Clandestine, Part Two

I realized as a small animal bit me that I had fallen asleep. As I opened my eyes, the circumstances leading up to my spending the previous night in a dumpster came back to me like a hangover. I groaned quite audibly. Sure, I had decided the previous night that the score between Zane and I was even. So why did it feel like I had lost? Something told me that the bastard had slept in a very warm bed last night. Thoroughly pissed off, I roused myself from the garbage that surrounded me and climbed out of the dumpster. A moment passed. I coughed. It was entirely possible that I had caught a cold.

Stretching, I considered where I could go; what I could do. My father was probably disgusted with me now; I couldn’t go home. Tyler was the one who turned me in. I would definitely be paying him a visit in the future; there were no doubts there. But that was lower on my list of priorities. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me: Stacy! There was no way she could have betrayed me. I even saw her leaving before I lost consciousness. She was just surprised. But I look normal now.

The hospital was still visible to me from the alley I stood in.  I had been there before, once, a few years ago. I knew where it was in relation to Stacy’s apartment. About a quarter-mile away. There were…two police checkpoints between me and there. But I was no stranger to finding detours. Life in the city teaches one how to work around the little barriers. I voiced the route in my head to make sure I was getting it right.
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Clandestine, Part Two

Looking back on it now, it almost tickles me. The things I believed, the things I didn’t, the lies I bought and the truths I dismissed. Up until recently, I would have taken any opportunity I could get my hands on to go back to the way things were. Anyone would, I think, though I have been blamed for being myopic. One piece of wisdom I’ve gained since then is having learned how quickly we toss our innocence aside. And how quickly we wish we had it back. The thing that people tend to forget about regrets, though, is how they can be undone. It can take effort, though. I’m still working on a few of mine.

Eighteen. It began, as I remember, the day I turned eighteen. The history books will not mark it as important, but there’s no way anyone could know everything about what happened to me and what I’ve done. I’d rather they didn’t, truth be told. We all have some skeletons in our closet. I had school that day. I was rather disappointed. The year before, my birthday had fallen on a weekend. Continue reading →

Prelude to Clandestine

Our first mate Sam Lagow is back, with the first installment of a new serial that will be replacing Shademan. Literally. The Shademan pages are gone.

The view from the office was unlike any Jaelyn had ever seen. It made the city seem so finite, and the rest of the world so vast. In her lifetime, she had only been able to look up at towers like the one he now stood at the top of. But now, things were possible. Or, they would be once the surgical scars healed.

She looked idly at the bandages that obscured most of her right arm. The pain was gone, replaced now by a near-constant itching sensation that had been driving her damn near insane. The surgeon had told her not to scratch it, though. Reattachment procedures apparently only took if one made oneself endure the discomfort.

“Load of bull, if you ask me,” Jaelyn said to no one. Still, she had learned long ago to obey the doctor’s orders, and had been enduring discomfort even longer. There was little point, stopping now. With an annoyed sigh, she walked over to an easy chair and threw herself down upon it, landing in an awkward position.

After waiting for a few more minutes, she began to grow bored. Mead said that he would be there at six. It was six forty-five, and the guy hadn’t even called. Thoroughly aggravated, but not the least bit surprised, Jaelyn pulled out her multi-tool and began fooling around with its pliers. It didn’t take her long to discover how fun it was to clamp it around her nose and jerk said appendage around. After a few moments, she realized how silly he must have looked and put the tool away. Continue reading →

“Breaking Up” Intro.

A video intro I shot/edited for the Sympoh Spring show. Featuring Ryan Armstrong on writing/acting duties.

Inglourious Breakers

I made this gem for the 2012 Sympoh show.

Trayvon Toons

As an American black male, I have the life expectancy of a fruit fly. Unless I have the good fortune to spend a few decades in prison. So you can imagine how the Trayvon Martin story has given me the warm fuzzies. That’s black slang for overpowering anti-social rage.

There have been other reactions. They are wrong.

