books were both gone. I told my customer and the line to excuse me, and I went back to get L.T. to cover for me so I could comb the mall for Duggan.
L.T. went out front, sniffing about it, but, just as I was about to leave, Amelia came into the back area. I thought she wanted to see Angie, but Amelia pushed me right back into my suite. She started telling me about how she knew I’d always liked her, and she took my head in her hands and tried to kiss me. I had no idea what had come over her, but the idea of Duggan's getting away crowded her out. "I have to go," I told her. "I’ve got to catch a shoplifter. Wait here." I headed out toward the exit, hoping to find him, and there was Duggan, detained in conversation. Just then, I saw another St. Izzy’s alumnus coming into the mall, none other than L.T.’s old roommate and Duggan’s old classmate, movie star Bill Murray. "Bill!" I yelled. "Get Duggan! He hasn’t paid!"
Murray looked around and saw Duggan. Duggan was trying to weasel his way out of there, but Murray and I were upon him in an instant. "Duggan," I said, "you have two choices. You pay for these books or you can go to jail right now."
Duggan paid and was on his way. Murray and I went out of the mall and sat on the lawn for a while and decompressed.
I asked him about his years at St. Izzy’s and told him about mine, about how I got a job on the radio station so I could get out of Latin and how I’d go up on the roof and smoke pot and listen to old Genesis and Martin Mull and Allman Brothers records. I told him about my novels, and he asked me which my worst was.
I told him about A Million-Year Centipede , my first, which was about my visit to the Morrison Hotel in L.A. on the seventh anniversary of Jim Morrison’s "death." I figured Morrison had thought of L.A. as "the land of the fair and the strong and the wise."
Just then, we heard a helicopter overhead. Murray’s mom, a helicopter pilot, was hovering over us. She lowered a rope ladder to us, and we climbed it up to the helicopter. This helicopter had a truck bed and auxiliary wings for emergency gliding, and it was to these auxiliary wings that we strapped ourselves.
She took off and spun the chopper. I was amused for a while, but then I noticed my straps were loose. I climbed out of my straps and up into the truck bed. Murray’s mom stopped spinning and took us back to the house/store/mall.
Some time passed, and I was in the living room with Amelia, holding her on the couch while we watched a movie on TV. L.T. and Angie were there, too. The store had closed for the night.
Murray was in the hallway, and we could see him. He showed us a blue steel plate picture he had of a dancing girl in a grass skirt. He began nailing the plate to the store’s false front. As we was hanging it, he began singing, "Oh, she’s come home, for she’s an evil sculpture! Ah, hah! Oh, she’s come home..."
Credits roll. The end.
Thoth is a bare-assed baboon whose name, ironically, means "the learned one." He’s learned how to show off his red ass, that’s all.
He was playing on our church-league soccer team once when he drew two yellow cards, both for smarting off at the referee. Of course, with the second card he earned a red card as well and was ejected. He pulled down his shorts and gave the ref his own red calling card. He was suspended for the season for that.
I wondered how he got it so red. Did he use sandpaper to wipe with? Was he still being spanked? He deserved a nail-studded two-by-four across the head, not a little paddling of the bum.
That little pudding of a brain that stirs around in Lubjec congeals itself around the topic of betrayal of a friend. Betrayal is his raison d’être. His sins are not important. They are ubiquitous. Whatever he said was too good for us. He tried so very hard to get us to see the truth. He endured us, we whose writing is merely means to an end.
Yes! His end! If you see this base turd on the road, squash him with your oxfords. How
L.T. went out front, sniffing about it, but, just as I was about to leave, Amelia came into the back area. I thought she wanted to see Angie, but Amelia pushed me right back into my suite. She started telling me about how she knew I’d always liked her, and she took my head in her hands and tried to kiss me. I had no idea what had come over her, but the idea of Duggan's getting away crowded her out. "I have to go," I told her. "I’ve got to catch a shoplifter. Wait here." I headed out toward the exit, hoping to find him, and there was Duggan, detained in conversation. Just then, I saw another St. Izzy’s alumnus coming into the mall, none other than L.T.’s old roommate and Duggan’s old classmate, movie star Bill Murray. "Bill!" I yelled. "Get Duggan! He hasn’t paid!"
Murray looked around and saw Duggan. Duggan was trying to weasel his way out of there, but Murray and I were upon him in an instant. "Duggan," I said, "you have two choices. You pay for these books or you can go to jail right now."
Duggan paid and was on his way. Murray and I went out of the mall and sat on the lawn for a while and decompressed.
I asked him about his years at St. Izzy’s and told him about mine, about how I got a job on the radio station so I could get out of Latin and how I’d go up on the roof and smoke pot and listen to old Genesis and Martin Mull and Allman Brothers records. I told him about my novels, and he asked me which my worst was.
I told him about A Million-Year Centipede , my first, which was about my visit to the Morrison Hotel in L.A. on the seventh anniversary of Jim Morrison’s "death." I figured Morrison had thought of L.A. as "the land of the fair and the strong and the wise."
Just then, we heard a helicopter overhead. Murray’s mom, a helicopter pilot, was hovering over us. She lowered a rope ladder to us, and we climbed it up to the helicopter. This helicopter had a truck bed and auxiliary wings for emergency gliding, and it was to these auxiliary wings that we strapped ourselves.
She took off and spun the chopper. I was amused for a while, but then I noticed my straps were loose. I climbed out of my straps and up into the truck bed. Murray’s mom stopped spinning and took us back to the house/store/mall.
Some time passed, and I was in the living room with Amelia, holding her on the couch while we watched a movie on TV. L.T. and Angie were there, too. The store had closed for the night.
Murray was in the hallway, and we could see him. He showed us a blue steel plate picture he had of a dancing girl in a grass skirt. He began nailing the plate to the store’s false front. As we was hanging it, he began singing, "Oh, she’s come home, for she’s an evil sculpture! Ah, hah! Oh, she’s come home..."
Credits roll. The end.
Thoth is a bare-assed baboon whose name, ironically, means "the learned one." He’s learned how to show off his red ass, that’s all.
He was playing on our church-league soccer team once when he drew two yellow cards, both for smarting off at the referee. Of course, with the second card he earned a red card as well and was ejected. He pulled down his shorts and gave the ref his own red calling card. He was suspended for the season for that.
I wondered how he got it so red. Did he use sandpaper to wipe with? Was he still being spanked? He deserved a nail-studded two-by-four across the head, not a little paddling of the bum.
That little pudding of a brain that stirs around in Lubjec congeals itself around the topic of betrayal of a friend. Betrayal is his raison d’être. His sins are not important. They are ubiquitous. Whatever he said was too good for us. He tried so very hard to get us to see the truth. He endured us, we whose writing is merely means to an end.
Yes! His end! If you see this base turd on the road, squash him with your oxfords. How
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