The Mezunian

Die Positivität ist das Opium des Volkes, aber der Spott ist das Opium der Verrückten

Take My Supplement ( Una lamida de los labios y un agarre de la cadera )

I'm paranoid o' my appendix. 1 day it will kill me.

¿Are you thinking, well, have you had trouble with it in the past? & I tell you no, but appendices ne'er warn you, now do they. No, it's a ticking, ticking time bomb, ready to go off with aplomb & a song.

¿Why have you not gone to see a doctor 'bout it? Maybe they could have this deviant removed from the premises. That is a good question. ¡But you forget 1 thing! I am also paranoid o' health insurance. Look @ them combing o'er my claim with fine molars, ready to scratch out the infinitesimalest-print gotcha I tripped o'er & then, slappo, rejected, my friend in a tent; & then I owe literally billions & have to eat store-brand pot pies 'stead o' the Marie Calendar 1s. You also forget that I'm not rich @ all, but make below-market wages making websites, & therefore don't have billions to literally pay.

¿Do you constantly think o' this appendix? ¿How can you e'er concentrate on your Marie Calendar pot pie when you're constantly looking o'er your shoulder to keep yourself ready for when your appendix begins to strike?

No, that's the problem ‐‐ ¡I'll forget! & 1 day when I'm forgetting ‐‐ ¡BOOM SCOOB! It drives me mad all day every day, o' what happens if I forget.

¿What made you remember today?

Today is when the pain became.

¿For no reason? ¿Out o' the blue?

No, outside my house, hurrying back to where I left those stupid, shitty, pointless books I left in the bushes.

¿Why did you leave your books in the bushes?

I couldn't carry them. I was bringing home 3 bags & a backpack full o' whate'er books I thought I might e'er want in my life from the library @ a $ a book that I'll ne'er get round to reading & groceries when the handle on my biggest bag, Jay, ripped, which ripped my heart.

¿Just a handle ripping? ¿What big difference does that make? It sounds like you couldn't carry all that junk already & you should've managed your inventory better.

No, the handles make all the difference. When I put all my inventory in my backpack on my back & these thick bags on my shoulders, I can lift the entire earth like Atlas. I don't know the science, but some chemical compounds in either these handles or my shoulders lessens the weight. But without the handles, carrying the bulbous big bag by the bottom with my lower arms, the weight felt like it exponentialized.

¿So that's why you left the books in the bushes?

They were the most expendable, since I didn't go out to get them, anyway. I bent down & hid them in the nearest bushes ‐‐ so exhausted that I didn't e'en bother to keep my knees twisted so that nobody accidentally looked up my black denim skirt & saw my red checkered boxers & was disturbed, tho if they weren't disturbed but enjoyed what they saw or e'en was just intrigued I wasn't quite sure whether or not I would be disturbed or thrilled ‐‐ so that nobody would see them & perhaps throw them 'way.

Or steal them.

Nobody was going to steal these books: 2 o' them were unpublished proofs & 1 was a book by Jonathan Franzen. I made sure to keep the Tom Sawyer & Great Gatsby on the 1st trip ‐‐ nobody was getting their soggy hands on these. 'Haps if somebody looked closely @ them & noticed the Good News Bible I'd bought, which had the words I ♥ Green Day written in marker on the page edges, they would've realized how priceless this copy was. I can't believe that library were such fools to give such a rare edition for only a $, but they probably figured some ne'er-do-well would just steal it, anyway.

So I hid these in the bushes, hustled my way back with my lighter bags ‐‐ I want to emphasize "lighter", since they still made me feel as if I were going @ a turtle's pace, my whole body constantly puffing like a slowly deflating balloon ‐‐ & then dropped the bags in the kitchen for the nephew to put 'way, & then ran back with just my backpack, forgetting my sunglasses, which I regretted, as 'twas bright outside & hurt my eyes ‐‐ feeling free as a frisbee without all the weight round me ‐‐ & in my rush to make sure nobody stole my vital shitty books I felt a pain in my side begin to fester. I blame the soda I guzzled when I got home just before leaving ( I should add that I had gone 5 hours without drinking anything & was losing literally gallons o' sweat from my burdens, which contributed to the oppression o' carrying everything home in 1 go joe, which was worsened by the way I could barely breathe 'neath my face mask, my mouth smothered by my beard & moustache like thick blankets ). Those 2, Coke & my appendix, are always conspiring gainst me. They think I don't know, but I do.

