. He climbed the steps and rang the doorbell. Waiting for an answer he looked in the mirror. That’s when he saw it. He looked like William Shattener!
He just managed to recover from the shock of seeing William Shattener in the mirror when the door opened. A lady, in her mid forties with long blond hair looked through the opening.
“Hello? Ah, Mister Shattener, what a suprize!” She looked up and down the block as if searching for something. “Where is the film crew?” She asked.
“No film crew, ma’m. Just here to do some plumbing.” He spoke as calmly as possible, for someone who looks like William Shattener.
“Oh come on, this is Candid Camera or something. What’s the joke? I don’t get it.”
“Ma’m, please. I’m here to fix the leak. You know, in the sink.”
“Tricky, tricky, Mr. Shattener, but I’m not letting you pull a fast one on me.” She opened the door and let Gary in.
Gary was puzzled. He could never remember ever looking like William Shattener in the past. The only thing he could think of that could cause this was his new comb. Gary went strait to work fixing the leak.
“Is there anything I can get you Mr. Shattener? A beer? A glass of wine?” She asked, timidly.
“I-I-I’m sorry ma’m, but I don’t drink this early in the day.” Gary stammered.
“Not even one?” She asked.
“Alright, one glass of wine. But wait until I’m done.” Gary said, finally giving in.
Gary took his time tightening pipes. This was troubling to him. If he looked like William Shattener, he may have to deal with Trekkies stalking him. That thought scared him the most. Of all the groups on the planet, Trekkies where considered to be the most fearful. It also made him wonder what Trekkies means. Gary finished up quickly and asked his host for a dictionary. Looking quite confused, she fetched him the new Collins Gem 2005 Dictionary. Thanking her, Gary looked up the word Trekkies.
-Trekkies(noun): To live in ones parents basement/attic/second floor, eat humongous amounts of pizza and other junk food, drink enormous amounts of any caffeinated beverage, snicker in the stereotypical geek type snicker, know how to program in more than five languages, speak Klingon fluently, as well as dark elven, elven, dwarven, Halfling, Infernal, Celestal, or any other of the conventional D&D languages, and hold William Shattener as a god.
Note: As of recently some Trekkies have moved into trailer parks and started watching the new Star Trek: Enterprize. This has startled most observing scientists, as this gives proof to the theory of evolution. However, politicians worry that these two groups of Trekkies, The “Old” and the “Next Generation” will start internal wars to decide which of the Star Treks is better. It has been also noted those followers of Star Trek: The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, and Voyager have all but died out. This would have made Mr. Roddenbary very sad.
This worried Gary. The last thing Canada needed was a geek war. The only thing he felt he needed was a drink. He took a seat at the table as his employer poured him a drink.
As Gary sipped his drink, he thought about the reference to D&D. He had personally never heard of D&D, living in Canada and all, but he supposed it couldn’t be any worse than hockey.
“Hey handsome, what you thinking about?” She asked.
“Hockey… And D&D…” Gary replied.
“Typical geek…” She whispered.
“I’m not a geek. I don’t live in my parents basement/attic/second floor.” Gary replied.
“Point taken. However, you are thinking about D&D.” She countered.
“What is D&D?” Gary asked.
“Why don’t you look it up in the dictionary?” The narrator suggested.
Gary thought this was a swell idea. He opened the dictionary and flipped to D&D.
-D&D(noun): See Dungeons and Dragons.
-Dungeons and Dragons(noun): Dungeons and Dragons is a Role Playing Game made in the late 70’s to counteract teenage geeks with nothing to do. This game took off with a giant leap in the 80’s with Advanced Dungeons and Dragons, and many short modules came out to be used with the game. One of the most famous game worlds in Advanced Dungeons and Dragons was the Forgotten Realms, which still has products coming out to date. The next to come out was Second Edition, which is still favored by longtime players, Third Edition, and 3.5.
“Well, what did you find?” She asked.
“Dungeons and Dragons is a game, but it’s nothing like Hockey.” He responded.
“Just a second, I’m going to go make a phone call.” His employer said as she left the room.
Gary started wondering what this book had to say about hockey. He opened to the page that contained hockey.
-Hockey(noun/verb): The action of playing the game of hockey. Hockey is a violent sport thought up by Canadians to take out their frustrations on each other in a legal and orderly manner. It has grown in popularity, and consequently, is being adopted by the U.S.A.
