Bourbon Street? Marty Gras? Dancing Greeks with Lemons? Guess what Brian: It didn't happen. I wasn't there! And here's another thing: nothing makes sense. You were coked: out of your mind. Conversely:Colon:oscopy!
***
Imagine my surprise when Brian storms into my luxury flat atop the lofty heights of Reston Town(e) Centr(e) Monday, wearing nothing but his over-zealousness, boxer briefs, and a poorly concealed magnum (opus!) of a pistol.
Right. Surprises in January.
"Ben," he says, whirling his gun about recklessly, "we need to go on a cross-country journey. And we need to leave in less than a week."
"Ok," says I, "But wipe that damn powder from your nose before we hit the station."
It was a joke until the words came sputtering from my mouth -- why not take a cross country trip through America? Why not get out of the big city for a while and see the heartland? Hell -- maybe old Brian and I would even find a God. Maybe even love. Train love. It all washes over me as another one hits.
This time it's a bullet. Gnawing deep into my knee cap.
Bleeding, I retaliate. With words. A sonnet. Yeats or something. A sudden blow: the great wings beating still / It breaks his heart... That does him in. He was always a sucker for Yeats. And a face beating. I punch him in the mouth two or three times to drive it home. He's angry at this point, knocking out my Ming Vase with a stray -- Zhu Yunwen era (don't get me started).
For a finale he grabs one of my cats.
"I'll blow her goddamn head off you crazy son of a bitch!"
I can tell he's feeling really guilty about the vase.
"Look, I'll go on this trip," I say, "but you need to cut the crap -- and the coke. And I need to find a God. Roll your eyes at me if you will, but I've got a lot of things to sort out, and by the looks of it, well, you're no model for future generations."
At this point, between Brian's revolver and his unkempt Joe Boxer, nylon sports edition drawers that he stole from me last May, Misty has gotten a little squirmy. Understandably squirmy, if you're a cat at gun point. I start to think how I'm going to reposition the joint that connects my femur to my tibia, and what diversion will allow me to fly across the room into Brian's face, when the man himself lets the feline drop and lets out a groan.
"I need a God too."
"That one's Persian Brian. So don't touch her again," I say, ignoring his plea for diety. And we make reservations that same night. End of story.
And I bleed and I die.
***
Haha! Aw! And that's exactly how it happened! Don't let newfangled technocracy fill or fool you ladies and gentlemen! The truth is in the written word! My written word! Hand typed by men-women and women-men like yourselves! Beware the mensch machine! Beware the robo-nazi! And for God sakes! Tune in next time for:
BEN TRUMPS BRIAN'S TRUTH IN AN AMAZING, ACID-FUELED-BLOG-RACE-THROUGHOUT-SPACE-AND-TIME!
***
We are also, of course, going on a train trip, and documenting the whole experience. So, look here for that too?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
ben. you need to start writing some damn lyrics.
and, enjoy your trip guys.
Please, be gentle with my country and its anti-American religious revolutionaries.
P.S. what's high in the middle and round at both ends?
Hola, viajeros!! I'm pretty psyched for you guys to ride the train. I myself just finished a train journey from minnesota to great falls, montana. If I may, I have two pieces of advice for you: try to sit in the handicapped-only section on the lower level of the train. These seats are rarely full, have plenty of leg room, are much quieter and tranquil than the rest of the train (especially nice when you want to stretch out over two seats and sleep). The other piece of advice: once you hit montana, don't talk to anyone over 60. Unless you want to hear their story. Which could be a pretty awesome, life-inspiring thing. Elderly montanan's lives are pretty interesting, anyway...tales of huge families scraping by on cow tongue, trailerhomes demolished in wind storms, someone's son works on David Letterman's ranch, and there's usually a few untimely deaths or murders to boot. Just don't plan on taking any naps for a couple hours.
Anyway! You kids have fun, and I can't wait to hear your own stories when you get to Seattle! YAY!! ...p.s., here's a word game I heard on NPR that you all can ponder on your trip...
This city and state combination becomes an anagram when the letter "A" is added to the beginning. For example:
A + Atlanta, GA (clearly that is not an anagram, but you get the idea...)
Post a Comment