Well, a'least when you got back from your 2nd trip you were able to finally relax.

You forget that the reason I went to the library in the 1st place was to print out fliers, which I now had to hang up all round the apartment complex ( & the other complex on the other side o' the gate 'hind my apartment, which had a convenient hole @ 1 point in the dirt for me to crawl under ).

¿Is that your job?

No. You forget that I'm a web developer, not a flier applicator. These were for my cat o' 15 years, who had mysteriously disappeared o'er the last week. As you can see, I'd been procrastinating putting up these fliers for far too long 'cause I've been so busy with my real job, which is not hanging up fliers. Still, hanging them up on Saturday wasn't the worst curse to work up my nerves, as that gave me 2 extra days before the office staff return from their days off & inevitably call me to tell me, sir, you need to take down these fliers; such advertisements are not allowed on our walls.

¿You hung them on people's walls?

The outside walls. The tape wouldn't stick to the tree. I'll have you know that some stranger rudely told me that my tapework was amateur minute shit & I asked them if they'd seen my cat & they told me they hadn't, despite my offering a $100 reward, so they clearly hadn't forgotten to be rich & didn't need the money; otherwise they would've found my cat by now 'stead o' wasting their time analyzing how crooked my tapework was.

¿Did the pain in your side e'er dissipate?

Yes, but it'll be back & 1 day it'll do me in ‐‐ & probably soon. I know it knows that I'm currently speaking with my lawyer ‐‐ in hushed tones in back alleyways, since my appendix's cameras are everywhere ‐‐ 'bout removing my appendix from my will ‐‐ or a'least only giving it the minimum $5,000 so it can't pull that cow 'bout me forgetting 'bout them, when I ne'er forget 'bout them, I ne'er forget.

Posted in Short Stories

Questionably Relevant Content Is a Great Way to Cover a Lack o’ Updates

If anyone remembers those Nasrin stories I published here almost a year ago, they now have their own website… sort of. That also has some new stories that I wrote o’er the last year but ne’er bothered to publish like many other things.

& since I’m talking ’bout other stuff I’ve been doing ( ¿isn’t that all this blog is, anyway? ), there’s this short story series I’ve been doing for 5 years whose website I recently ( read: 4 months ago ) overhauled & a microstory series based on random prompts that I started doing daily ‘gain this month.

In my defense, I have been doing things, it’s just that I haven’t been finishing them, which is the trick. For instance, I’ve finished 2 levels for Boskeopolis Land, but am still trying to record “The Minus Touch”, but am failing, ’cause Ubuntu likes randomly making programs stop working, or maybe it’s just linux video-editing programs. I may have to resort to using screenshots, since, to be honest, I hate video-editing, anyway; but this bugs me, since ’twas a pain beating “The Minus Touch” so that I could record a successful run in the 1st place.

Expect 2 editorials ’bout video games before the end o’ the month. I thought last October would be my worst, but 2017 nadirs as always.

Posted in My Crimes Gainst Art, Nasrin

Two Italian Uncles Getting down with the sickness to the Beat

(Courtesy o’ John Jacob Whistleford, the Plot Generator)

Bubsy Bubs was thinking about Pepsi Cola again. Pepsi was a piratical clutter with big in the grits spleen and skimpy phantom leg.

Bubsy walked over to the window and reflected on his pumpkin-colored surroundings. He had always hated dank my face with its warm, watery whirlpools. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel ziggy.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a piratical figure of Pepsi Cola.

Bubsy gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a plump, nubile, sewer water drinker with pimper spleen and straggly phantom leg. His friends saw him as a barbecued, bewildered butter. Once, he had even jumped into a river and saved a teeny hand cans.

But not even a plump person who had once jumped into a river and saved a teeny hand cans, was prepared for what Pepsi had in store today.