Gary was unsatisfied with the definition of hockey this book gave. Hockey was a game of finesse, skill, and luck. You had to give credit to people who would stand on razorblades on freezing cold ice for hours on end watching a small black flying piece of rubber.
Gary’s thought train was interrupted when the doorbell rang. Curious, he peeked around the corner to see men in white suits. ‘Good, the painters are here!’ he thought to himself as he slipped into the oblivion of his drink.
“He’s right over here…” He heard his host say.
“Good evening Mr. Shattener. Are you feeling alright today?” One of them asked.
“A little woozy. This wine is good.” Gary replied.
“We’ll take good care of him, ma’m.” The other one replied as they lifted Gary up.
“Mr. Shattener, did you take your medication today?” The one holding his right arm asked.
“Medication? What medication?” Gary asked.
“Mr. Shattener, where are you from?” The one on the left asked.
“Bronx. I’m not William Shattener. I’m Gary the plumber.” Gary said.
“Right. And I’m the queen of France.” The one on the right said.
“But who are you really?” Gary asked. He was feeling very woozy.
“I’m your guardian angel.” The one on the left said.
“I thought it was my turn to be his guardian angel.” The one on the right said.
Gary got very confused and fell flat on his face. Both men hoisted him up better and started to take him towards a white van.
“My comb did it. I swear it was my comb.” Gary mumbled as they threw him in the back. He hoisted himself up so he could see out of the back window as the two men closed the door.
“Look Mom! William Shattener is being arrested!” some kid down the street yelled, but Gary was thinking about monkeys.
*_*_*_*_*
Grogily, Gary woke up. He was lying on a bed, and there was a person standing in the corner.
“Well, Mr. Shattener. We meet again.” The man said as he stepped out of the darkness.
“Leonard Nemoy!” Gary gasped.
“This is what you get for stealing all of my lines!” Mr. Nemoy said as he wrapped his hands around Gary’s neck…
The moral? Never let plumbers who look like William Shattener into your house, lest they fix your leaks, use your dictionary, cause you to place long distance phone calls to sanitariums, use your dictionary even more, drink most of your wine, get drunk, get hauled out of your house by people in white suits and end up being strangled by a psychotic Leonard Nemoy.
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jnmrcs
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Joined: 30 Apr 2005
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Location: Puerto Rico, Soy Boricua pa' q tu lo sepas...
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| Posted: Mon Aug 22, 2005 4:46 am Post subject: Plumbing the ghosts |
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“This is bad…”
It was Friday, almost six pm. It was a dark night illuminated with the so famous full moon. Gary, a plumber from the Bronx, had received a call. The last one of the day, and he has to go to some unknown bar. He thought that this will be an easy work and he will be returning home before seven. You know, it’s Friday…
He got out of his truck with all his tools on him.
“Man, this is like a terror movie. Full moon, a dark alley and a solitary bar…” Gary was thinking on the greatest movie he had seen, Wolf (yeah right).
He entered the bar and went directly to the bartender who showed him where the problem was. “The bathroom, as always… well hands to work” said Gary to the bartender.
He opened the door and saw the biggest submarine he had ever seen. There it was floating and prepared for the war.
“Jesus Christ, this isn’t from a human being…” said Gary while working on the toilet.
After he repaired the toilet he went to the bartender to give him the bill. With the bartender were two guys sitting on stools.
“I know you…” said John, one of the guys. Gary ignored him; he was waiting for his payment.
“I know you.” said John, but this time he was pointing at Gary. “You are that actor who made some stupid good movies”.
“I’m not an actor” Gary said upset.
“He’s not an actor, you moron,” said Paul, the other guy. “That wasn’t a movie, was a documentary…”
“Are you sure?” said John.
“Of course, John. Didn’t you know that ghost exists?” said Paul.
“OH, come on you two. What’s your problem?” said Gary really upset. “I’m just a plumber. And I don’t think that ghost exists.”
The bartender arrived without the money. “Sorry Gary, I have to go out to pay you. I don’t have all the money. I will be back soon.” said the bartender.
“Are you leaving? Who is going to watch the bar?” said Gary.
“That isn’t necessary. Usually no one comes here. Anyway, wait here.” said the bartender going out.
“I said that I know you” repeated John.
The bartender turned around to see what was happening.
“No you don’t” said Gary.
“We saw you on TV,” said Paul.
