Author: zornog

A PLAY IN FIVE ACTS

SCENE: FACEBOOK

TIME: TEN YEARS AFTER GRADUATION

ACT ONE
Classmates: Hey Josh?
Josh: Yes?
Classmates: When is our ten year reunion?
Josh: OH SHIT.

ACT TWO
Classmate #1: Well, no one has planned anything, so I am making a Facebook group! That will solve everything!
Classmates: Hooray!
Classmate #1: And then I will run away, never to be seen in the group again.
Classmates: Hooray!

ACT THREE

[two days later; crickets chirping]

Josh: Are we going to actually plan anything?
Classmates: Eh, I dunno. These things come together eventually.

ACT FOUR
Josh: Alright, goddammit, I’ll plan the entire thing! Here, I’ve made a poll for if you’re going to attend and a poll for which weekend would work best for you. PLEASE USE THESE, otherwise we have no idea who will come and subsequently won’t be able to plan anything fun!
Classmates: Hooray! Thanks Josh!

[lights lower to creepy levels]

Classmate #2: But beware, for most of the people in this group won’t respond at all, and others will request dates that are simply ridiculous! Like July! July is too soon!
Classmate #3: And I will volunteer my help but then not actually do anything!
Classmate #2: And I will be very supportive but also not do anything!
Classmate #3: I will get your hopes up for no reason!
Classmate #2: I will tell you when I can make it, rather than use the polls!
Classmate #3: I will invite people to the group who didn’t actually graduate in 2001!
Classmate #2: IT’S JUST LIKE HIGH SCHOOL ALL OVER AGAIN!
Classmate #3: ALL OVER AGAIN
Classmates: DO EVERYTHING FOR US, JOSH! DO EVERYTHING FOR US!
Josh: AIIIEEEEEEEEE!

ACT FIVE

 [josh wakes up from a terrible nightmare]

Josh: Honey! Honey wake up, I just had the most horrible dream. I was trying to organize my ten year high school reunion, and it was just awful! Nobody would give me any clear information on what they wanted, but they all just wanted a reunion to pop up out of nowhere! It was so awful.

[GIRLFRIEND turns over to reveal she is the NAMPA HIGH SCHOOL BULLDOG MASCOT]

Mascot: Just go back to sleep, darling.
Josh: AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!

THE END

So I’m riding my bike down the sidestreets of my neighborhood shortly before I arrive home. As I take a left turn onto a particularly crappy street, I see a family before me: a husband up ahead, walking the dog, and a woman on the right with a stroller, and a kid, probably four or five, holding one of those Chuck It ball throwers. They’re walking in the street, mind you. I have no issues with this; people walk down empty streets all the time. But the kid is on the left and she’s on the right, so I have no choice but to ride in between them. Please note at this point that the woman has made eye contact with me once already. I made the left turn, saw them, her Spideysense picked up and she turned back and noticed me. She has seen me. Repeat: she has seen me. (more…)

edit: how many times can i spell exercise wrong? answer: all of them

from 750words.com

So the idea is to wake up and do some small exercises, mostly pushups and crunches, then shower, then eat breakfast and peruse the internets, and then go to work. At work, I will take walks on my two breaks, and then eat a sensible lunch, and hopefully have time for a third walk. I will ride my bike to work when weather permits, and walk home from work if weather permits and I haven’t ridden my bike. Ride has some great conjugates, doesn’t it? Ride, present tense. Rode, past tense. Ridden, past tense. Ridden is an excellent word. Rode means “I rode my bike to work,” but it can also be “having ridden my bike to work,” which means the same thing? Yes? Or maybe “ridden” means “riding up to a certain point,” whereas “rode” means “a time in the past when my bike was ridden.” I forgot about “riding,” too. Oh, gerunds. You are so magical. Will ride is the future tense. I wish we had better conjugates for future tense. Everything is “will” this and “will” that. I want a future tense conjugate! Instead of “will ride,” I want “rede,” or “roden” or something. “I rede my bike in a few minutes.” Doesn’t that just look so goddamn confusing? But it could be a thing! “Jeremy roden my bike tomorrow.” Augh it makes my brain hurt but I love it so much. I want this to be a thing. Can we make it a thing? Who do I have to talk to about the English language? Walt Whitman? Isn’t he dead? Can we raise Walt Whitman from the grave so I can ask him about this? Surely that technology exists at this point. I mean it exists in fantasy worlds, and that’s just silly. Someone invent a defibrillator that jolts skeletons into life. Don’t ask questions, just do it. You may say it’s necromancy and to that I say, I have some things to talk to Walt Whitman about, so get out of my way, and get that goddamn skeleton defibrillator up and working!

SCENE
Foti’s Greek Deli, approx 11:00am

CHARACTERS
Jill, Foti’s wife and cashier, the dearest, sweetest lady you will ever meet
Vapid Girl #1 [VG1]
Vapid Girl #2 [VG2]

[Jill returns from the credit card machine.]

Jill [to VG1]: Do you have another card? This one was declined.
VG1: Wh … what? That’s crazy.
Jill: I’m sorry.
VG2: It’s cool, I’ll buy my own food.
VG1: But, whuh … Can you run it again?
Jill: I don’t…
VG2: Don’t worry, I’ll buy my own food.

[VG1 stares at VG2 for a moment.]

VG1 [to Jill]: Can you run it again?
Jill [reluctantly taking the card]: We get charged every time.
VG1: What?
VG2: I’ll just buy my own food, okay?
Jill [swipes the card]: We get charged every time we swipe the card.

