Aliens from Space while Driving to Reno’. I read it to her while she sat on her knees and gave me a blow job. The story’s not about ex-President Lyndon Johnson, but another Lyndon Johnson who owned an auto body shop in Las Vegas. This Lyndon Johnson was abducted by creatures from space, and while there was probed and dissected. Then the aliens dropped him back to earth as a child. They had made Lyndon ten years old, bald, and so traumatized by the whole ordeal that he never spoke again. It’s not a bad story, but not one of my best either .
Anyway, after I was done, she said I should go down to LA. The story, she told me, was that good. She thought it would make a great movie. She even told me the last hummer was on the house. She was that impressed. She gave me a hug. She kissed me right on the lips for Christsakes. So I put on my clothes, put my story of Lyndon Johnson in my coat pocket, slipped her a hundred, and walked out. I decided right then I was going to drive all the way to Los Angeles, California. Was I crazy? I don’t know. Maybe, but she may have had a point, who knows? I checked out of the hotel and left that day. That first night I got a motel in Bishop, California. The next morning I gave a ride to this guy who was hitchhiking to Long Beach. He and I got high, so I didn’t give a shit about anything. I took out one of my stories, and had the man read it. I told him if he wanted to ride with me that was his payment. It was one called ‘In the Ruby Mountains, Ten below Zero, Snow Storm, Lost and Left for Dead by Aliens. The Amazing Story of Donny Dibble .’
The thing is, the guy had a great speaking voice. It was like he was a radio man on the lam. After he had finished it, hell, I was even impressed that I wrote it. The hitchhiker said he couldn’t believe I could write such a tremendous work of art. He wouldn’t stop talking about it. The whole way down, the guy went on about it .
I dropped him off on the side of the road somewhere in LA and then went to a motel called the Ocean View on Sunset Boulevard. I rented a room for a week and became a shut-in. A man with a mission. I wrote four stories. I don’t know what got into me. Inspiration is a miracle, a pinnacle of light at times. The first one was ‘Alone in the Tundra of North Canada with a Toothbrush and a Spool of Wire: A Story of Survival’. The second, ‘The Radiation Man and his Search for his Lost and Forgotten Radiation Planet’. Then while taking a bath I wrote ‘Help = Death on Mars ’.
The final story, and maybe my only masterpiece, I wrote after going to a strip club on Hollywood Blvd. It was a nasty, nasty place, but I saw this little Asian chick named Candy and I wrote my first and only love story, ‘Hey, Candy, It’s Me, Romeo! ’
Then the craziest thing happened. I was driving around Hollywood when I saw an old woman get run over by a city bus. She was in the middle of the street trying to chase down this white poodle who’d run into the traffic. I pulled over to the side of the street. Then the bus nailed her. I ran over to see what had happened. The bus driver was standing over her. She was dead, you could tell. The bus driver broke down. How could this happen? the guy screamed in tears of rage and sorrow. How could something like this have happened? How? How? How? My life is ruined all over a dog who got loose!?
When the police came, I gave them a statement and they took pictures and wrote things down. Then the ambulance came and took the old lady away. I felt bad for the bus driver. He was a real mess. They asked about the dog, but no one knew where it was. The officers thanked me for sticking around. No problem, I said. But I knew then I was going to get the hell out of LA. Adios amigo! So I trotted back to my car. But Jesus Christ if I didn’t see the dog on the way. Hiding in the bushes on the side of the road .
I waited until the police officers were looking the other way, and then I ran over to it. I took
Anyway, after I was done, she said I should go down to LA. The story, she told me, was that good. She thought it would make a great movie. She even told me the last hummer was on the house. She was that impressed. She gave me a hug. She kissed me right on the lips for Christsakes. So I put on my clothes, put my story of Lyndon Johnson in my coat pocket, slipped her a hundred, and walked out. I decided right then I was going to drive all the way to Los Angeles, California. Was I crazy? I don’t know. Maybe, but she may have had a point, who knows? I checked out of the hotel and left that day. That first night I got a motel in Bishop, California. The next morning I gave a ride to this guy who was hitchhiking to Long Beach. He and I got high, so I didn’t give a shit about anything. I took out one of my stories, and had the man read it. I told him if he wanted to ride with me that was his payment. It was one called ‘In the Ruby Mountains, Ten below Zero, Snow Storm, Lost and Left for Dead by Aliens. The Amazing Story of Donny Dibble .’
The thing is, the guy had a great speaking voice. It was like he was a radio man on the lam. After he had finished it, hell, I was even impressed that I wrote it. The hitchhiker said he couldn’t believe I could write such a tremendous work of art. He wouldn’t stop talking about it. The whole way down, the guy went on about it .
I dropped him off on the side of the road somewhere in LA and then went to a motel called the Ocean View on Sunset Boulevard. I rented a room for a week and became a shut-in. A man with a mission. I wrote four stories. I don’t know what got into me. Inspiration is a miracle, a pinnacle of light at times. The first one was ‘Alone in the Tundra of North Canada with a Toothbrush and a Spool of Wire: A Story of Survival’. The second, ‘The Radiation Man and his Search for his Lost and Forgotten Radiation Planet’. Then while taking a bath I wrote ‘Help = Death on Mars ’.
The final story, and maybe my only masterpiece, I wrote after going to a strip club on Hollywood Blvd. It was a nasty, nasty place, but I saw this little Asian chick named Candy and I wrote my first and only love story, ‘Hey, Candy, It’s Me, Romeo! ’
Then the craziest thing happened. I was driving around Hollywood when I saw an old woman get run over by a city bus. She was in the middle of the street trying to chase down this white poodle who’d run into the traffic. I pulled over to the side of the street. Then the bus nailed her. I ran over to see what had happened. The bus driver was standing over her. She was dead, you could tell. The bus driver broke down. How could this happen? the guy screamed in tears of rage and sorrow. How could something like this have happened? How? How? How? My life is ruined all over a dog who got loose!?
When the police came, I gave them a statement and they took pictures and wrote things down. Then the ambulance came and took the old lady away. I felt bad for the bus driver. He was a real mess. They asked about the dog, but no one knew where it was. The officers thanked me for sticking around. No problem, I said. But I knew then I was going to get the hell out of LA. Adios amigo! So I trotted back to my car. But Jesus Christ if I didn’t see the dog on the way. Hiding in the bushes on the side of the road .
I waited until the police officers were looking the other way, and then I ran over to it. I took
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