I’m reasonably sure that the Neighborhood Watch hasn’t been promoted to a branch of government. There are several more deserving community institutions in line, like bird watchers or UFO chasers. Moreover, even if the Neighborhood Watch wasn’t comprised of the most worthless half of a town’s paranoiacs, I’d like to think that it would be considered  impolite to shoot unarmed teenagers on a whim. I’d also like to think that when such a thing happened, you wouldn’t get a free pass if the victim was the wrong color in the wrong jacket. I’m an idealist like that.

As usual, we can rely on Texas for a nice, modern take on the situation.


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Mission Statement 2012

Everything is a joke.

Modern life gives us three real choices. All of them require going insane. These choices are laughter, mediocrity, and axe murder. Let’s look at our options.

Mediocrity is the timeless art of survival through denial. It is the easiest and most common way of going insane. The mediocre survivor pushes all of life’s insane paradoxes to the back of his mind in favor of tomorrow’s toga party, movie marathon, or board meeting. Mill’s individualism collides with the Facebook feed. Insanity sneaks into the mediocre survivor’s mind on two fronts. The daily effort to maintain a second version of reality is one problem. But is nothing next to it’s brother: the consant sense that something is wrong. This creeping unease is responsible for more suicides, divorces, nervous breakdowns, and sports car purchases than any other force. Advertising is the timeless art of exploiting this unease.

Our second option is axe murder. This path doesn’t necessarily entail literally charging at your neighbor with a fire axe, though it often takes that form. It is simply lashing out at your environment. The denial fueling mediocrity is replaced with furious anger. Small acts of web trolling join with spree arson in this category. The axe murderer replaces the unease of mediocrity with estrangement from humanity. This path provides far more catharsis than mediocrity, but has a tendency to burn out quickly. To say nothing of the body count.

Finally, there is the third option. Laughter. Looking directly into the abyss with a dollar store kaleidoscope. Laughter allows the smile of mediocrity and the realism of axe murder to co-exist. You are still indisputably insane. But that insanity is better for your mental health than taking your environment seriously. If your city is burning, you might as well play the fiddle.

Laugh with me. You’ll be better off.

How To Come Back From The Dead

Spooky.

So you’ve died. It’s unfortunate, but it happens to all of us. But not all of us make it back to the other side. If you’re anything like me, you haven’t even finished a quarter of the debauchery you intended to get through on Earth. Meaning it’s time to claw your way out of that casket and get back to the parade.

“But how?” you might ask. Getting hit by that bus didn’t leave much for the doctors to work with. Once again, listening to me is the best and only answer. Using my crack team of five imaginary scientists, I’ve identified the five best methods of coming back to life. After all, who wants to deal with Casper for all eternity?

A) Reincarnation

An oldie but a goodie. Reincarnation allows you to jump right back into the circle of life and start fresh.

The only problem is that reincarnation requires  bit of prep time. Coming back as a human at all requires you to have lived a semi-decent life. After all, people don’t shave their heads and move to a mountaintop temple for no reason. If you spent your time in the mortal coil backhanding prostitutes, you have a good chance of coming back as a dung beetle.
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Angry Day

Right now, Febuary 14 is a celebration of love and a dead priest. In the interest of keeping the scales balanced, I’d like to offer an alternative holiday. A day dedicated to the noblest of emotions: anger.

Angry Day is dedicated to the irritation you feel when you hit a red light, the fury you feel when you read a newspaper, and the rage you feel when you think of your deadbeat ex-husband. It celebrates every kind of anger, and gives a chance to vent it before it explodes. I predict violent crimes either declining or climbing fifty percent after this event.

I’ve invented some new traditions for this banner day. Feel free to direct any ideas to my inbox and complaints to my ass.

Angry Day Greetings

“You’re using my air.”

“It should have been you.”
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The Chris Dodd Show

MPAA Chairman CHRIS DODD lounges on a sedan chair held by four handmaidens. A book called “The Scrooge McDuck Guide to Life” rests in his lap. A young studio EXECUTIVE reaches the top of the spiral staircase leading to his chamber, visibly panting.

DODD

Speak.

EXECUTIVE

Good evening Sir. Consumers are-

DODD

Ahem. Professional terms.

EXECUTIVE

Good evening Master. The peons are irate.

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