The rainy sun teased like bitchin snakes, making Bubsy chuffy. Bubsy grabbed an objective object that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.

As Bubsy stepped outside and Pepsi came closer, he could see the wonky glint in her eye.

Pepsi glared with all the wrath of 1783 snoozy tasty tanks. She said, in hushed tones, “I hate you and I want her nose back.”

Bubsy looked back, even more chuffy and still fingering the objective object. “Pepsi, I put the lime in the coconut & shook it all up,” he replied.

They looked at each other with zaggy feelings, like two friendly, frightened fakes snitchin at a very radically moderate train ride, which had grunge jazz music playing in the background and two Italian uncles getting down with the sickness to the beat.

Bubsy studied Pepsi’s big in the grits spleen and skimpy phantom leg. Eventually, he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” began Bubsy in apologetic tones, “but I don’t feel the same way, and I never will. I just don’t hate you Pepsi.”

Pepsi looked lippy, her emotions raw like a burnt, bright box with socks.

Bubsy could actually hear Pepsi’s emotions shatter into 6722 pieces. Then the piratical clutter hurried away into the distance.

Not even a drink of sewer water would calm Bubsy’s nerves tonight.

THE END

Posted in Short Stories, What the Fuck Is this Shit?

Silent Scream

Nasrin noticed in the corner o’ her eye an ol’ man next to her opening his mouth; she pulled off her headphones to hear him ask to use her seat for the shaky Chihuahua on his lap. Nasrin stood, barely steady in the still-moving bus by clutching a bar & stared round the bus, only to stop on the guy ’cross from her patting an empty seat & saying with a neutral expression,—1 that seemed to express nothing—“You can sit here if you want.”

Nasrin nodded & stumbled o’er. She sat huddled like a refugee. The 1st thing she did was hastily turn down her MP3 volume, with the implied ’scuse being that she didn’t want to be rude, when in truth she just didn’t want her shitty music choices to spread like scandalous photos.

The appearance o’ the guy stuck in her mind: a smooth, youthful face snug in a purple hoodie with a li’l ring on his bottom lip & jeans with a million wrinkles that stretched past the edges o’ his untied sneakers.

She could see through the corner o’ her eyes the him staring down @ his phone, face as neutral as before.

You’re being paranoid, ’gain. It means nothing.

But that didn’t make it rock-hard to keep her hands holding her book steady & keep them from drenching her book in sweat.

E’en if he hasn’t proven beyond reasonable doubt, it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

In abstract, that did, indeed, seem valid; & yet, she knew from reams o’ experience that such an inquiry did have quite a possibility o’ hurting.

But despite the negative consequences hanging o’er her head like Damocles’s sword, her mind erupted with images o’ them talking—just opening & closing their mouths emptily, since she figured the brilliance o’ Donkey Kong Country 2’s level design wouldn’t be particularly riveting to anyone else & didn’t know anything ’bout his interests—& meeting @ parks & brick walls & renting an apartment together & putting their hands on each other’s knees, his soft-seeming hand pressing the loose fabric o’ her sweats down gainst her skin, rubbing the thin, scratchy cords—

Then the bus stopped & without glancing ’way from his phone, the guy next to her rose & walked out the bus.

She ne’er saw that guy ’gain, but did entertain her mind when ’twas far too distracted to register words on her book with alternate realities o’ what happened on that day on the bus, or with imagined futures in which she did see him ’gain.

Posted in Nasrin, Short Stories

Doney & Sid & the Epic o’ the Lightbulb Bong

SCENE I

[Doney & Sid’s living room, both Doney & Sid sitting on couch.]

Sid:

Doney, glimpse this shit:

I made a bong out o’ a lightbulb. This’ll make moundin’ bank.

Doney:

Keep your delusions to yourself.

Some o’ us accept our mediocre, minimum-wage place in life.

Sid:

Well a’least in my delusions I get lots o’ sex.

[Li’l did Sid know, there’d be 1 li’l hitch in his plan…]

Sid:

Man, I’m not s’posed to hear voices till after I get drunk.

