Wednesday, November 1, 2017



Kelechi: i mean come on, how could a white dude invent the Philly Cheesesteak? too iconic for no flavor.

Maldark maintains a sedated happiness in his piecemeal grin.

Kelechi drops a plastic bag on Mr. Maldark's kitchen table which is now practically outside.

Kelechi: it cost a dime for that bag. this is just the first bag mind you. trash bags full out back. next time let me use the proper bags in your trunk, i couldn't get inside there.

out spill sundry food items she variouses.

Kelechi: here's the Lucky Charms. essential. look at these cute bags they come in now instead of the miniature boxes. stock up on these, they're gluten-free. and i got a bag of Carolina Reaper Peppers from down south...

Maldark: whoever did the branding for that pepper is a genius.

Kelechi:..and some udon noodles.

Maldark: they look like brains.

Kelechi: don't let the liquid soup fool you, it's just soy sauce. it's basically eating thick pasta noodles in soy sauce. okay, Mr. Maldark, i'll give you one more day. after all this is the day after Halloween and you must be in the throes of a bad party and candy crash.

Maldark: nobody trick-or-treats anymore. my street is dark. i haven't the foggiest what my new neighbor thinks of the holiday. i wonder deeply about this. i don't see her face, all i see is her fence.

JUST THEN an alert on Maldark's watch chimes!

Maldark: *checking* thanks, New York Times, you didn't have to rub it in. Doyers lost.

Kelechi: sports are a waste of energy. channel your anxiety elsewhere. oh well, at least you can be bored again.

Maldark: but that's the thing. there's not nothing to do anymore. sneak me in to night class so i can get a lesson in.

Kelechi: problem. the security round here's tight. the Feds are on your tail if you haven't noticed. hey, what's that trail behind you!

behind Maldark is a pile of crushed blue cans of aluminum forming a snake choking the legs of his chair.

Maldark: worry not, it looks worse than it is. i know it looks like some sort of ice beer, but it's just Diet Rite. i need to keep wired. i have an important thing i'm doing at the moment.

Kelechi: dammit man, that was supposed to last two weeks! and it's full cans, too, not the small cans you're used to. you drank the whole case of 10?

Maldark: i lied. i did fit in one item under my cart. i'm hungry. when Hugh Hefner died, they showed found footage of all his tall blondes weeping into the grotto. all i saw on my television screen were leggy sandwiches i wanted to pile on and eat. like in the cartoons. the women turned into walking drumsticks right before my eyes. walking awkwardly like models do.

Kelechi wrys her smile.

Kelechi: that's okay, Mal, you don't have to try with me. i get it.


at the National Anthem, Promise Harris sings while a bald eagle flies around the stadium.

Promise: hell naw. my name is too pretty for this. i won't stoop to the level of these ruffian hooligans who will never appreciate art. come here, girl, let's scoot. time for your promise hug.

the eagle lands on Promise's hand without a glove and she touches heads with it.

Promise: you are my art, baby. you make me sing!

in the middle of her song, Promise fades. but not before turning into Faith Spottled Eagle as she disappears into thin air.

Promise's final words: too strong woman for this shit.


on television screens everywhere Yu Darvish and Joc Pederson are interviewed after the game by Papi and Puig.

Yu: i wanted to win so badly. i wanted this to be a win for the good guys. for those of us who are oppressed in silence. but i got nervous. too much pressure on my Dodger shoulders. it's easier to be the bad guy cos no one roots for you so you have no expectations. if you succeed, it's almost an evil afterthought despite yourself to the fact you were trying to get caught.

Joc: i'm a joc. i made the Johnny Manziel rubbing with my batting-gloved fingers cos i want a new contract and more money. i hit a home run in a pressure-packed situation. not many people on the planet can do that in the moment.

Puig: you won't get the money. i get the money. i'm the attraction. you still haven't won squat.


Comey stealthily visits Ashley Parker at work. he strolls right up to her desk at the Washington Post-Gazette and hands her three bouquets. everyone at the newspaper stops what they are doing to stare.

Ashley: i told you never visit me at work. unless you have a scoop.

Comey: no ice cream. they finally released all the JFK Files today. non-redacted. this is the first time in my life i've laid eyes on a document that didn't have a huge black mark in the middle of it. i forgot that the paper we use is actually white.

Ashley: same at this paper. so...

Comey: the killer of JFK was........Cigarette Smoking Man.

Ashley: yeah, everyone knows that. please, Jim, i'm typing. on a typewriter.

Comey: oh............well that sorta clears my schedule for the day. i had a joke about Snoke but forget it. i thought we were going to talk at length about JFK in the open space of the rink.

Ashley: where are you? i never see you anymore.

Comey: i'm working, baby.

Ashley: then take me to your work. it's the only way a girl'll ever get a dinner and a show out of you....................*Ashley looks at her screen and sours her mouth*............on second thought skip the dinner.


Maldark manages to spy his way into night school for one more class. before dawn.

Maldark: wow. night class is wild. now class, these lights are brighter than usual? or it's just the backdrop of the night. now class, DUI School is nothing to be ashamed of. we are all one family here. we all come here to learn.

a burly hirsute man opens up for an hour.

Halwa raises her hand.

Halwa: the secret subjector strikes again! Mr. Maldark, what's the capital of the world? you'd think by now there'd be, like, you know, a place or city or district or something that's the capital of the world.

Maldark: the only geography lesson you'll ever need is this: wherever you go, there you are.

Intendo knocks the door down with no knock and immediately places handcuffs on Deen. Deen hangs his head low to the floor and says nothing sadly. in a sad way.

Maldark: wow. you guys really love to cuff defenseless boys. it's like pirate treasure to you. say something, Deen. anything. something sunny and surfy. don't worry, Deen, i'll handle this. i'll be there soon.

Intendo has since grown a bushy mustache.

Less remains frozen in fear, he says nothing, he can't talk anymore.

Halwa: *raising her hand* Mr. Maldark, what's a mini moke?

Maldark: a jeep-like vehicle. for recreational purposes.

Halwa: cos there's one outside our door.

she's right, Maldark thinks, and it's a pretty official-looking one.

a black mini moke stands guard outside. the police cherry on the roof sits spinning its red light into the night. alternating between flashing the F and the I.


Jules said...

After recently typing on a typewriter I now have a new found respect for the great novelists. I now feel that I maintain a piecemeal of sedated happiness, about as natural as a lucky charm, and I understand there’s nothing to do anymore.

I wanted to win so badly….but, no ice cream. Only I scream or They scream and it’s a whole load of unnecessary noise.

It’s all a mini moke joke. *)

the late phoenix said...

I know, right? on the shoulders of giants. strained shoulders from lugging around that heavy thing all day. but of course if you owned a typewriter back then that was like owning an ipad now. high tech

my dad was a typewriter novelist.

why is ice cream so quiet? cos it's vanilla

that was my mini joke

love ya, my sweet *)