The Brain Dump

I added a short story I recently completed for my fiction writing workshop in the sidebar. It is entitled "Dick and Jane: A Love Story." It is my first (last?) love story and certainly my finest. I would love to hear what you guys think of it. Thanks!

I added the prologue and first three chapters of my novel, which I will call Duncan and the Heart of Aria until I think of a better name or whatever, to the sidebar. Html is very picky about spelling. But anyway: Read, enjoy, love me. Now you'll know what I was doing all January.

More to come.

Once upon a time there lived a tortoise and a hare. The hare was always running this way and that, chasing after the latest fashion, listening to the latest number 1 pop hit, never letting a thought rest in his head longer than the average MTV jump-cut. The tortoise, on the other hand, met each day as it came, plodding through each of them on his fat little legs. One day the hare was hanging out with his posse when they happened upon the tortoise shuffling down the road.

“What a loser,” the hare said, and his friends laughed.

“Where you going in such a hurry?” one of them asked.

“Be careful not to strain yourself,” another one said.

“Wouldn’t want you to fall down,” the hare said and kicked the tortoise onto his back. The hare’s friends laughed and jeered while the tortoise waved his stumpy legs in the air. Frowning in concentration, the tortoise began rocking back and forth on his shell until he was able to swing himself back onto his feet. The hare and his friends laughed all the more.

“Not everyone is in such a hurry,” the tortoise said.

“They are if they plan on going anywhere,” the hare shot back.

“Well slow and steady wins the race,” the tortoise said, “that’s what my dad always tells me.” The hare and his friends laughed again.

“Yeah, right,” the hare said, “like you could beat me in a race!” His friends laughed some more.

“I could beat you any time!” the tortoise said. “Just name the place.”

When the hare finally caught his breath after laughing so hard, he managed to say, “By the elm tree outside the new Chili’s in town. Be there tomorrow at noon.” He started to spring away, adding over his shoulder, “If that’s enough time for you to get there.”

The next day came and everyone gathered at the old elm tree outside the new Chili’s. The tortoise was preparing for the race with his father while the hare lounged on the grass with some friends. The rest of his friends and family were waiting at the finish line.

“You didn’t even bring your running shoes?” one of his friends asked the hare.

“You kidding?” the hare said, glancing at his size twenty-three Crocs, “I’ll be done with this before I get through all the singles from the Fall Out Boy CD I ripped to my iPod!”

The tortoise frowned an angry frown at them.

“Don’t worry about them, son,” his father said. “Remember: slow and steady. Your mother is waiting for you at the finish line.”

The tortoise nodded, his face set in grim determination.

The hare sighed, bounding to his feet. “Let’s get this over with,” he said, trotting to the starting line.

“Okay,” the tortoise said, hunkering down in his shell. “Reeeeeeady . . .”

“Go!” the hare yelled and sped off

The tortoise placed one of his front feet a few inches in front of where it had previously been along with the opposite back foot and then he heaved his bulk forward, and then he placed his other front foot a few inches in front of where it had previously been along with the other back foot and heaved his bulk forward. He continued to do this.

The hare sped down the street by leaps and bounds, breezing past shops and trees, all the while rocking out on his iPod. In the blink of an eye, he was so far ahead that the tortoise was no more than a spec off in the distance.

Then the hare happened to spot a Best Buy on the corner. He glanced over his shoulder at the tortoise plodding along far off in the distance and thought, I got enough time to peak at the new releases. Ears twitching, he ducked into the store, perusing the hot buys, sale items, then—yes! New releases.

“Heard it, heard it, heard it,” he said, glancing through the music section, but then a familiar logo flashed beyond the DVD rack.

“American Idol!” the hare cried, vaulting over the movies and video games to the wall of brand new plasma screen TVs, each displaying a high-def close-up of Simon, Paula, and Randy. The hare slapped his forehead. “I forgot the new season started today!” He stood before the screens, eyes wide, mouth slack, mind racing through all the possible humiliations, all the possible triumphs, all the possible pop hits he could hear reimagined. He sat down and awaited them.

Meanwhile, the tortoise placed one of his front feet a few inches in front of where it had previously been along with the opposite back foot and then he heaved his bulk forward, and then he placed his other front foot a few inches in front of where it had previously been along with the other back foot and heaved his bulk forward.

The hare laughed along with the rest of America as the contestants humiliated themselves in front of the cameras. He did this until the first commercial break. But the slow pace of the commercials weighed heavily on the hare’s racing mind, making him sleepy. Then, just as he was nodding off, he realized why the commercials were putting him to sleep when they never had before.

“I don’t need to watch this here,” he said. “I totally Tivoed it!” And with that, he picked himself up and ran out of the store, turning on his iPod again and zipping past the finish line while listening to “Thnks fr th Mmrs.”

The hare’s friends and family cheered and clapped and hugged and laughed. The hare shrugged it off, playing it cool. He asked them, “You really think I was going to lose?” Then a rabbit in a smart business suit approached him.