[VG1 obviously either didn’t hear Jill, or is ignoring her. A beat as everyone waits.]

Jill: Still declined.
VG2: It’s okay, I totally got this.
VG1: Are you sure?
VG2: Yeah, don’t worry, I got this.
VG1 [to Jill]: Did you run it as debit? Did you run it as debit?
Jill: It doesn’t—
VG2: I got it!

[Jill swipes VG2’s card. It works fine.]

VG1: Oh my god, I’m so embarrassed.
VG2 [abnormally loud]: DON’T YOU EVEN WORRY, GIRL, I GOT IT!
VG1: It’s just that my brother just gave me money—
VG2: DO NOT EVEN WORRY, GIRL!
Jill: You can sit wherever you’d like.

[They walk off]

The End

[The moral of the story is: DON’T RUN THE FUCKING CARD TWICE YOU BRAINLESS NUTSO! YOU’RE COSTING A MOM AND POP SHOP MONEY!]

“Uta Hagen! I was thinking about her a lot lately. Specifically her name. And how if people are trying to get her attention they shout, “UTA! UTA! UTAUTAUTA! UTA HAGEN! HEY UTA! UTA HAGEN! UTA! UTA TAKE YOUR HEADPHONES OFF! UTA UTA UTA UTA! GODDAMN IT YOU ARE A FAST JOGGER!” Imagine that, trying to flag down Uta Hagen during her morning jog. UTA! UTA I HAVE AN IDEA — UTA! MY STANISLAVSKI PAPER IS DONE UTA! UTA HAGEN! UTA HAAAAAGEN! WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO, BLACK METAL?! SLOW DOWN! UTA! UTA HAGEN! UTA UTA UTA UTA UTA UTA UTA UTA UTA UTA HAGEN! CHRIST ON A CRACKER!”

“I talk about myself a lot, and this website knows that. It’s judging me right now. It’s saying, Josh, you talk a lot about yourself, don’t you? And I say Yes 750words.com, I do, I’m sorry but before I can even continue it’s soothing me, putting a finger to my lips. Shhh, 750words.com says, you take it easy now, have a seat on the couch. You want some water? And I say Yes and it says Okay baby, I’ll get you some water, and then it turns around and ooh, damn 750words.com, you have a shapely ass, I didn’t notice your figure when I came in here. Do you work out? It shows. Vegan? I bet you’re a vegan. Look, I eat meat, but it’s cool that you don’t. We can still be friends — is that what we are? Friends? Or something more?”

750words.com is great for a guy like me, who enjoys what he writes faaaar more than anyone else I know.

“This thing just turned into a novella. Not really, but I am babbling. This is what I do! I babble. I stop paying attention for two seconds and when I come back I have something else on my mind. I am going to write in this thing all fucking day. That’ll show you, 750 words! I will write double, nay, TRIPLE what you expect! Unless … that’s what you’re expecting. I’m on to you, 750words.com! I know what lies in your breast. Or breasts. Do you have breasts, 750words.com? The person who designed this site is male, but you, 750words.com, the site itself, do YOU have breasts? Come on, let’s see them. Don’t mess with me! I am an important person! I have over three hundred Twitter followers! Okay so most of them are spambots but whatever! Spambots find ME important enough to spam! How many spambots do YOU have, 750words.com?”

The best part is that it’s private! You’ll never get to read the things I write! I am laughing right now! A big belly laugh!

[WARNING! SPOILERS ABOUND! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!]

So I recently was able to watch the six-episode first season of The Walking Dead, the AMC show about zombies based on the graphic novels of the same name. In general, I enjoyed them, a lot. I really love how the zombie genre has turned into stories of human character, rather than just horror stories of the undead prowling around trying to eat everyone. And six episodes is a good way to get in, establish characters, setting, and loose plotline, while not dragging on too long. Six episodes should be the default for first seasons, I think. You show what’s up, then you show that you’re good enough to last more than one season. (more…)

Look, I won’t begin this blog by saying I’m sorry for not updating my blog as much as I should. There is no set time for blog posts; rather, there is a set time for human concentration, when people will hang around before they realize nothing’s going on, and then leave. I write posts for people, and if there are no people, then what is the point of writing? (more…)

Killing the figurehead of a decentralized terrorist organization really doesn’t do much. It gives closure for victims of the 9/11 attacks, sure, but killing someone whose followers are ready and eager to blow themselves up in order to kill others is a hollow victory. Showing terrorists that we will find and kill them in an attempt to frighten them makes no sense when they see no fear in their own sacrifice.

If anything, we should’ve taken bin Laden to New York City. Put him in an expensive suit. Taken him to McDonalds for lunch. Forced him to do all the things he hates about this country. Not torture, per se, but the things that piss off radicals. We should’ve kept him alive, interrogated him, and then forced him to work at a Foot Locker for ten years. We should’ve made him microwave Hungry Man dinners for food, and drink Coca Cola, and talk about baseball with his neighbors. Mow the lawn. Prepare his taxes. Try to find a girlfriend on OKCupid (wait, I said no torture). Make him live in a triplex house in Spokane Washington, next to a meth addict and a obnoxious family with three screaming kids. Cut off his beard, get him some snazzy eyeglasses and a polo shirt. Force him to go to therapy twice a week.

I think that would demoralize al-Qaeda more than just killing Osama. Hell, it demoralizes us, and we’re the ones who think it’s so great, aren’t we?