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Posts Tagged ‘comedy’

Old Files

Posted in Personal, Writing, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on October 4, 2010| Leave a Comment »


You never know what you might find if you clean out your old files. For instance, I found a novel I wrote when I was 16. Yes, it was with much fear and trepidation that I dare read this horror from the past, a romance novel. It was only two short years later that I was told I should give up writing by a college professor and took her at her word. I stopped writing for more than 20 years. Here is an excerpt —

Standing at the top of the stairs, the darkened corridor seemed strangely threatening. In Mariah’s haste to escape her Father’s lecture, she had forgotten to take a lamp. She heard a low voice from the shadows.

“From the sound of things, I win. Get use to it. I always win.”

Mariah felt the warmth of Damon’s body behind her. She trembled in spite of herself.

“We’ll make a splendid couple.” Damon’s breath was hot against her ear.

“I’ll not submit to this without a fight.” She threatened, turning to face him.

Damon’s dark curls fell across his forehead. His chiseled features settled into a thin smile, but the hard glint in his steel-gray eyes betrayed him.

“I can be very persuasive.” Damon griped her arm.

Mariah stiffened. The knot in her stomach tightened. She wanted to run, but Damon held her fast.

His hold tightened. “And you know what they say.” His voice barely audible.

Mariah shook her head.

“All’s fair in love and war.”

She detected a threat behind his words. She tried to pull away, but the more she struggled, the harder he held her.

“You’re hurting me.” She gasped.

“Was I? I didn’t realize.” Damon smiled, releasing her.

Mariah stumbled before regaining her balance.

“Good night, Love.” Damon quickly disappeared down the stairs.

Mariah retreated to her room. She lit the lamp on the table. The light danced across the wall and the shadows retreated to the corner. Blank canvases leaned against the bulging bookcases. Paints and brushes were strewn liberally about. Books were stacked in precarious piles. Everything was familiar, but different. What was important this morning, didn’t matter now. Mariah sank down on her bed. Her shoulders slumped. Her slender figure cast a small shadow on the wall in front of her. She stared at the wallpaper without seeing it. Pastel pink and blue flowers wove up the walls on pale green vines.

How could everything have gone so wrong? Staring at the flowers, she couldn’t help but replay the day’s events in her mind. …

I don’t think it’s that bad really. I don’t have the last 1/3 or so, but I remember it ended with Mariah knocking Damon in a raging river, presumably to his death. Damon of course, was not the hero. I was told I was too dark. That may have been right for 1978/79. Makes me wish I hadn’t stopped writing for so long.

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Universal Toilet 4

Posted in Fantasy/Scifi, Random, Writing, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on October 1, 2010| 2 Comments »


DC needs a posse, a team to help him conquer evil. A trifecta is in order. DC is of course the first in our trio. A male companion, one able to stand up to a personality like DCs is needed. I think I’ll add the reincarnation of the Dalai Lama. Since this is a farce, he was reincarnated as a dog and is a little chauvinistic. The third personality should be female, beautiful and have a history with the Dalai Lama, perhaps Illiana, Godess of War and Love. So the first encounter might not go smoothly after a few centuries of feuding. —

A beautiful woman stood at the chair across from mine.

“This chair taken?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

She sat.

“What a cute dog,” she said, patting Dalai’s head so hard he winced.

“Ass,” Dalai growled.

“Pig,” she replied, tossing her dark hair back with a flip of her head.

The dog and woman seemed acquainted, but refused to look at each other.

“You didn’t call,” the woman said, malice evident in her voice.

“It was one date,” the dog replied. “Centuries ago, lay off it.”

(As the conversation continued, Dalai and Illiana disagree with the approach for saving the world.”

“I think I know best,” Dalai continued, lecturing, “I have lived for five centuries.”

“Four and a half.” Illiana’s dark eyes sparkled.

“What?”

“Four and a half. Remember the snake in Bangalore?”

“That was you. That snake bite killed me.”

“You didn’t call.”

“Enough with the calling.”

“Jerk.” Illiana slammed her cup down.

“Bitch.”

“You should talk.”

“Check again, I’m all man.” Dalai’s ears lifted.

“You check again.” Illiana smirked.

Dalia gave a quick double check only to realize Illiana was right. He was indeed a female dog.

“Are you kidding me?” he yelled, looking skyward. “Not just a dog, but a female dog. Are you kidding me?”

“Karma sucks.” Illiana took another sip of coffee.

“Asshole,” Dalai replied.

“You might want to stop calling me names. Last time it was bitch and look what happened. Keep it up. You never know what you might come back as next.”

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Voice of the Universe 3

Posted in Fantasy/Scifi, Random, Writing, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on September 30, 2010| 1 Comment »


Since I won’t be able to poste tomorrow, I thought I should write this early.  Remember DC hears the voice of the universe through the toilet. Now if you seriously hear the voice of the universe through your toilet, you can’t really use it for its intended purpose. So now, poor DC is a regular visitor at the corner gas station. I imagine his visits might go something like this —

“Hey, Bubba.”

“Hey, DC,” the man behind the counter said, without looking up from his newspaper.