“Leave him alone…” said the bartender with a malicious smile. “And yes he was on TV.”
“I knew it…” said John.
“Are you crazy too?” said Gary.
“He is Mario… from the Mario brothers plumbing services… ja ja ja,” said the bartender while going out of the bar.
“This is stupid people…” said Gary.
“Yeah, don’t worry. We know he is crazy” - John
“Yep.” - Paul
“Anyway, ghosts exist?” – John
“Of course you can ask the doctor here.” – Paul
“I’m not a doctor. Are you two drunk?” asked Gary.
“O come on doctor. Tell us about your projects.” said Paul.
“What is your real name? Well, the name that you used on the documentary?” said Paul.
“I’m not a doctor and I had never done a documentary,” said Gary.
“You did it. And not one, two…” said John.
“Yes. What was the name… anyway they were about ghosts.” said Paul.
“You two are idiots,” thought Gary while he tried to ignored them.
The two guys started laughing. “We know the truth and we won’t say it to anyone. But we want to confirm the information that we have,” said Paul.
“Yes. Hey, what happened to your friends?” said John.
“What friends?” said Gary.
“The other three.” – Paul
“Yes the others who work with you… what was their names?” – John
“One of them had a cigarette name…” – Paul
“Oh yeah, Camel.” said John.
“No, you moron. It’s Marlboro.” – Paul
“What? I don’t know what you are talking about.” – Gary
“Come on. You did it. How it’s possible that you forget your best documentary about ghost?” – John
“Come on, John. Don’t be mad. He had made a lot of documentaries. Anyway why are you here?” – Paul
“Are ghost going to attack here again.” – John
“Here?” – Gary
“Yes, New York. Don’t you remember? One of your documentaries is about that attack.” – Paul
“You two are out of this world. But tell me more about that.” Gary
“You and your friends used the statue of liberty to rescue the city.” – Paul
“You were with the same uniform that you have now. Except that you had a weapon to hunt ghost.” – John
“To hunt? Ghosts?” – Gary
“Yes” – John
“I think that they did something to him.” – Paul
“What?” - John
“The ghosts had lost two wars against humans. Maybe they did something to block his mind.” – Paul
“Hunting ghosts? These two are really crazy.” though Gary. “Who hunts ghosts?”
“This is about a movie?” said Gary.
“No, it’s about a documentary” – Paul
“Ghosts don’t exist.”- Gary
“Yes they do” - Paul
“A movie about ghosts?” – Gary
“A documentary about ghosts” – John
“With a doctor” – Gary
“Yes. The documentary had three doctors. You, Marlboro and other one” - John
“Yes. And with other one, the driver.” – Paul
“Yes, the black one. You four were a team who hunt ghosts and get paid for that.” – John
“That’s a movie, you two idiots. That’s Ghostbusters…” – Gary
“Yes…” said Paul and John at the same time with a big smile on their faces.
“He is remembering it… we did it!” – Paul
“Now go and save us from the ghosts…” – John.
“These two are crazier than I thought.” – thought Gary.
“And his name isn’t Marlboro, its Winston…” said Gary with a smile on his face. “You two almost caught me. But you don’t even know what you are talking about. This is a joke or what.” said Gary with a tone of fury.
Suddenly the door opens. There were two policemen with some other person entering the bar.
“I thought you said that there was just two of them” said one of the police officers.
“Like I said, they are just two. The man with the strange clothes isn’t one of them,” said one of the persons while all of them were going towards Gary, John and Paul.
“Come on you two.” said one of the men.
“I knew it, this is one of that stupid reality shows…” – Gary
“Are you sure that this one isn’t one of them too…” said one of the policemen pointing to Gary.
“No. He isn’t one of them…” said the man.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” – Gary
“As you can see I’m a policeman. We are here to take back these two.” – Policeman
“So, they are fugitives of the law?” – Gary
“They are fugitives, but not from the law…” – said one of the men while taking John by his hand.
“We are not crazy. He is a doctor, a famous one, and he can tell you that we are not crazy” – Paul.
“What? I’m a doctor too. Well, you don’t look like a doctor.” said one of the men.
“I’m not. I’m a plumber. They thought that I was Dr. Peter Venkman from the movie Ghostbusters.” – Gary
“Mmm, maybe they aren’t so crazy after all” said the doctor and all of them started to laugh, except Gary of course.
