20 tyrannosauruses on 20 mountaintops
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Here are two stories I have written in the past month. I guess they are supposed to be funny or something. I wanted to do more with both but came to a wall and left them there. Done left them and left them, to quote myself. Now to kill myself.
¶ 12:45 PM 0 comments
Got up early.
Got up early. Already had jeans on. Put on socks and a white t and shoes. Thought about leaving. Left. “Done left it there, sir,” said to myself in the car. Talking in orphan British. It was early. Sun was bright, air was warm. “Done left it and left it sir, going to leave it here and shake it please.” Talking to myself, just driving. Lit a Newport, almost missed a stop sign. “Please sir, to leave me sir.” Needed coffee. “Halo sir, what is it here? What is it to is it here? To visit here, pleased to visit sir.”
Stopped at a convenient store, poured coffee in a little cup. Back to my car and driving. “Ah shitty. Ah so much is shitty and it is to this I come and go to this. Ah shitty.” Changed accents, now it was cop speak, like Columbo. “Yeahyeahyeahyeah I know what you mean. Ah shitty, goddamn ah shitty.” Started laughing.
Got on the highway. Kept talking to myself, made up songs. Listened to music, made up my own words. Sung in mock Spanish and French to songs in English. Was having a good time, just driving. Driving to Oregon. Decided that last night. Heard there was cows in the woods, all over the place and in the woods. Cows belong in fields. Wanted to see a cow in the woods. Like seeing a bird in the mall. First time I saw a bird in the mall I kept looking, didn’t blink.
Stopped talking to myself and singing around noon. Was usually the case. Just something I did to pass the time. No one knew. If you saw me, say I was in line buying cigarettes and you sold them to me, you wouldn’t think I talked to myself in orphan British. But I do. Have other accents. Only in the morning. ¶ 12:42 PM 0 comments
Stopped at a convenient store, poured coffee in a little cup. Back to my car and driving. “Ah shitty. Ah so much is shitty and it is to this I come and go to this. Ah shitty.” Changed accents, now it was cop speak, like Columbo. “Yeahyeahyeahyeah I know what you mean. Ah shitty, goddamn ah shitty.” Started laughing.
Got on the highway. Kept talking to myself, made up songs. Listened to music, made up my own words. Sung in mock Spanish and French to songs in English. Was having a good time, just driving. Driving to Oregon. Decided that last night. Heard there was cows in the woods, all over the place and in the woods. Cows belong in fields. Wanted to see a cow in the woods. Like seeing a bird in the mall. First time I saw a bird in the mall I kept looking, didn’t blink.
Stopped talking to myself and singing around noon. Was usually the case. Just something I did to pass the time. No one knew. If you saw me, say I was in line buying cigarettes and you sold them to me, you wouldn’t think I talked to myself in orphan British. But I do. Have other accents. Only in the morning. ¶ 12:42 PM 0 comments
I'm the counter.
I work for Marlboro as a counter. My job is counting the cigaretter butts across the country. All the major cities. My most recent count was 1.1 to1. That's to Camel. Or Newport. Or course, I've never counted any cigarette butts. And Marlboro never asks for numbers. I never had any.
The Marlboro building is filled with cigarette smoke. You open the door and the smoke covers you like cellophane. All they do there is smoke. I mean everybody. But it's these new cigarettes that don't cause cancer. It's apparently flavored cardboard that's been shaved down. It's ingenious really. All that cardboard put to use. And not what you'd expect either. Something so resourceful from a major tobacco company.
They don't want people to know that. And I don't want Marlboro to know that I hate their secret cigarettes. They tase like shit. The banana one is the worst. God awful.
It's funny to me that they think I go around the countrty counting cigarette butts. It's really funny. Even funnier that they think I'm smoking their secret cigarettes. William J. Marlboro passes me in the hall, smiling and waving. I blow that cigarette smoke right in his stupid fat face.
"How are the numbers?" William J asks as he passes me.
"Good," I say, "Really good. Promising."
"Keep it up," he laughs. "Keep it up!"
He's down the hall at this point, already talking to someone else, a rainbow of smoke surrounding their heads.
Did I mention the smoke is multihued?
Let me tell you more. The floors are covered in secret cigarette butts. I mean covered. At five o'clock they are pushed by this wall about a foot high and the width of the entire hallway down to the other end. The door opens to welcome the butts. They collect on each stairwell, all 10 floors. Then theses trap doors open and they fall like snow to the lower level. Now it doesn't seem safe to me either, or ingenious in the slightest, but that's how things are run at Marlboro.
You obviously do not want to be in the hallway or stairwell at five o'clock. I leave early. Not because of that, but because I can. I'm the counter. The counter always gets to leave early. ¶ 12:15 PM 0 comments
The Marlboro building is filled with cigarette smoke. You open the door and the smoke covers you like cellophane. All they do there is smoke. I mean everybody. But it's these new cigarettes that don't cause cancer. It's apparently flavored cardboard that's been shaved down. It's ingenious really. All that cardboard put to use. And not what you'd expect either. Something so resourceful from a major tobacco company.
They don't want people to know that. And I don't want Marlboro to know that I hate their secret cigarettes. They tase like shit. The banana one is the worst. God awful.
It's funny to me that they think I go around the countrty counting cigarette butts. It's really funny. Even funnier that they think I'm smoking their secret cigarettes. William J. Marlboro passes me in the hall, smiling and waving. I blow that cigarette smoke right in his stupid fat face.
"How are the numbers?" William J asks as he passes me.
"Good," I say, "Really good. Promising."
"Keep it up," he laughs. "Keep it up!"
He's down the hall at this point, already talking to someone else, a rainbow of smoke surrounding their heads.
Did I mention the smoke is multihued?
Let me tell you more. The floors are covered in secret cigarette butts. I mean covered. At five o'clock they are pushed by this wall about a foot high and the width of the entire hallway down to the other end. The door opens to welcome the butts. They collect on each stairwell, all 10 floors. Then theses trap doors open and they fall like snow to the lower level. Now it doesn't seem safe to me either, or ingenious in the slightest, but that's how things are run at Marlboro.
You obviously do not want to be in the hallway or stairwell at five o'clock. I leave early. Not because of that, but because I can. I'm the counter. The counter always gets to leave early. ¶ 12:15 PM 0 comments
Thursday, May 11, 2006
I finally told him he wouldn't believe how much I'd appreciate the shit out of it if he'd get his hand off my leg.
-Larry Brown, "Gold Nuggets." ¶ 10:58 PM 1 comments
-Larry Brown, "Gold Nuggets." ¶ 10:58 PM 1 comments
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Saturday, May 06, 2006
My 10th Post!
If we'd had inflated tires I could've got her off over in the woods somewhere, put some Thin Lizzy on, told her how we could work it out. Told her not only to be my baby but to be my only baby. Later, in the dark, we could have moved together. But she didn't love me, and I could see that finally, so I decided to be real nasty to her.
-Larry Brown, "Falling out of Love." ¶ 9:54 AM 1 comments
-Larry Brown, "Falling out of Love." ¶ 9:54 AM 1 comments
