I finally completed my character outline after 82 years. Please read.

Wacky Doodle – Always whipping it out and masturbating, the one thing he wants is to finally find his lost towel.

Penelope Vagina – Wacky’s love interest, the only thing she is interested in is swooning over people who aren’t Wacky.

Marco Daniels – Totally is a dick who Wacky hates. He wants to have intimate relations with Penelope, even though he doesn’t deserve to.

Prick McKenzie – Person who bullied Wacky as a kid and is now a Dragon that Wacky must defeat so that he can finally claim Penelope as his property.

Yogurt Kunt – Girl who rejected Wacky and is now just a giant biznatch who Wacky doesn’t like. She wants to pretend she doesn’t love Wacky, even though she obviously does, and only left him because she was intimidated by how great he was.

Towel Master – Wacky’s best friend, who’s always there for him no matter what. Wacky loves TM and always wants to be with him over the company of any other person ever, living or dead. Towel wants to love Wacky, but he can’t feel emotion because he is a towel.

So basically the plot is that they all have to fight and shit in an arena that’s actually in Outer Space. I’ve developed this idea over 82 years, so I know it’s really good. Wacky basically finds out that Prick is cheating in the fight, because he’s a dragon and that’s not allowed. He then beats Prick, and then Penelope tears her clothes off at the very sight of him as the ultimate victor. Then Marco is like oh no and starts to try to get intimate with Penelope Vagina, but Wacky fights him to the death and wins and the Prick, who is a dragon, is now on Wacky’s side. Yogurt tries to defeat Wacky, but Wacky seduces her and then she and Penelope have a threesome while Prick the Dragon watches. Then Towel Master comes and cleans everything up and then they go home and live happily ever after.

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So what do you think? Pretty amazing, right?

Poetry, I guess

At times, tainted life of light will shatter.

When it hits some undiscovered matter,

Say the ground, or a plane, or even you,

darkness comes, and you’ll wonder what to do.

Your life is like that short, or long, lived light.

Nothing matters if your day is so bright

that, should the days of others be clouded,

your joy makes all fear become unshrouded.

Out in the open with nowhere to hide

exists the choice of letting fear decide.

Only when light reveals an empty night,

can we put aside our near-constant fright.

 

 

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I have no idea what makes a good poem…

The Dancing Queen

“It’s a running joke around here that Jocelyn is the party monkey,” Jim said. The wide grin on his wide face reminded me of an ape.

I didn’t understand, so I just chuckled a bit and tried to similarize my facial expression.

“She’s always…’monkeying around,’ if you know what I mean,” he said with his smile that might have been the dreamwork of some drunk animator. “You know, with the boss’ wife.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, like she’s….you know…” His laugh was like a pig drowning in the mud that it so desired.

“I thought, you know, the boss is kinda like a” (don’t say religious) “straight edge kinda guy.”

“Oh yeah, but they’re into some wild stuff, man.” Jim’s eyes extended over his face and dripped with hate. “Wild shit that you would never dream of.”

 

+++ (where is the asterisk?)

 

I always thought that dreams were just in our heads. Like if you thought of something real in your head, even though that was real, it’s still just a dream ’cause it’s just in your head. Sometimes, and I think we have to give ourselves some evolutionary credit (for whatever that means), that’s not true. What’s in our head does exist in the outside world, it’s just that you have to prove it. Look at Einstein and how those observers somewhere in Africa (a continent that my education excuses me from the direct knowledge of its geography) saw those stars during the solar eclipse.

You just have to have a good argument. I’ve never been good at arguing.

 

+++

 

“I like to dance and get drunk,” Jocelyn said. Jim chugged a handle of whiskey in the corner of the bar. Everyone else was just drinking or dancing, and Jocelyn was dancing in front of me. Like I knew how to handle that. “You want to dance?”

“I’ve, uh…I guess…dancing is uh, you know…” Dancing is a way to prove your prowess in athleticism to those around you. It’s a fluke of it looking a lot like fighting, but only a few people fight nowadays. “It’s fun.”

“You like to dance.”

Isn’t it alone?

No…no, ha. It hears all the things listen.

One wonders what it says. It wants to be so still.

It’s in the woods under the rocks by the trees and it hears the forest. The forest speaks through the animals in the woods.

The sky even sings, and it hears this and shudders and shuts down, perpetuating the dark myth that the damned are tortured. It is torture, and wouldn’t you know that it doesn’t care?

It doesn’t give a FUCK! A single one rests beneath its hairy, muddy, bloody paws that tore through the winter’s snow-covered floor with such excitement for the freedom that it never found, never saw.

It trickles down the back of your hand and into the sink, unloved and never found.

It dies down in the corner of his room.

But it isn’t alone! All the voices tell it not to let alone.

All the voices tell it to go alone.

Tell it to go away.

Go away.