SCENE II

[Doney & Sid’s living room. Sid sitting on couch with phone up to his face.]

Sid:

Chester, you gotta come o’er & see this new invention I invented.

Chester:

You know, Sid, I’d love to, but… you’re a dumbshit.

Sid:

O, come on: you can’t have other plans—you don’t e’en have any backstory.

Chester:

Fine; but only ’cause I’m already @ your house, anyway.

¿Now where is it?

[Sid drops phone & looks round couch.]

Sid:

Ah, shit. It became invisible.

[Puts hands round mouth.] Libby, where’d you put it.

Libby:

[From outside.] You still ne’er let me in your house.

Sid:

¡No ’scuses, asshole!

SCENE III

[Doney & Sid’s living room. Sid & Chester sitting on couch.]

Chester:

OK, ¿where was the last place you saw it?

Sid:

Uh… Doney’s hand.

Chester:

Well, there you go.

Sid:

Aw, ¿but who the fuck knows where Doney put his hand?

Chester:

Let’s not answer that.

Just wait till Doney comes home.

Sid:

No, no, no. I’m way too high & drunk to do anything that responsible.

We’re bustin’ in & gettin’ it.

Chester:

¿& risk ruining your brother’s career?

¿For something so petty?

Sid:

We’re bustin’ in & getting’ it.

Libby:

¡Cool! I call shotgun.

Sid:

[Shouts.] Sorry, Lemmy.

[Turns hands as if on steering wheel.] ¡Vrrrrm!

¡I already left!

Libby:

Aww.

SCENE IV

[Hardsoft hall. Doney mopping floor.]

Doney:

[Aside] There’s nothing like a morning mop to remind you that people are filthy swine.

[Doney walks ’way. Bong falls out his pocket.]

[Enter Pashmina.]

[Pashmina stops @ bong & picks it up.]

Pashmina:

[Aside] ¿Who would leave something so beautiful lying on the floor?

Mo’ importantly, ¿how severe are the janitor’s mental problems that he missed this huge thing?

SCENE V

[Sid in car in front o’ Hardsoft building.]

Sid:

We’ll need to decipher the lock. Chester, get out your laptop.

[Sid turns to see an empty seat.]

Sid:

O right: when I asked him to come, he told me to fuck off.

[Libby pops in.]

Libby:

¡I gotta laptop!

Sid:

¿Limpy? ¿How’d you get here?

Libby:

I grabbed onto your fender & let your car drag me here.

Sid:

O great. My fender’s probably a li’l looser ’cause o’ you.

SCENE VI

[Sid & Libby in front o’ Hardsoft building.]

Sid:

Now hack into this door.

Libby:

Um… I don’t know how.

Sid:

¿What’ya mean? In fiction anyone can hack. You just gotta type on your keyboard really fast.

Libby:

But it’s not e’en connected to the door.

Sid:

[Throws arms out.] ¡I don’t care! ¡Just start typing!

SCENE VII

[Libby & Sid in front o’ Hardsoft building.]

Sid:

Great, ¿now how’re we gonna break in?

Libby:

Maybe we could throw a brick.

Sid:

¿What are we, maniacs?

Ooo. I got an idea: we’ll hijack an airplane & crash it into this building.

Libby:

¿Don’t airplanes have bad-tasting peanuts?

Mutton:

’Scuse me, sirs, ¿can I get through?

[Sid & Libby look @ each other.]

Sid:

’Course we could. Just step this way for onnnnnne minute.

Libby:

That’s a greeeeeeeat tie.

SCENE VIII

[Sid & Libby standing outside Hardsoft building with Mutton tied to surfboard.]

Mutton:

¿What the hell are you doing?

Sid:

[Slaps him.] Shut up. Now we want answers & we want ’em fast ’fore we send you waterboarding down that beach.

Libby:

[Pinches hands rapidly.] ¡Yeah, & then the crabs’ll get you!

Mutton:

I’ll call the police on you.

Sid:

Shut up. [Slaps Libby.]

Libby:

¡Ow!

Mutton:

Look, I’ll give you anything. ¡Just please let me go!