“Brought my own,” I said, waving a roll of TP, a long stream threading the air after me.

“Good boy. Weathers good today,” Bubba continued, with his soft southern drawl.

“Hey, do you have any red rhino?” It was my favorite power drink.

“Got a shipment last week.”

“Can I get a case?” I yelled from the men’s room, flushing the toilet.

“Sure. Planning a road trip?”

“Yep.”

“Voice of the Universe?”

“Yep.”

“Beef jerky, you need beef jerky for a road trip,” he stated more than asked, as I came to the counter case of red rhino in hand.

“No… Yes… No… Twelve Slim Jims.” I finally decided.

“Good choice.” Bubba loaded the beef jerky into a plastic bag. “Get the details before you leave,” he yelled, as I was leaving his face back in the paper.

“What?”

“Get all the details from your toilet. You never know when you’ll find one that resonates with the right frequency and wavelength. So get all the details before you leave.”

“Oh, yea thanks.” I started out the door. “How …?”

“You think you’re the only one who’s ever heard the Voice of the Universe.”

“No, I guess not.”

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Voice of the Universe Installment 2

Posted in Fantasy/Scifi, Random, Writing, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on September 29, 2010| 5 Comments »


Since there is a non-believer out there, I will continue with the idea the Voice of the Universe speaking through a toilet. I imagine this book would be in the style of Terry Pratchett of Discworld fame. In the previous installment, I explored the kind of character who would hear the voice. Here is DC talking to the toilet.

I sat in the bathroom floor at the appointed time, notebook and sharpie in hand waiting for the voice of the universe with his instructions.

Minutes ticked by. The minutes turned to hours. In an act I can only expain as boredom, I drained the water from the toilet and began drawing. The voice of the universe should have a face. Two eyes, a nose, the mouth was well obvious, and a moustache. I was just finishing the beard.

“I have a beard now? Seriously, the voice of the universe has a beard? What do you think I’m ZZ Top?” A rumbling voice echoed from the toilet.

“You’re late,” I replied.

“So I’m a few minutes late.”

“Minutes? Try hours.”

“In the span of the universe, you’re lucky I got here this decade. You think the voice of the universe doesn’t have things to do? A train wreck in Nepal, a tsunami off of the coast of New Zealand, the merger of Google and Yahoo, and that’s just on planet. Meteors colliding, suns burning out prematurely. You think  I don’t have things to take care of?”

“Yea, okay. I’m sorry.” I felt like self center bastard. “Which was it?”

“What?”

“Train wreck, tsunami, meteor, sun, what?”

“I was playing botchy ball with the Guardian of the Moon.”

“What?”

“I was down by two.”

“And so I waited?” I was tempted to flush.

“You think the voice of the universe isn’t competitive? I’m very competitive. It’s how I got this gig. Now, let’s get down to business. I don’t have all century here.”

…

I imagine poor DC would be sent on some adventure to save the world or perhaps the very universe.

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Growing Up Poor in the Land of Opportunity

Posted in Personal, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on September 27, 2010| 7 Comments »


Growing up poor in America, though I heard of the streets of gold, I had never actually seen them. In fact, I lived so far from those streets, I didn’t know anyone who had seen them. I remember the year I first saw those streets where money seemed to grow on trees. It was Christmas and my Mother was taking us to the nearest city to see Christmas lights. We drove up and down the streets of Highland Park and University Park in Dallas. It seems the cities with streets of gold were in parks. I remember seeing grand two story houses with large lawns. These houses had lights on the outside. We only had lights in the window, illuminating the foil wrapped TV antenna. 

I remember seeing perfect trees through the windows, not like the lopsided tree we had cut from the back field. They not only decorated the trees inside their houses, they decorated every tree outside too. These children wouldn’t be getting used clothes their Grandmother mended and hemmed. They wouldn’t be getting used shoes that were too large. They wouldn’t know the thrilil of removing the tissue paper or newspaper in spring when they had grown enough to fit their shoes. These children made lists and Santa really brought them things from their lists. I never asked for anything because I already knew Santa didn’t bring children like me what we asked for.

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Hero Locked Inside

Posted in Personal, Writing, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on September 26, 2010| 6 Comments »


I met a man in ’84. He wore tan, dickie work pants and well-worn, leather shoes. He owned a metal salvage yard. I remember him shuffling around the piles of discarded metal. He was quiet, but he seemed kind enough. I don’t even remember his name.

Later someone told me when he was a boy he’d been imprisoned in a Nazi concentration camp. He was Jewish. I don’t know what country or which camp or how long he was there. But when he was about 12, he escaped.

He was making his way to Israel, the promised land, when he was captured by the British and placed in what was little more than another concentration camp. Now being a man of 13, he escaped, stole an airplane and flew it to Israel. He managed to land safely. The plane became the first in Israel and he became known as the father of the Israeli airforce.

When he was 16 or 17 he was sent to the U.S. to become a pilot. Here he met a beautful young Jewish girl who could never leave America. So if she would agree to marry him, he would agree to stay here. And that is how I came to meet him many years later, the quiet man who never said a word. Just goes to show, you can’t judge a book by its cover, you never know what’s locked inside.

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