TLTONBS

“It’s a nightmare!”

We all looked at each other as the yap machine started his usual yapping session. It was Friday night in the newsroom, and this way over-stressed 50-something year-old failure was taking out life’s frustrations on anything in his path.

“It certainly is,” Mike said a little louder than I think he wanted to.

We all looked at the yap machine. He didn’t hear it. Or if he did, it didn’t matter at all.

“Why the fuck does this system suck so much? All I’m trying to do is write my God damned story. But I can’t even fucking open a new document without it taking 5 minutes. Fuck!”

Smiles all around on the copy desk.

After a few seconds of silence, the phone rings.

He answers it. Conversation starts. Then the other phone rings. Aggravation rises.

“Hold on a second will you please?” he says, his voice starting to rise.

“Hello? Coach, can you call back in a couple minutes. I’m by myself here.” Click.

“Coach? Yes, uh-huh. Yes. I need all of that. Yes, all of it.” Click.

“God damn it. You’d think they’d know by now what we need. It’s not that fucking hard!”

Ring.

“Hello. You want what? No, we don’t have that score.” Click.

“God damn it! Get a fucking life people. No one fucking cares who won that game! Fuck. Fuck!”

I walk over. I look at his head. It’s turned a shade of watermelon. The guy from Scanners couldn’t have made his head look any more ready to burst.

Conrad, one of the older guys on the copy desk comes over to my desk. He looks at my desktop picture. It’s of the Winnebago Man. He stares at it. Wondering why we’re all laughing so hard at it.

“Show him, dude,” Mike says.

“You’re right, Conrad hasn’t seen it!” I reply.

“Seen what?” Conrad questions us.

“This,” I say while bringing up the Weber nets.

“Acutrama! Who writes this shit?”

Conrad does what everyone does. Laughs out loud. So hard his eyes start to water.

“Yep, that’s Rick,” he says, loudly.

We all look over our shoulders, towards him. He didn’t hear.

“One day, he’s going to come over here and explode,” Mike says.

“It’s inevitable,” I say.

“Hope you can duck,” Josh says.

We all look at Josh. Then shake our heads.

“Taquito!” I say.

Laughs all around. Except for Josh. He puts his head phones on and goes back to Facebook. It’s what he does.

Another fucking awful night on the copy desk comes to a close.

***

“She’s got blue hair?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “And she’s another young girl.

“When are you going to learn? Find someone your own fucking age!”

“But, she’s got blue hair. That’s got to count for something?”

“A lot of stained pillowcases.”

***

It’s funny. The Kit Cat Clock doesn’t know any better.

He keeps wagging his tail and eyes, even though he can’t keep time.

Go figure. Life imitating art.

***

Part of me wants to go home this weekend. Give me an excuse to be in Virginia.

Part of me wants to say what’s going on. What could be going on. What should be going on.

Part of me is happy.

Part of me is sad.

All of me is broke.

So, I’ll probably just sit on the couch.

***

The room started to feel a little smaller. His arms were tingling, the left side a whole lot more than the right. His breath started to be labored. Not painful, just hard to do. His heartbeat also sped up.

This happens three, four times a day now.

“Better than diarrhea,” he scoffed.

***

Playing Q*bert used to be fun

For about six games. But, if you didn’t get any better fast

It just became a chore.

***

I miss television about as much as I miss geometry.

Although my geometry teacher was pretty hot.

***

Have you ever sat down, with one goal in mind, knowing quite well that you will be stressed out, fucked up and downtrodden as you try, with much effort, to figure out how to succeed?

***

The end happens. It just does.

Always.

The beginning, however, can be manipulated.

Sometimes.

***

He’s not supposed to be here anymore. The cops took him away. But there he stands. In my doorway. Looking the same, just meaner. If I’d just not called the cops, this wouldn’t be happening. My blood wouldn’t be mixed with the rain drops on the porch. The knife wouldn’t be laying there, soaked in my lover’s blood. If only I’d not called the cops. I wouldn’t be dying.

TLTONBS

***