The subject of not being Mick Jagger is a longtime favorite of Allen’s. It started as a daydream: were he Mick Jagger, how would he spend his money? What security code would he set for his mansion? How big, in simple poundage, would his penis be?
Then again, at least Allen’s songs aren’t getting bleeped on TV. He hasn’t endured the messy divorces or the jail time.
“There’s a lot for you to envy,” he admits, in the basement.
“That’s wha’m saying,” says Mick between spoonfuls of applesauce.
Allen yawns. “Want me to untie you or anything?”
“Actually no?” says Mick.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
“Lacie?” says Leroy. “That’s your real name?”
The masked man shrugs. “I only tell it to people up here, your majesty.”
“If we’re telling secrets, I slept with my sister.”
Lacie might be smiling. “Feel better?”
“A little.”
“Kneel.”
Leroy tries not to shiver–just the cold, he thinks. He’s ready. In the crowd, even the babies aren’t breathing.
“There’s a reason we have kings, your majesty,” murmurs Lacie, and gently pushes Leroy’s head down to the block. “It’s so, when we turn, we have someone to turn on.”
Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Lacie padded the basket.
“As you know, Nadnerb, infodumps are the basis of our modern society,” says Snikda interestingly. “Through quantum laser hacking of our delta waves, we can transmit information directly from machine to brain–elimininating the ancient process called ‘education,’ and allowing us to enjoy a new golden age of philosophy, science and art.” The Space Navy captain and 6’4″ father of two chuckles. “Whenever I look in a mirror and see my attractive, bioengineered body and vibrant blue hair, I can’t help but think–this modern life would be impossible–if not for infodumps!”
“I didn’t actually know that,” says Snikda.
In the line for the bonesetter a boy named Raisin offers to push Prerna’s chair, and she, for once, accepts. At the end he cuts in front of her.
“You again,” growls the bonesetter. “I don’t have your daddy’s skull.”
“Then a knuckle,” says Raisin. His voice is rising. “A toe, a tooth, something I can take and–”
The bonesetter nods, and two men with rhinoskin pull Raisin outside.
“Sorry.” The bonesetter leans down to Prerna, smiling. “What are we building you?”
Prerna needs legs. She can hear the men working. There are cries, and tearing sounds.
“Wings,” she says hoarsely.
The man on the street turns back and stops, looking puzzled. Fingal notices, and hesitates too.
“Did you used to wear glasses?” asks the man.
“I’m sorry?” says Fingal. “Do I…?”
The man turns away. Fingal shakes his head and almost runs into a pudgy woman in sweatpants.
“You haven’t aged a day,” she chuckles.
“Yes I have,” he says, “ma’am.”
“Why did you shave your head?” asks a homeless man. “Where is your silver crown?”
“I’m not who you think I am!” shouts Fingal.
“You will be,” murmurs someone in the gathering crowd, and wipes scented oil on his forehead.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
The police are nice, but since the bullets went through the wall (instead of into the Internet) and almost hit her neighbors, they take her gun away. It bums Starla out. Why is there even an Internet if you can’t shoot anybody through it?
Then she discovers remote hunting: a webcam on a gun, in the woods, and when you click the button, the gun shoots where the webcam is looking. Starla pays up and clicks as fast as she can, until the clip’s empty. She giggles at the puffs where they hit dirt and trees.
“Pyeew pyeew!” she whispers. “Pshow!”