“You look like him…” – policeman
“Anyway. They are crazy then.” – Gary
“Yes. They escaped from the Bronx Psychiatric Center, were we work. I’m Doctor Jackson” – Dr. Jackson
They took John and Paul under custody. The cops took them while Gary talked with Doctor Jackson.
“We are not crazy. We know the truth and doctor Venkman knows it too. They are ghosts who want to shut us up.” said Paul while going out of the bar.
“Don’t worry we will take care of them from here on. Thanks Mr.…” – doctor Jackson
“Sorry. My name is Bill G. Murray. But everyone call me by my second name Gary.” – Gary
“Well. Thanks for your help and have a good night.” – Doctor Jackson.
Gary stayed seated while the doctor and his people went out of the bar. And then all was just silence…
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ethereal_fauna
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Joined: 16 Feb 2005
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| Posted: Wed Aug 24, 2005 5:32 pm Post subject: |
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I originally considered humor for this submission, but I think I've ended up with a brief examination of the grotesque instead. For what it's worth, here's my entry this month:
Mizz Racine
Mrs. Goldstein looked with exasperation at the messy footprints tracking across the otherwise pristine linoleum of her kitchen floor. She did not despise all strangers in her house, just the odious ones. Her lip curled in a disgusted snarl as she glanced at the plumber’s backside jutting from under her sink. The man grunted as he worked, kneeling between the cabinet doors with his large posterior swaying ludicrously as he tightened the pipes. Mrs. Goldstein choked back her laughter at the exposed ass crack flashing unashamed in her hospitable kitchen.
“How cliché,” she thought, crinkling her nose at the unattractive man. The plumber had arrived earlier, reeking of stale sweat and sewage, and depositing grimy prints on all clean surfaces he contacted. Why did she never have the luck of the other bored housewives in her neighborhood? She’d dressed seductively in a blatant attempt to woo a handsome repairman, only to open the door at 9:23- and the bastard had to be late- to find Gary standing on her porch.
Gary groaned and farted as he backed out from under the sink, pulled himself into a standing position by placing his nasty hand on the white countertop leaving yet more grime, and hitched his pants up. He breathed heavily and grunted as he gathered his tools, before turning to the appalled Mrs. Goldstein with a grin.
“That’ll do ‘er,” he quipped.
She looked at him with mild disgust and complete incomprehension. Gary slowed his speech a little, wondering again why he’d left the Bronx to move into a southern state. He missed the city, the rudeness, the bustle. He had not yet adjusted to the slow drawling speech, the massive mosquitoes, or the oppressive humidity of the south. What he did not mind about his new locale, however, was the manner of flimsy dress that most of his female clients greeted him with.
Gary left Mrs. Goldstein’s tidy home and checked the time. Her cranky disposal had cut into his lunch, which was just as well; he had promised his sister’s husband’s nephew a favor. Apparently the young man’s girlfriend had an eccentric grandmother on a fixed income, who needed a little pipe snake action in her plumbing. He would fit her into his lunch hour for free, just because he was nice like that. He turned his truck from the cozy streets of this upscale neighborhood and drove into a shabbier part of town.
He parked outside a ramshackle abode, and then verified the address. Sure enough this was the place. A yellow note taped to the door instructed him to come on inside, and explained where the restroom was located. He finished this job in no time at all without ever hearing a word from the grandmother, and made ready to leave. As he entered the darkened hallway of the cramped dwelling, he heard a scratchy voice call out to him.
“Gary, c‘mere to me,” issued a crackled summons.
He obediently peered into a dimly lit sitting room, and gazed in astonishment around him. Candles flickered about the space, and a deep crimson painted the walls. Sparkling plastic beaded curtains draped the doorframe where he’d entered, reflecting the candlelight in muted whispers. The room smelled strongly of garlic and spices, and a bit of decaying flesh. A tattered chicken carcass hung in one corner, appearing almost jerked and losing feathers slowly.
Most disturbing of all was the withered old woman sitting half-naked in a tattered chair. Wrinkles mapped the skin clinging to her bony frame, and the only fleshy bits of her body were the pendulous breasts hanging grossly on her chest. Her thin gray hair fell in matted ropey strings across her face. An earthen bowl of some dark, viscous liquid sat congealing in her lap. “Come speak a spell with Mizz Racine,” the old woman demanded.