Sid:

The keycode. ¿What’s the keycode to the door?

Libby:

¿& where’s the Jack-in-the-Box I keep hearing ’bout? I’m hungry.

Sid:

Yeah, ¿where’s Jack-in-the-Box?

Mutton:

¿Keycode? Just open the door. It’s not e’en locked. Also, the Jack-in-the-box is down that street there. Just take a left @ the first turn.

Sid:

[Starts walking ’way.] This conversation ne’er happened.

[Sid & Libby walking ’way.]

Libby:

If it ne’er happened, ¿how’re we talking ’bout it?

Sid:

Shut up, Ziggy.

Mutton:

[From far ’hind them.] Hey, ¿could you untie me please? ¡Hello!

SCENE IX

[Newton’s office. Newton sits @ desk.]

[Sid busts into office.]

Sid:

¡I want answers & I want them swiftly!

Newton:

Aw, Jesus. Not ’nother hold up.

OK, I know the procedures.

Sid:

Shut up, Suit. Now I know you have it, so give it up.

Newton:

O, you want that. OK, but please don’t let any o’ my workers see this.

[Newton bends o’er.]

Sid:

[Whispering to Libby.] ¿What the hell’s he doing, Redford?

Libby:

This is what all my friends tell me to do for our friendship initiation.

[Sid winces.]

Libby:

I think you’re supposed to kick him.

SCENE X

[Newton’s office. Newton sitting @ desk while Sid & Libby stands on other side.]

Sid:

I know you’re holding my brother; ¿where is he?

Newton:

¡Now wait just a minute here!

We might use intimidation, tax fraud—I’ve e’en embezzled—¡but we’ve ne’er resorted to kidnapping this month!

Sid:

His story sticks, Marty.

¿Then where’s Doney?

Newton:

O my God, ¿there are others with his blood?

Sid:

Damn straight. Motherfucker stole my bong & I want it back or else I’ll sue your band for procrastination.

Libby:

¡Yeah! & other fancy words.

Sid:

Shit, we’ve got a whole dictionary. This Webster fella hooked us up.

Newton:

He’s out there mopping some floor. He might also be in the backroom, shoving pencils in the outlets ’gain.

Sid:

So he’s in 2 places @ once, ¿huh?

[Grabs Newton.] ¿What drugs did you give him?

Newton:

I… I gave him a li’l cocaine.

Sid:

Filthy. ¿Can I have some?

Newton:

Lemme check my “Status Reports.”

SCENE XI

[Newton’s office.]

[Enter Mutton.]

Mutton:

Sir, some psychopath attacked me @ the door. I think you should have that checked—

[Sees Sid.] ¡OuaaaAAAAH!

Newton:

Mutton, you’re late.

No paycheck for 10 years.

Mutton:

¡But sir, it’s his fault!

& that’s illegal anyway.

Newton:

Sid, escort Mr. Oxford out, please.

Sid:

How ‘bout I just kick him out ’stead.

SCENE XII

[Newton’s office.]

[Enter Pashmina.]

Pashmina:

Sir, ¿can I speak with you?

Newton:

Hey, Pash. Check it out. I just hired this body guard.

Sid:

[Reaches out hand.] Nice to knew ya.

Sid:

¡Libby! ¡I forgot my name! ¿What is it?

Libby:

Turtly Dude, sir.

Pashmina:

OK… So I was wondering when I’d get my last status report back. It’s been 10 weeks.

Sid:

[Covers mouth & snickers.] I think she wants some, sir.

[Newton breaks into laughter.]

Pashmina:

¿Are you… are you OK, sir?

Sid:

He can’t speak right now, he’s… he can’t speak right no…

[Both Sid & Newton break into uncontrollable laughter.]

Pashmina:

¿Should I call the doctor or something?

Sid:

¡No! [Climbs o’er Newton’s desk.] ¡Leave the pigs out o’ this!

Pashmina:

¿Pigs?

Pashmina:

[Turns to Libby.] You, ¿lizard? ¿Do you understand any o’ this?