“Hi,” the rabbit said, “my name is Chet Zipgower and I’m here as a representative of Red Bull GmbH,” he flashed a grin, “and I saw your race and I gotta tell you, kid, you’re going places, no doubt in my mind, and Red Bull GmbH is looking for kids like you—kids who want to go places—and I’m here to offer you, kid, a place in the Red Bull extreme sports family.”

The hare opened his mouth—

“As your sponsor,” Chet continued, “Red Bull GmbH will show you the world—Europe, Asia, not so much Africa or South America but what do they have anyway, am I right, kid?”

The hare opened his—

“Of course I am and you know it and I know it, but the real question I have for you today, kid, is are you ready to go places—Germany, Greece, Thailand, China—cuz we wanna take you there, kid: photo shoots, clothing lines, TV spots, the works—you and Red Bull GmbH, can you handle that, kid?”

The hare—

“I think you can, kid, cuz I saw your race and you’re just the kind of go-getter that we at Red Bull GmbH want to represent our brand, so whaddya say, kid, you ready to turbo charge your life with Red Bull—turbo or no-go, kid, turbo or no-go?” Chet blinked at him three times.

The hare glanced at his friends and family, each of them holding their breath in anticipation for his answer. The hare turned back to Chet with a wicked grin and waved two pairs of bull’s horns at him with his hands.

“Turbo!” he cried and his friends and family cheered wildly.

As Chet escorted the hare to a helicopter waiting to fly them to fame and fortune, the tortoise’s mother called out, “Excuse me!”

Chet and the hare paused, glancing over their shoulders.

The tortoise’s mother called again, “Excuse me!” She plodded through the crowd, one foot after the other, trying to catch up to the executive, sweat glistening her forehead. She lumbered around one person, then another, then one more, continued weaving herself through the hare’s family, panting for breath, and then finally stopped in front of Chet. “Excuse me,” she said, gulping for air. “Wait . . . can you, please . . . take my . . . son with you.” She turned back to the tortoise still in the distance, trudging towards a finish line he could barely see, one dour step after another dour step after another dour step.

Chet twitched his nose. “I guess we could use him,” he said, watching the tortoise, “as a counterpoint to our hare here. A kind of ‘You-Don’t-Wanna-Be-This-Loser-When-You-Got-Places-to-Go’ sorta thing.” Everyone turned back to the tortoise.

The tortoise placed one of his front feet a few inches in front of where it had previously been along with the opposite back foot and then he heaved his bulk forward, and then he placed his other front foot a few inches in front of where it had previously been along with the other back foot and heaved his bulk forward, and then he placed that first foot a few inches in front of where it had previously been again—

“Forget it,” Chet said, “we can use a studio tortoise.” And even the tortoise’s mother saw the wisdom in that.

The End

The Lord God made garments of skin for Adam and Eve and clothed them. And the Lord God said, “Man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil. He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the Tree of Life and eat, and live forever.” So the Lord God banished him from the Garden of Eden to work the ground from which he had been taken. After He drove Man out, He placed on the east side of the Garden of Eden cherubim and a flaming sword flashing back and forth to guard the way to the Tree of Life. But as Adam began to walk away from the Garden of Eden forever, Eve turned back.

“Excuse me—” she said, but stopped. “I’m sorry, can I just . . . can I say one thing?”

The Lord God closed His eyes, drawing a slow, deep breath. He opened them again and glowered at Eve.

“Sorry,” she said. She became acutely conscious of her face getting hot but couldn’t tell if that was a product of her shame or merely a consequence of receiving a glare from God. She cleared her throat. “It’s only . . . there’s this one thing.”

“Very well,” the Lord God sighed.

Adam pleaded with his eyes for her not to make their situation any worse than it already was. Eve shifted her weight from foot to foot. “It’s just that . . . this isn’t exactly . . . fair, is it?”

The Lord God narrowed His eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we’re getting kicked out because we did something wrong, right? Something evil . . .”

The Lord God nodded.

Sweat glistened Eve’s brow as she continued. “But we only knew the difference between right and wrong—good and evil, that is—until after we ate the apple, right?”

The Lord God opened His mouth . . . and then He closed it. He did this again.

“So it . . . it seems to me like we had no idea what we were doing until we had already done it. Now that we do know, of course, yeah, we can totally see Your point. It’s just . . . we had no way of knowing that . . . beforehand . . .” Eve let her words trail off, that last statement hanging in the air.

“Oh,” the Lord God said. He scratched the back of His head. “Well . . . geez, I hadn’t really thought of it that way.” He chuckled. “That must’ve been some apple.”

Eve gave Him a half-smile. “It was the Tree of Knowledge . . .”

“Well,” the Lord God said. He sighed. “You know, I feel like I went at this all wrong. Listen: C’mon back into the garden.”

“But—” the cherub nearest the flaming sword said from behind them. They turned to him. He swallowed. “Sire, I . . . I made a flaming sword and everything . . .”

“I know,” the Lord God said, “but you see the mess I’ve made.” The cherub’s shoulders slumped. “Now, now, c’mon, don’t be like that. We’ll find a use for that sword, I promise.” He beckoned to Adam and Eve. “C’mon back, you two.”

Adam and Eve looked at each other. Adam asked, “You’ll forgive us just like that?”