Gary sat, unable to think of any plausible reason not to and too shocked to form any clever excuses. The old woman leaned forward, bringing her face closer to his, and one sagging breast plopped unceremoniously into the bowl. Gary shuddered involuntarily at the hideous display of the large puckered nipple dipping into the unidentifiable ooze.
“Tell Mizz Racine what you want most,” the old woman said with a toothless smile. “You want Mizz Racine to make you handsome, maybe you get the girl of your dreams?”
Gary fought back his revulsion. Was the old crow offering to perform some kind of spell for him, some black magic to fulfill a wish? He could hardly see the harm from indulging her whim, and it just might get him out of here quicker. His mind raced with what to request.
“I want to be famous,” he blurted. Damn, was that the best he could think of?
The old woman creased her forehead. “Fame? For what do you wish fame? Where’s your talent?”
Gary didn’t have any talent. Oh, he could open a drain but that was hardly worth fame. He looked nervously around the eerie room, and suddenly felt hot and oppressed. His eyes returned once again to the tip of that obscene orb hanging from her chest and dunking into the bowl.
“I don’t know. I don’t care what talent I have. I just want to walk into a room full of women and have them screaming after me,” he choked out, hoping this would soon be over.
“Very well,” the woman said as she sat back, dark moisture dripping from her dipped feature. She dunked a feather into the bowl and painted a streak down Gary’s forehead. “One sows hasty wishes, and reaps hasty rewards.”
Gary fled the house at that moment, hounded by the cackling laughter of the old woman. In the safety of his truck, he wiped the mark from his face and tried to calm down. He sped away from the unkempt lawns and falling houses into a more habitable area. Today had been a trying day.
The remainder of his workday passed without any incident, and he had almost forgotten about the strange old woman by the time he reached his home that evening. A quick perusal of the fridge revealed stale cheese and expired sandwich loaf. Gary raised his hand and sniffed his armpit, and with a forceful exhale decided that he didn’t need a shower, but he would change his clothes. The only clean shirt he could find was the bright satiny monstrosity his best friend had given him last Christmas. It made him look like some over inflated egoist, in his own opinion. With a shrug he pulled on the shirt and headed to the corner cafe.
He paid little attention to the banner hanging outside of the establishment, although he did note that the bold lettering welcomed a local ladies organization to the cafe. Apparently some feminist bitches were gathering for a hen party, cackling in the corner of the small eatery and bashing men. He shrugged it off and sat in the far corner, intending to dine there anyway.
The waitress hadn’t even placed his glass of water on the table, when he noticed how quiet the cafe had become. Looking around in the unnerving silence, Gary noticed the women in the group staring at him and whispering. One of the bold ladies finally spoke up.
“I’m sure that is him. He lives in this neighborhood, you know. That’s the producer of pornography and the defiler of women,” she shrilled for all to hear.
“We don’t want you here, victimizer, whoremonger!”
The women all started to murmur and grumble, until the entire cafe filled with the cacophony of their misplaced slights. Gary placed his face in his hands and laughed miserably, ducking out into the night without ordering his meal, while the room full of women came screaming after him.
_________________
The maker of a sentence launches out into the infinite and builds a road into Chaos and old Night, and is followed by those who hear him with something of wild, creative delight. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
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D-Lotus
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| Posted: Thu Aug 25, 2005 8:12 pm Post subject: |
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The Writer
Extreme equivocations occur generally in the psychological field, due to the distorted vision of the affected. In some cases, the patient that suffers the disorder complex usually takes on another identity. In other cases, psychotics believe to see appearances in other’s that truly don’t exist. Appearances that change from one minute to the other. Appearances like Gary’s. Many times, Gary has been confused with other people. No, not many times, every person he meets confuses him with another identity. What is this strange coincidence due to? Gary has no face. It changes. Not literally, but something in his brown hair changes in the sunlight. Sometimes something in his eyes changes in the sunlight, sometimes something in his skin color changes in the shade. Gary’s face seems to change according to his surroundings, like a chameleon. He adapts to his environment.