Libby:

¡Gasp! ¿Are you talking to me? Well, ¡this is the happiest day o’ happy days!

SCENE XIII

[Newton’s office.]

[Enter Doney.]

Doney:

Hey, Mr. Tramiel, this mop broke off. Is it OK if I just use my foot ’stead.

Pashmina:

Doney, I think there’s something wrong with Mr. Tramiel.

Doney:

¿When isn’t there something wrong with…?

Doney:

[Stares wide-eyed @ Sid.] ¿How did that thing get here?

Sid:

¡Motherfucker! ¡Gimme my bong back!

Pashmina:

¿You know him? Thank God. Could you please get answers out o’ him.

Sid:

I’ll ne’er spill the beans.

Libby:

Yeah, ¡‘cause that would make a mess!

Sid:

Tell ’em, Bananaramashitsukasha.

Libby:

¡Yeah!

Sid:

OK, ¡stop telling them already!

SCENE XIV

[Newton’s office.]

[Doney leads Sid toward door to the hallway.]

Doney:

Sid, ¿may I have a word with you?

Sid:

Yeah.

In fact, I’d like a whole fucking paragraph with you, you li’l bastard.

Pashmina:

[Whispers to Doney.] If he tries to attack you, use this pepper spray.

Doney:

O, ¡this is perfect!

Pashmina:

[Whispers to Doney.] & don’t spray it into your own eyes.

Doney:

No. No, ’course not.

Sid:

[Takes it.] ¡Gimme that fuck, shitter!

[Sid sprays pepper spray into Libby’s eyes.]

Libby:

¡Ah! ¡It’s high school all o’er ’gain!

Pashmina:

¿Why’d you do that? He wasn’t doing anything.

Doney:

Yeah, that’s a waste o’ good pepper spray.

SCENE XV

[Doney & Sid standing in Hardsoft hallway.]

Doney:

¿Why the hell are you here?

Sid:

You jerked my bong, dick. I got nothing to show Chester.

Doney:

¿What? [Digs through pockets.]

I don’t have anything with me.

Sid:

Somebody must have sneaked it from you when you weren’t looking.

Doney:

Yeah: somebody dug through my pockets without me noticing.

Sid:

¿See? You get it, too.

Doney:

You probably just got high & immediately forgot where you put it.

Sid:

No, ’cause Chester told me you had it—& he’s smart, I think.

Doney:

¡Chester wasn’t e’en there when I left!

Sid:

Yeah, let’s drag Chester into this. Real mature.

Doney:

You’re the 1 who…

Fine, whatever.

Check everyone’s drawers for all I care.

But if anyone asks, your last name isn’t “Tillian.”

Sid:

¿Can it be “McKickass”?

Doney:

It can be “Asshole” for all I care.

I have unimportant work to do.

Sid:

[Stares down, distraught.] Aw, I wanted it to be “McKickass”.

[Libby pops his head out the door.]

Libby:

¿Can I change my last name?

Sid:

Man, nobody can e’en remember your 1st name, Libby.

SCENE XVI

[Doney in Hardsoft cubicle room, mopping floor.]

Doney:

[Aside.] Stupid Sid.

Making me look bad in front o’ the woman I don’t want to date anyway.

That’s my job, asshole.

& Pashmina’s not e’en here for me to ogle so that I can forget ’bout my problems, & then focus on those problems so I can forget ogling Pashmina.

¿What, am I s’posed to ogle her stupid decorations?

I mean, look @ that stupid lightbulb bong there.

[Doney pauses, rushes to get coffee, & then spits it out.]

SCENE XVII

[Mutton’s cubicle. Mutton on phone.]

Mutton:

[To phone.] Yes, he said I don’t get paid till 2020.

No, I don’t know how we’re going to pay the bills, honey. I guess we’ll just have to—

[Sid jumps out.]

Sid:

¡Roar!

Mutton:

¡What the fuck?

¿Why won’t you leave me ’lone?

Sid:

¿Would you happen to have my bong round here?

Mutton:

¿What? ¿Bong? No. ¿Isn’t that illegal?

[Enter security guard.]

