Saturday, August 29, 2009

Tales From the Creepy Bus

(a closet drama)
Act 29, Scene 1

The story so far- Our hero, Aristide Simplesby Soot, sits in crapulated discomfort, his wounded digit throbbing, having sustained a papercut while turning the page of his men's adventure paperback, the cover crinkled and creased from having nestled so long in the breast pocket of his J.C.Penney tweed sports coat, the hairs of his nostrils bristling as their fleshy hoods flare, flushed crimson with indignant rage, this unpleasant mood, so far from the harmonious tranquility, which would otherwise enshroud our hero in a warm glow of fuzziness, now further agitated and threatening to overcome what remains of his erstwhile pleasant state, a state constituted by a combination of three things, those things being (1) a supremely comfortable posture of quasi-recline in his wooden saloon chair, (2) a full tumbler of Newcastle nut-brown ale and (3) a highly stimulating read of the genre fiction and mass market paperbook varieties, complete with painted cover illustration featuring both a manly sort of tanned and musculated man and a female counterpart, suitably depicted in a state of semi-undress and obviously swooning from the overpowering, masculating presence of her manly companion. So this is where we find our hero, by all counts not enjoying the pleasure one would naturally expect to reap from such a bounty of exquisite drink, repose and reading material, and furthermore discomforted by the inflamed laceration of his thrust-forth digit. With great frustration, he slaps his erstwhile recreation down upon the ale-slopped surface of the saloon table. There it sits for some moments, the book-cover's buxom protagotrix catching his irritated gaze by the round turn of her muchly bosom. From his breats pocket he draws a cotton handkerchief, embroidered in the corner with his initials and with it damps a profusion of perspiration from his luxuriantly skinned forehead. A conversation under way, between a man whose head is piled high with a hive of dreadlocks and the bartender distracts our attention.

DREADLOCKS: I've heard of Fanny Durpin! Of course I have. Do you take me for a dolt?

BARTENDER: Not in the least, my fine simple fellow. Perhaps you'd like another drink to lengthen the intensity of your belligerence?

DL: By all means! I always say, it's better to butter your roll than to boil the cabbage.

BT: In fact, I've been meaning to ask you not to say that anymore, as it distresses the clientele.

Bartender and dreadlocks engage in Sumatran wrestling with daggers.
Exit Aristide Simplesbly Soot.

FANNY DURPIN: And so, with ne'er a look askance, nor a shake of the ankle sidelongs, our hero A.S.Soot finds his way among the heathenish rabble of Haight Street on a Saturday afternoon. No matter where he directs his eyebubs, there are sights to confound even the most sensible pretzels of his heart. For where a man walks, so does the dog leave its droppings. Anon. Ibid.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

An apology

I apologize for the last post.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Tales From the Creepy Bus

(a closet drama)
Act 47, Scene I

1314, East Liverpool, Ohio
The story so far- Juan de Mole, last Grand Master of the crusading order, The Knights of St. Steve, the Refrigerator Repairman, has suffered many years of agonizing imprisonment after the dissolution of his order by the King of Steubenville, Phillip the One Leg Slightly Longer Than the Other. He has been subjected to the most debasing tortures, such as having testicle clamps erroneously attached to his earlobes, earning him the sobriquet amongst his compatriots, 'Earballs'. He is now hauled before the Holy Inquisition to hear one last time whether he will confess to the list of heinous charges against him, among them, cavorting with known badgers and crossing the street on three legs.

Junior Lord High Inquisitor: (approaching, most vexed with a bulbous vessel) Juan de Mole, we would fain spare thy life, but our decrees have the viscosity of lemon sherbet. My patience wears thin, de Mole, and you will find its end most tiresome. So for the last time, will you not confess to the list of charges against you?

Juan de Mole: Before I answer, Junior Lord High Inquisitor, I will pass water in your vessel. (passes water)

JLHI: (with mounting fury) De Mole, your arrogance stirs regions of my groin that have hitherto remained blissfully undisturbed! There is no help for one so impertinent! One so foul of sense! So unbeleaguered by notions of the hammered dulcimer.

JdM (with a calm nonchalance reminiscent of a young Clark Gable) My regard for your opinions, sir, has the weight of a bulimic gnat and with a third as much consequence.

JLHI: (face turning red, steam emerging from ears. sound cue: steam whistle) Why you villain... you moldy-brained troglodyte... you mandolin player... you pinch-eared dog... sock-avoiding know-nothing... misguided pollster... you hollyhock... you side of charred bark... how dare you?

JdM: (with the demur je ne sais quoi of a Lana Turner, age 40) Why really, I've never heard such things. I'm quite scandalized.

JLHI: (metamorphosing into an enraged orangutan, mandibular canines bared. sound cue: whistle from a standard class 9F steam locomotive) Impudent wretch! Toy with my feelings will you? Well, I'll show you, my fine fellow, oh yes I will! Now then... (removes mask to reveal face of California Governor Ronald Reagan, age 56. sound cue: chirp of a spot-winged tit)

JdM: What ho then! (reaches into secret breast pocket, pulls out gun with grappling iron, fires gun, escapes through roof with pyrotechnics)

(exeunt Junior Lord High Inquisitor, Very High Sergeant With Twenty Arms, various Stewards and Flight Attendants and 45 Degrees Almonating Preceptor. sound cue: Hail Britannia in full chorus.)

Joy Williams is nuts.

I'm now halfway through State of Grace, which I'm reading on the suggestion of Miss Brinkman, and I have to say, this is one of the more disturbing books I've read lately.
Working on a series called Gothic Ladies, and trying to cull material for contemporary writers working in or around the genre. If you haven't checked her out yet, do so for an unsettling spin.

Thursday, August 20, 2009


A new blog to celebrate the inauguration of Auk Brand Comics and a quiet retirement of the former, the now sadly defunct Screaming Apple of Discord.

Down to Isotope today to see if they'd take Wunderkammer.
Man in purple suit: Too busy today, come back tomorrow or Tuesday.
Then on to Pearl Art to buy frames for the show next Friday.
It's been quite some time since I've walked down Market Street. A funny thing I noticed... the walk signals make a noise like the sound of a machine gun.

Work is coming along slowly on the next issue of Wunderkammer... partly due to other, more pressing concerns, such as my wedding in October.