Some day’s, when Gary wakes up and looks at himself in the mirror, he can’t recognize the person there. It’s a strange feeling. One day, his nose is hooked and acute, the next it’s flat and wide, looked from a different angle. Nobody can really prove Gary changes, and neither can he himself, but everybody feels uncomfortable around him anyway. After their initial confusion, when they hug him and cry out a different name that’s not his, and then realize that it’s not who they thought, they are taken aback, and fidget away. When Gary meets new friends, the situation is always strange. Nobody really knows him, he is alone. Gary in non-existential, for the world, he could be anybody, identity changing with the interrogators perspective. Gary is also afraid of having love in his life. What if one day he came home and his wife threw him out, thinking him a vagabond? Or if she thought he was the man she cheats on him with? Gary wouldn’t mind knowing his wife cheated him, he knew that more than 50 % did. But he would mind being confused, always confused with somebody else, not even recognized, much less loved by anyone. How can anyone love a different person everyday anyway?
Gary is a plumber. He has a body like the classical TV plumber. Strong, muscular, and tall. He wears a white, clingy, sweaty shirt when he works, a scar of grease running under his eye. Yes, Gary is your average supermodel plumber. But Gary isn’t really a plumber, he’s a writer. One day Gary will write the next Divine Comedy. One day. Gary’s dream is to be considered a famous and intelligent author. His dream is to be…the new Shakespeare. A Shakespeare that can’t even write two good pages. Not two good pages.
Storyline so far: Gary is a non-existential plumber that writes and dreams of being a man three hundred years dead.
That’s the first sentence he always commences with. His grubby pencil in hand, he always writes the same first sentence, then crumples it up and throws it in the waste basket. If he can only get past that one sentence and the millions of crumpled papers, then he might write something good. Until then, he can keep dreaming.
The worst thing is that Gary doesn’t have all the time in the world. He doesn’t have an eternity to keep trying, to progress on his one sentence, that is the error of the human condition. If humans had more time, they would be more patient. If humans were more patient, they would be more human, which is a contradiction, because then they wouldn’t be what humans were, and therefore less human, thought Gary. He thought of writing that in his book, but then realized that everything is a great contradiction, his thinking wouldn’t impress anybody.
That was another thing about Gary; he was only a half-man. He only thought things halfway, then he paused, and his own un-impressed intellect stopped him. This had caused him since a boy a carefree view on life that astonished people and disgusted them at the same time. He just didn’t care what happened around him. Was there a war? Did he care? Had he ever finished anything at all? Had he ever cared? Probably not. How he had made it to plumber was even beyond him. So now Gary is not only a non-existential plumber, now he is a half non-existential plumber without notion of time or space.
So how did Gary become a plumber? And why? Gary had never repaired anything in his life before meeting his uncle, an old wrinkled man. Gary had no interest in life apart from his one goal, to become Shakeaspeare. No interest had it not been for his uncle.
At the time Gary lived like a wandering gypsy, except that he had no interesting in wandering. Since thirteen, Gary had been homeless, fatherless and motherless, and had only a small income that came from the state. He lived in a trailer near a dumpster, and he still does. Gary received money from the state, because the state thought he was under custody. But he wasn’t. His latest guardian, his step-father, had died leaving Gary nothing, but Gary didn’t anything. He buried the man, which he showed only a feeling of comadreship for (they both felt victims of Gary’s mother death) and told no one anything. The man had no job, so he wasn’t missed. Gary spent everyday reading the great classics and Shakeaspeare, lying around in the floor or on his chair, changing position as to not get stiff. From books he switched to writing, but never could he write more than one sentence.
As he sat there one day, using the daylight to read, skipping lines at a time to make it in time for his daily visit to the grocery shop and the public library, a man opened his unlocked door and stepped in.
“I’m your uncle and you have to do something to get outta here, son.” he said with rising emotion.
Gary shrugged. The man walked over to an uncomfortable chair and sat down. From then on, Gary’s uncle lived with him, until one day he said he’d received a letter from someone very important, and had to leave. Gary shrugged and the next day his uncle was gone. The man could have been anyone; a rich old man searching to console himself by helping some poor kid, or a stalker whose intentions turned good in the last moment. Whoever it was, Gary had learned to love this man, and to stop ignoring all things in life. There were only four emotions known to Gary. The first, indifference, the second, irritation when he is confused with another, the third, hope of becoming a star of the literary world, and the last, love. Love for this one man. And yet his other emotions dominate him sufficiently to block out love. Gary’s uncle did achieve something else, he made Gary a plumber.
What else can I say about Gary to describe him to you, my gentle reader? Nothing. What you know is all he is, there is no more depth to him, as if there weren’t enough already. Why do you demand more, reader, when all you need to know is here, on these pages? But to appease you I will tell you what happened to Gary, maybe that will calm your hungering curiosity.