Security:

Hey, Mutton, no cursing.

Mutton:

Sorry, but this guy just keeps harassing me.

Security:

¡There you go ’gain!

[Grabs Mutton.] That’s it, come down to the lobby so we can beat the shit out o’ you.

Mutton:

¿What?

¡But that’s illegal!

Sid:

You shouldn’t break the rules, Buttons.

SCENE XVIII

[Sid in cubicle room, holding fax machine to wall.]

Sid:

Tell me where my bong is & the pencil sharpener won’t get hurt.

[Enter Doney.]

Doney:

Sid, I found your bong.

Sid:

[Turns back to Doney.] Well, fina-fucking-ly.

Give it here.

Doney:

It’s on Pashmin—

I mean, that lady you saw earlier’s table.

Sid:

Rancid.

¿How’d you find it?

Doney:

I have eagle eyes.

Sid:

¿So’d you grab it?

Doney:

No.

She sat down ’fore I had a chance.

Sid:

Well, ¿why didn’t you just ask her for it?

Doney:

¿Why, so she’ll think I’m a stoner?

No thanks.

Sid:

You’re right.

Since she kept it, she must be waiting to narc us out.

We’ll need to form a plan.

SCENE XIX

[Doney & Sid stand @ end o’ cubicle room.]

Sid:

OK, so, Libby, you steal a helicopter so that you can lower me down with a rope & I’ll grab it when she’s not looking.

¡It’s flawless!

Doney:

That’s ridiculous.

Libby’s too much o’ a pussy to steal a helicopter.

Doney:

[Looks round.] Plus, he’s not here.

Sid:

[Looks off-screen.] ¡There he is!

Libby:

Hey, kitty lady.

Pashmina:

My name’s Pashmina.

Libby:

Hey, Pashmina.

Pashmina:

Not to be rude, but I’m trying to work.

You should ask Mr. Tramiel what you should be doing.

Libby:

Sid said I should find his bo—

Doney & Sid:

¡No, Libby!

[Doney & Sid run up to Libby & cover his mouth.]

Sid:

Heh. ¿Did he say “bong”? He meant “child porn”.

SCENE XX

[Pashmina’s cubicle. Doney, Sid, & Libby next to her, Sid holding Libby’s mouth.]

Pashmina:

Um, ¿what is all o’ this ’bout?

Libby:

[Moves out from under Sid’s hands.] ¡I wanted to ask you for a date!

Doney:

¿What?

Sid:

Yeah…

That’s what this all was: a bad pick-up line.

Pashmina:

Well, uh, that’s sweet, but I, uh…

Sid:

You don’t have to let him down gently. He has no feelings.

He’ll take anything less than total rejection as approval, anyway.

Pashmina:

[Turns to Libby.] ¿Why are you friends with him, exactly?

Libby:

He lets me stand near him without violently attacking me.

Sometimes.

SCENE XXI

[End o’ cubicle room. Doney & Libby stand round while Sid wanders back & forth.]

Doney:

Just leave the stupid bong. You can always just make ’nother 1.

Sid:

¿D’you know how many seconds that’d take?

Nuh-uh.

I’ve already wasted too many resources to just let some ugly lady get in the way.

Maybe we could try to have Libby ask for it.

Pin the blame on him.

Doney:

The second he goes near her he’ll probably try humping her leg.

Just wait till she leaves & take it.

Sid:

¿& ruin this perfect plot?

Doney:

It’s a 20+-long saga ’bout you getting some bong back.

Citizen Kane this isn’t.

Libby:

Why don’t we just pin the blame on me.

SCENE XXII

[Pashmina’s cubicle. Pashmina using computer.]

[Libby pops head in.]

Libby:

’Scuse me, kitty lady…

Pashmina:

¿If I give you a date, will you leave me ’lone?

Libby:

¿Really?

Pashmina:

Sure.

¿How’s 8 PM, Café Ampoulé?

Libby:

¿& you’ll be there, too?

Pashmina:

’Course. That’s the whole point.

[Libby walks back out to Doney & Sid, the former scowling & the latter rubbing his chin.]

