This Post: Cop-Out Or Not-...Out? You Be The Judge

On my nightstand are a couple of notebooks. When the room is dark and the senses lose their stimuli, the mind begins to wander. It is not uncommon for me to grudgingly flick on the lamp to scribble down some random thought before it goes the way of most dreams.

It has been a while since I've gone to the notebooks. The following is stuff that I didn't post before because it was incomplete, didn't fit anywhere, or I wasn't in the mood.

But it is Pants-Down Friday, so I will be pantless for the remainder of this entry. There's no one to really see me right now except for the dog, and if it bothers him he sure isn't saying so.

The dog is a half-pug half-boxer terrier mix, so he is always making these grunt-snuffles that are as porcine as his curly tail. It's kinda weird.

My dad was mock-complaining about the dog. "Look at your dog!" he said, "He's noisy, ugly, and all he does is sleep!"

"Yup," I agreed, "He's a Lopez."

Lines of Dialogue
Stuff said, often only a single sentence, by characters that don't exist yet.

"I am not an Existentialist. I'm absolutely certain that existence runs around thinking that it's a Guillermo-ist."

"There are dangerous people out there. If you love them too much, you'll lose them. Be careful."

"You meet people that have beautiful things dancing and bubbling inside them like the wax in a lava lamp. And the glass is there, too. You can put your hand on it sometimes; press it against the glass."

An Unpublished Meanwhile, Back In The Royal Scrivening Room

Snydesdale: Quibbles! Come along, we're being summoned. Are you familiar with the proper protocol when officially summoned?

Bumbly: No way, I've never done this before. What's all this about, Snydie? You look even paler than usual, LOL!

Snydesdale: I should not have dared hope that you had actually read the Head Scrivener's Handbook.

Bumbly: That dusty old book? I've been using it to prop up the short leg of the couch.

Snydesdale: Just do as I do. It should not be anything of grave importance. It is most likely that he just wishes to vent.

Bumbly: So we gotta run all way down here just so that he has an audience he can whine to? I wish I were the Official Gurg around here. Must be nice.

Snydesdale: Please hold your tongue as we approach him. Speak only when spoken to. Do these simple things and this should take very little time.

Bumbly: Yeah, I hope so. Sure.

Snydesdale: Official Gurg, we have arrived at your request.

I: . . .

Snydesdale: Sir?

I: I used to write for her, you know. I would try every moment she was away to write beautiful things. But perhaps that was the worst I could have done to her.

Imagine that you are woman loved by an artist, in your youth. And as you age, your artist continuously draws portraits of you. Beautiful things, in gowns you've never worn and exotic locations that you've never been to.

As you age, your portraits do not. As you grow and mature, your portraits keep their faces of youthful naivete'. What would that do to you? To catch yourself being drawn into a fantasy that never was, where you were marvelous and dazzling and young and always kind.

How many times must you catch yourself believing the lie, and when realizing it to be an utter falsehood, have your heart broken? How many times could you endure this before you too, would leave?

Bumbly: What? Did you say that we could leave now?

Snydesdale: Blast you, Quibbles! Be silent!

I: Uh, what? Leave?

Snydesdale: Sir, he did not mean-

I: No, of course you can leave. You don't have to actually stand here and listen the whole time. You can slip out anytime that I'm talking, if you want.

Snydesdale: I'm afraid I don't understand, sir. The protocol clearly outlines the-

I: You haven't been reading that damn manual, have you? I just ordered those to prop up all the short legs of the couches. It's my fault, really. I shouldn't have ordered so many couches from the Land of Poop's Consignment Furniture Store. I thought the name was just a joke...but it really was consignment furniture.

Bumbly: ROFL! If that's how it is, then peace! I'm outta here!

Snydesdale: Sir, I wish to stay, if I may do so.

I: Sure you can. But why do you want to?

Snydesdale: With all due respect sir, someone must obey the rules around here.

I: Snydesdale, I have no idea what you're insinuating. No idea at all.

Dammit, Who Told Poetry We Were Here?!
I can't even blame alcohol for this one, but here it is:

Untitled

There are cracks in the shell
and the flakes and the breaks
show the hell that is pushing on through

So what more is in store
for a traveling bore
that is wandering his way back to you?

He's taking his time
and he stops on each dime
Tries to study each shine for a clue

Not looking for answers
like other romancers
Knows the lines for the part he must play

Not allowed to come in
from the sand and the sin
Until he loses himself on the way

Closing Lines

When I was at work I called up someone that lived on Why Worry Lane. I should live there when I get older. Jaden can live across the street and we can yell at each other from our porches.

Why I Don't Do Socio-Political Humor

You would think the threat of sexually transmitted disease would discourage sex more than it has. I think that if instead of diseases you caught personality traits, people would probably be much more careful.

I know I'd be terrified if it were possible to catch illiteracy from having sex. Or become uptight all the time. Or lose the ability to make cheesy egg bagels. Or worse:

Father: Son, your grades have plummeted since you went to the Prom. Oh no! You didn't have sex, did you?! Honey, call the doctor. I think our son has contracted stupidity. Son, can you still understand me?!

Son: I fully support President Bush amending the Constitution.

Father: Hurry up, honey! It's getting worse!

Goodnight everybody, you've been great. Except for you, I don't like your face. Next time you come to one of my shows let me know so that I can have the tech guys turn down the house lights. Thank you.