One day he was writing his sentence again. He looked on the piece of glass that constituted his mirror and his worst enemy. He saw Shakespeare. It was not him but Shakespeare on the piece of glass. He looked at his paper. He put down his pencil and got ready for the old feeling of crushing the paper and his hope into a ball. But then he remembered, I’m Shakespeare. So he wrote one sentence, then another, then another. In two day’s, he never slept, he wrote four hundred pages, two hundred per night, ten pencils per day. He was one word off from completing the modern divine comedy. One word. He paused, relishing his triumph, his moment. He cracked his fingers languidly. He picked up the pencil slowly, feeling the sharp edge. He smiled, he laughed, the word playing in his mind. Then the telephone rang. Ring, ring. Ring, ring. Gary’s eyes widened, as he struggled to remember the last word to complete his marvel. It vanished from his mind. He sat thinking on what had just happened. Ring, ring. He picked up the phone.
“This is Gary’s plumbing service. How can I help you?”
Gary picked up his coat and locked the door routinely on his way out. He shoved his tools into the back of his old beat up car. Gary walked to the front and sat on the driver’s seat. Slowly he turned the ignition key. The car rumbled to life. He stared into the blue sky as he stepped down on the accelerator. He smiled and dropped his arms down on his seat. The car shot out onto the road. Suddenly a bridge loomed ahead. Gary smiled one last time, driving his foot harder into the accelerator… meanwhile, in his old trailer, four hundred pages of work wept, hunkering inside a garbage can.
My aim? Confusing, grotesque.
_________________
 Chapter 5: The Rendezvous 
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evilhomer28
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| Posted: Thu Sep 01, 2005 5:09 am Post subject: |
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| so... who won this months? or is it still going?
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ethereal_fauna
Perpetually Distracted
Joined: 16 Feb 2005
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Location: USA
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| Posted: Thu Sep 01, 2005 5:20 am Post subject: |
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We're still waiting for Random to come in and start the voting process.
_________________
The maker of a sentence launches out into the infinite and builds a road into Chaos and old Night, and is followed by those who hear him with something of wild, creative delight. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
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jnmrcs
Builder
Joined: 30 Apr 2005
Topics: 6
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Location: Puerto Rico, Soy Boricua pa' q tu lo sepas...
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| Posted: Thu Sep 01, 2005 7:55 am Post subject: |
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| yep... waiting...
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D-Lotus
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Joined: 21 Oct 2004
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Location: Hollywood, USA
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| Posted: Thu Sep 01, 2005 8:30 pm Post subject: |
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Oh, I forgot to comment on the stories.
Everyone that is not D-Lotus: You're not worth the read.
D-Lotus: Sublime.
Questions?
Spectator raises his hand.
"Yes?"
"D-Lotus, do you consider yourself humble?"
"Of course."
Well, everybody likes to side with a winner, and in this case, we all know D has no competition
_________________
Chapter 5: The Rendezvous
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Smee
Revered IFian
Joined: 16 Oct 2004
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| Posted: Fri Sep 02, 2005 6:19 am Post subject: |
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It's my last few minutes before I leave on holiday and I will miss the vote for this.
I read the entries over lunch. An excellent set of stories by everyone.
Dani - yours was very confusing, but entertaining as well. Glad you've decided to enter the comp.
Iron Weasle: A very good story, that made me smile at a number of points.
Jnmrcs: Another good one, the ending didn't seem as good as it could be, but some good dialogue. Excellent try.
But my vote is going to Mizz Racine by Fauna.
Bizarre and funny, a worthy winner in my book.
When the time comes could a vote for Fauna from me be taken into account.
Cheers, :biggrin:
_________________
The path of my life is strewn with cowpats from the Devil's own Satanic Herd!
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D-Lotus
Venerable IFian
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Location: Hollywood, USA
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| Posted: Fri Sep 02, 2005 8:30 pm Post subject: |
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| Quote: | | Dani - yours was very confusing, but entertaining as well. Glad you've decided to enter the comp. |
Smee, do you think I'm over-estimating your intelligence too much? Should I make it more simple for you? 
_________________
Chapter 5: The Rendezvous
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Guest
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| Posted: Thu Sep 08, 2005 8:30 am Post subject: |
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Hi all,
Sorry about the delay here. For future reference feel free to move on with competition as my time here has become so sporadic.
Poll will go up today so we can move forward.
Thanks for playing!
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