Libby:

¡Hey, guys, I just got a date!

Sid:

Back to the drawing board, I guess.

SCENE XXIII

[Cubicle room. Doney, Sid, & Libby stand round.]

Sid:

Now, ¿where are we going to find that helicopter?

Doney:

[Walks ’way.] I’m sick o’ this fucking plot already.

[Doney goes up to Pashmina.]

Sid:

[Holds arm out.] ¡Don’t do it!

Doney:

’Scuse me, ¿where did you find that? [Points @ bong.]

Pashmina:

[Points @ bong.] ¿This?

I found this on the floor.

¿Is this yours?

Doney:

[Points thumb back @ Sid.] It’s his. He made it.

Pashmina:

It looks nice.

[Sid pokes head in.]

Sid:

It works well, too.

Pashmina:

Wait, ¿this does something?

[Sid smiles @ Doney. Doney scowls.]

Sid:

[Flicks on lighter & holds it to bong.] Here, I’ll prepare it.

SCENE XXIV

[Pashmina’s cubicle. Pashmina sits in chair toward Doney, Sid, & Libby while Sid lights bong.]

Doney:

[Whispers to Sid.] I don’t understand the benefits o’ getting 1 o’ my coworkers high.

Sid:

[Whispers back to Doney.] Aw, she could use some lightening up.

She’ll need it if she actually goes on that date with Libby.

[Sid holds bong out to Pashmina.]

Pashmina:

[Leans forward toward bong.] ¿So I put my mouth o’er this end while you light the other?

¿& then you want me to inhale & exhale?

Sid:

[Nods.] Uh huh.

Pashmina:

¿Is this legal?

Sid:

Sure.

It’s part o’ my religion.

We do it daily. [Snickers.]

Pashmina:

[Turns to Doney.] ¿Is he telling the truth?

Doney:

Trust me: he is.

SCENE XXV

[Doney & Sid’s living room. Sid, Doney, Libby, & Chester on couch, Doney playing some video game.]

Sid:

…& that’s how we rescued the Holy Bong o’ the Bulb.

Chester:

Sid, you didn’t e’en say the story yet.

[Holds up bong.] ’Sides, no one will buy this; any idiot could crap it out in seconds.

Sid:

Yeah, well some lady I’ve ne’er met before told me it looked nice.

So ha.

Doney:

[Turns to Libby.] O, Libby, that reminds me: Pashmina said that she needs to postpone her date to 10 PM. ¿Got it?

Libby:

[Salutes.] ¡Aye aye, mayor!

SCENE XXVI

[Hardsoft hallway. Doney mops floor.]

[Enter Pashmina.]

Pashmina:

Hey, Doney: ¿what happened to that lizard from yesterday?

He begs me for a date & then ne’er shows up.

Doney:

I don’t know.

Pashmina:

Also, I don’t know what it is ’bout that religious stuff your friend gave me, but ’twas pretty fun

If you meet him ’gain, tell him I might want to try it ’gain.

Posted in Short Stories

Dancing Barefoot

Nasrin’s father opened her door to see Nasrin shaking her head forward & back while silently shouting into her upheld pencil while the tinny remnants o’ fuzzy guitar crunches ‘scaped the clamshell headphones. But this picture only lasted a second or 2 ‘fore she stopped with headlight eyes aimed @ him while her hand scrabbled for her laptop mouse.

“I hate to interrupt your intense band session, Patti Smith, ¿but could you take out the garbage, please?”

Nasrin pulled off her headphones & nodded.

Posted in Nasrin, Short Stories

On a Highway to Heck

“¡You talk your shit, but I ain’t listenin’! ¡& I don’t do no ass kissin’! ¡Now here’s the point that you’ve been missin’! ¡No fucking problem at all!” shouted into Nasrin’s ears as she stood @ the front o’ the bus, hanging on a bar & watching her stop close into her.

Then the bus stopped & she stepped up to the door. As it opened, she said, barely audibly, “Thank you,” & stepped off, saying with equal quietude, “Sorry,” as she jerked here & there ‘tween people.

Posted in Nasrin, Short Stories