“Of course,” the Lord God said. “What kind of a father would I be if I just threw you out the first time you made a mistake? And a mistake—as Eve so astutely pointed out—that you made in complete and utter ignorance.”

Adam looked once again at Eve, uncertain of what to do. Eve shrugged. They walked back to the gate. The Lord God wrapped an arm around each of their shoulders as all three of them made their way once again into the garden.

“You can take off those smelly animal skins, too,” He said. “The animals will want them back. And you don’t need to be ashamed of your bodies; I don’t know what I was thinking. I mean, they’re beautiful, aren’t they? I made you in My image after all. I just have weird body issues. I guess I should take more pride in My work.”

“That’s just what Satan said,” Adam quipped.

“Ho ho!” the Lord God bellowed. “Adam, you dog!” His laughter shook many leaves from the trees. When He finally regained control of Himself, He turned to Adam and smote him with a baleful glare. “Seriously, though, I’m turning you into a dog for that.”

Adam flinched and averted his eyes from the Lord God, his legs trembling, his bowels unwinding, his jowls quivering with fear. But as the moment dragged on, Adam saw that still he stood, the man the Lord God had made him. He chanced a glance in the Lord God’s direction.

At this, the Lord God could no longer hold in His laughter. “I’m just kidding,” He managed between gasps. Eve’s shoulders bounced with merriment.

Adam said, “Not funny.”

The Lord God doubled over with laughter anew.

“That wasn’t funny.”

Eve tried to stifle a snicker. “It was a little funny . . .”

“Aw, let’s go, you silly kids,” the Lord God said, wrapping His arms around their shoulders again. “What’re you thinking . . . veggie tapas tonight?”


Editor’s Note Scrawled across the Bottom of the Parchment: What is this sentimental, lovey-dovey drek? We’ve been traipsing around this friggin desert nigh on forty years and you wanna give the people this? You yutz! They’d string us up by nightfall. And that ending—feh! It’s a cheat. A good ending comes outta the characters’ decisions. Yeah, G-d can fix everything—that’s doesn’t mean He’s gonna! Fix the characters. Adam’s a complete schlemiel. And when did Eve get so smart? And would you please give the Almighty a little gravitas? This is G-d we’re talking about—not you’re Uncle Bubeleh!

Rewrite it. Lose the ending. Give Adam some of Eve’s lines. Rework your characterization of G-d—and do it before I plotz!

We've finally started writing our own material in my Humor & Satire class and our first assignment was to write a few shorts in the style of a news article, much like The Onion. The only constraint was that they could only be 100 words long. I ignored that for a couple of mine but stayed in the general area. Here they are:

Manifest Destino

Congress announced today plans for the formation of a buffer zone between the United States and Mexico. The proposed buffer zone will be a string of farms patchworked together by restaurant chains and residential lawns.

“The idea,” said congressman Todd Gaffer, “is to hire them there so we don’t have to hire them here.” Gaffer is the head of the congressional committee to oversee the formation of the buffer zone. He continued, “We have no doubt we’ll be greeted as employers.”

Congress plans to outsource the building of the buffer zone to a South Korean firm, as they have more experience with this sort of thing.


US to Adopt the Euro

Secretary of the Treasury Henry Merritt Paulson, Jr. announced on Monday that the United States would be adopting the euro as its official currency. “It’s a smart move,” says Alan Greenspan, former Chairman of the Board of Governors of the United States Federal Reserve and Magic Money Medicine Man. “It will help revitalize the economy and take steps towards balancing the budget.”

The currency change will also strengthen trade and tourism between the United States and Europe. Greenspan elaborated: “Having a currency that’s actually worth something will give Americans a real incentive to spend it.”

By using the euro, American economists also hope its value will eventually plummet, thereby strengthening the dollar.


This Week at a Glance

Lindsay Lohan arrested for another count of drunk driving, as well as possession of cocaine. Friends and family worry she may be hanging out with the wrong crowd. Their thoughts continued on page 8

Anna Nicole Smith is still dead. After eight months, how is America coping with this continued tragedy? See how on page 10

Three dead, twelve wounded in suicide bombing outside Baghdad.

Was Anna Nicole Smith’s death a warning for Linsday Lohan? Hollywood’s brightest speculate on page 12


And


Democratic Presidential Candidates Seek Elusive Nerd Vote

The seventy-third Democratic debate was held in Kyle Makowski’s mother’s basement. A select band of Heroes gathered there to hear what they had to say.

Things soured for Obama, who was run off by Andrew Kasing. Kasing’s lawyer had this to say about the regrettable misunderstanding: “My client stated it wasn’t him, but his character, Grubdor the Enforcer. Grubdor saw what appeared to be a Grand Wizard of Black Magic casting Level 9 Jungle Fever on a group of unsuspecting maidens. He did what any member of the Huktaere Tribe would do: he protected the honor of the maidens.”

John Edwards appealed to Elves, calling for equality under the law for all Elfkind. His support, however, was undercut by Denis Kucinich, who is a cousin to their chieftain.

The real winner of the debate, however, was Hilary Clinton, who showed her commitment to nerd causes in a way that appealed directly to their core values: