I would love this job!
Think you could be the next Technical Assistant?:
'via Blog this'
Friday, December 30, 2011
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Watch out for Elves
This just confirms what I have always thought... http://mobile.omg-facts.com/view/Facts/46170 ...people are nuts!
Sent from my iPhone
Sent from my iPhone
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Monday, December 19, 2011
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Friday, December 16, 2011
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
A quick update
Third day of vacation and I've managed to catch up on some rest and take care of Hope, my sick seven year old daughter. I also learned that my vacation is much shorter than last year. Instead of returning to my CWI job on Jan 9th, I now must go back on Dec 3oth in the pm. Yay.
My mind keeps returning to a kind of ghost story novel I want to write, possibly because I'm watching Stephen King's Bag of Bones mini series on A&E. I like it. Even though some critics ripped it apart, I think it plays with the pacing of a Thomas Hardy novel, a kind of American gothic horror romance. Oh, well.
L. Sent from my iPhone
My mind keeps returning to a kind of ghost story novel I want to write, possibly because I'm watching Stephen King's Bag of Bones mini series on A&E. I like it. Even though some critics ripped it apart, I think it plays with the pacing of a Thomas Hardy novel, a kind of American gothic horror romance. Oh, well.
L. Sent from my iPhone
Monday, December 12, 2011
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Friday, December 9, 2011
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Monday, December 5, 2011
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Most Alive
"The first thing that distinguishes a writer is that he is most alive when alone."
-MARTIN AMIS Sent from my iPhone
-MARTIN AMIS Sent from my iPhone
Monday, November 28, 2011
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Friday, November 25, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Friday, November 18, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
THE BRILLIANCE OF BURGESS
Burgess Interview Excerpt from the Paris Review
I
NTERVIEWER
Composers traffic heavily in transitions. Isn’t this particular instance of literary composition by musical analogy an example of “formal trickery,” best understood by the reader who is at least an amateur musician?
BURGESS
I think that music does teach practitioners in other arts useful formal devices, but the reader doesn’t have to know their provenance. Here’s an example. A composer modulates from one key to another by the use of the “punning” chord, the augmented sixth (punning because it is also a dominant seventh). You can change, in a novel, from one scene to another by using a phrase or statement common to both—this is quite common. If the phrase or statement means different things in the different contexts, so much the more musical.
INTERVIEWER
One notices that the form of A Vision of Battlements is meant to be similar to that of Ennis’s passacaglia, but can any but the most tenuously analogous relation be established between literature and music generally?
BURGESS
I agree that the musico-literary analogies can be pretty tenuous, but in the widest possible formal sense—sonata form, opera, and so on—we’ve hardly begun to explore the possibilities. The Napoleon novel I’m writing apes the Eroica formally—irritable, quick, swiftly transitional in the first movement (up to Napoleon’s coronation); slow, very leisurely, with a binding beat suggesting a funeral march for the second. This isn’t pure fancy: It’s an attempt to unify a mass of historical material in the comparatively brief space of about 150,000 words. As for the reader having to know about music—it doesn’t really matter much. In one novel I wrote, “The orchestra lunged into a loud chord of twelve notes, all of them different.” Musicians hear the discord, nonmusicians don’t, but there’s nothing there to baffle them and prevent them reading on. I don’t understand baseball terms, but I can still enjoy Malamud’s The Natural. I don’t play bridge, but I find the bridge game in Fleming’s Moonraker absorbing—it’s the emotions conveyed that matter, not what the players are doing with their hands.
INTERVIEWER
What about film technique as an influence on your writing?
BURGESS
I’ve been much more influenced by the stage than by the film. I write in scenes too long for unbroken cinematic representation. But I like to run a scene through in my mind before writing it down, seeing everything happen, hearing some of the dialogue. I’ve written for both television and cinema, but not very successfully. Too literary, or something. I get called in by makers of historical films to revise the dialogue, which they then restore to its original form.
I
NTERVIEWER
Composers traffic heavily in transitions. Isn’t this particular instance of literary composition by musical analogy an example of “formal trickery,” best understood by the reader who is at least an amateur musician?
BURGESS
I think that music does teach practitioners in other arts useful formal devices, but the reader doesn’t have to know their provenance. Here’s an example. A composer modulates from one key to another by the use of the “punning” chord, the augmented sixth (punning because it is also a dominant seventh). You can change, in a novel, from one scene to another by using a phrase or statement common to both—this is quite common. If the phrase or statement means different things in the different contexts, so much the more musical.
INTERVIEWER
One notices that the form of A Vision of Battlements is meant to be similar to that of Ennis’s passacaglia, but can any but the most tenuously analogous relation be established between literature and music generally?
BURGESS
I agree that the musico-literary analogies can be pretty tenuous, but in the widest possible formal sense—sonata form, opera, and so on—we’ve hardly begun to explore the possibilities. The Napoleon novel I’m writing apes the Eroica formally—irritable, quick, swiftly transitional in the first movement (up to Napoleon’s coronation); slow, very leisurely, with a binding beat suggesting a funeral march for the second. This isn’t pure fancy: It’s an attempt to unify a mass of historical material in the comparatively brief space of about 150,000 words. As for the reader having to know about music—it doesn’t really matter much. In one novel I wrote, “The orchestra lunged into a loud chord of twelve notes, all of them different.” Musicians hear the discord, nonmusicians don’t, but there’s nothing there to baffle them and prevent them reading on. I don’t understand baseball terms, but I can still enjoy Malamud’s The Natural. I don’t play bridge, but I find the bridge game in Fleming’s Moonraker absorbing—it’s the emotions conveyed that matter, not what the players are doing with their hands.
INTERVIEWER
What about film technique as an influence on your writing?
BURGESS
I’ve been much more influenced by the stage than by the film. I write in scenes too long for unbroken cinematic representation. But I like to run a scene through in my mind before writing it down, seeing everything happen, hearing some of the dialogue. I’ve written for both television and cinema, but not very successfully. Too literary, or something. I get called in by makers of historical films to revise the dialogue, which they then restore to its original form.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Monday, November 14, 2011
Friday, November 11, 2011
Thursday, November 10, 2011
@flavorpill, 11/10/11 1:39 PM
 Flavorpill (@flavorpill)11/10/11 1:39 PM Famous Magazines' First Covers http://t.co/rdaqGN1O |
Sent from my iPhone
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
Journal Entry
10/10/11-Monday AM
Up at 5am, read some Buk. No memorable dreams to record. Showered, dressed and out the door by 5:30am. Listening to Philip Roth's
Operation Shylock (Listened to it before) Roth's writing is deceptive in its simplicity. His voice is lyrical and sparse at the same time, giving the reader information, like social theory, law and politics without losing the reader to boredom. The cadence and beats to his prose are marvelous. I don't know how he does it.
4 hr bus run, brought my review bk, but only read a couple of pages. Mostly talked to SG and texted with TS. Read about Kundalini yoga and Rod Stewart on IPhone. Discussed with SH about the nuances and the work involved when it comes to marriage.
Stopped at Hess for Wrap and redbull, read 10 pages of Secrets of the Worlds Best-Selling Writer: The Storytelling Techniques of Erle Stanley Gardner (creator of Perry Mason.) What inspired me more than anything else was that even during the depression there was still a need for writers. Eases my mind in regards to my desire to make a living writing during the current economy.
I'm seeing patterns in the world and only time will tell if my inferences are right. Sent from my iPhone
Up at 5am, read some Buk. No memorable dreams to record. Showered, dressed and out the door by 5:30am. Listening to Philip Roth's
Operation Shylock (Listened to it before) Roth's writing is deceptive in its simplicity. His voice is lyrical and sparse at the same time, giving the reader information, like social theory, law and politics without losing the reader to boredom. The cadence and beats to his prose are marvelous. I don't know how he does it.
4 hr bus run, brought my review bk, but only read a couple of pages. Mostly talked to SG and texted with TS. Read about Kundalini yoga and Rod Stewart on IPhone. Discussed with SH about the nuances and the work involved when it comes to marriage.
Stopped at Hess for Wrap and redbull, read 10 pages of Secrets of the Worlds Best-Selling Writer: The Storytelling Techniques of Erle Stanley Gardner (creator of Perry Mason.) What inspired me more than anything else was that even during the depression there was still a need for writers. Eases my mind in regards to my desire to make a living writing during the current economy.
I'm seeing patterns in the world and only time will tell if my inferences are right. Sent from my iPhone
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Monday, October 3, 2011
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Friday, September 30, 2011
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Monday, September 26, 2011
Russell Banks’s Novel ‘Lost Memory of Skin’ - Review - NYTimes.com
I love the works of Russell Banks, especially his short stories and his powerful novels, Rule of the Bone and Continental Drift. Banks always seems to be a step ahead of his contemporaries. His powers of observation are uncanny and his prose style has the musicality of Updike.
An idea for a novel like Lost Memory of Skin has been in the back of my head for a couple of years now. It might be the next project after I finish writing my novel Viscosity, not sure yet. Anyway, I cannot wait to read his latest offering. check out the link
L
Russell Banks’s Novel ‘Lost Memory of Skin’ - Review - NYTimes.com:
'via Blog this'
An idea for a novel like Lost Memory of Skin has been in the back of my head for a couple of years now. It might be the next project after I finish writing my novel Viscosity, not sure yet. Anyway, I cannot wait to read his latest offering. check out the link
L
Russell Banks’s Novel ‘Lost Memory of Skin’ - Review - NYTimes.com:
'via Blog this'
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Theory of descriptions - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Stuff I'm Thinking About. http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theory_of_descriptions
Sent from my iPhone
Sent from my iPhone
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Tonight's Update
At the Poets For Peace reading tonight at Rock Hill, I read my new poem "Without Actually Dying" and some Vonnegut quotes. I think that it went very well, got some applause and a few people came up to me and asked for a copy of the poem. I ended my part of the reading with the Vonnegut quotes and got some great laughs. The turn-out was excellent, all the poets that were scheduled showed up, we had regular customers and some student poets in the audience. My daughter Kerr (she's 14, the reading inspired her to write a few poems too. She's found her poetical voice at a very early age, a damn talented writer).
Rereading my novel, in the beginning I was frustrated and unhappy with my prose. I am now excited and elated. As I read further into the narrative my writing gets tighter, better and doesn't lose the realism or the lyricism. Editing it as a whole, no longer seems such a daunting task. I actually looking forward to the final edit.
L
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
A case against watching 9/11 ten year memorial
If I were ten years old, then yeah, this article is apt enough for parents to take heed. I'm forty-three, damn close to forty-four, I know what disturbs me, I know my own comfort zone well. I think that goes for the majority of people. Everything in this article is a given, no, it is common sense. If one is not moved to anxiety, nervousness, awe or remorse by the memories of 9/11 then one is desensitized and that is the individual's problem, not a doctor that decided to write a trite article in psychology Today
that states the obvious and tries to protect people from life experience, to protect one from one's self. Just my thoughts for what they're worth.
L http://m.psychologytoday.com/blog/here-there-and-everywhere/201109/the-case-a...
Sent from my iPhone
that states the obvious and tries to protect people from life experience, to protect one from one's self. Just my thoughts for what they're worth.
L http://m.psychologytoday.com/blog/here-there-and-everywhere/201109/the-case-a...
Sent from my iPhone
Friday, September 9, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Monday, September 5, 2011
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
[The Official Playwrights of Facebook] New Doc: September Opportunities
Sent from my iPhone
Begin forwarded message:
From: "Dusty Wilson" <fbmessage+mamaxwqa@facebookmail.com>
Date: August 31, 2011 6:53:25 PM EDT
To: The Official Playwrights of Facebook <2351514659@groups.facebook.com>
Subject: [The Official Playwrights of Facebook] New Doc: September Opportunities
Reply-To: Reply to Comment <g+40r0t2v000000bmnzca02rxzas9nvr00000012w14bn1v746@groups.facebook.com>
View Post on Facebook · Edit Email Settings · Reply to this email to add a comment.
Onychomancy - The Encyclopedia of Divination
http://www.adula.com/index.php?title=
Onychomancy Reminds me of some behaviors shown in some autism.
Sent from my iPhone
Onychomancy Reminds me of some behaviors shown in some autism.
Sent from my iPhone
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
Daily Kos: Running the Industrial Revolution in Reverse
Research for SF novel and or AD 2000 Future Shock, Reverse Industrial Revolution, Dystopian, Stuff I'm thinking about. http://www.dailykos.com/story/2011/08/21/1008941/-Running-the-Industrial-Revo...
Sent from my iPhone
Sent from my iPhone
Slate Magazine
I need to learn to write faster. http://mobile.slate.com/rss.jsp?rssid=411&item=http%3a%2f%2fwww.slate.com%2fd...
Sent from my iPhone
Sent from my iPhone
Slate Magazine
I need to learn to write faster. http://mobile.slate.com/rss.jsp?rssid=411&item=http%3a%2f%2fwww.slate.com%2fd...
Sent from my iPhone
Sent from my iPhone
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Friday, August 26, 2011
William Somerset Maugham - Biography and Works. Search Texts, Read Online. Discuss.
STUFF I'M THINKING ABOUT http://www.online-literature.com/maugham/
Sent from my iPhone
Sent from my iPhone
DAILY IMPROV 8
Saving Ourselves I sing unto to you songs of love and life,
Whispers to your ears, the tickles
Of my words that ignite your
Heart
And stokes into flame the your leviathan mind
Our thoughts are energy
that Courses into our mouths
When our lips touch and we melt, juxtaposed by a kiss and
Mutual electrocution,
Nerve endings standing tall in the saddle to ride like prayer
To the setting sun,
angelic and holy. I fall at your feet
And worship what is
And what could be. Sent from my iPhone
Whispers to your ears, the tickles
Of my words that ignite your
Heart
And stokes into flame the your leviathan mind
Our thoughts are energy
that Courses into our mouths
When our lips touch and we melt, juxtaposed by a kiss and
Mutual electrocution,
Nerve endings standing tall in the saddle to ride like prayer
To the setting sun,
angelic and holy. I fall at your feet
And worship what is
And what could be. Sent from my iPhone
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
THE DAILY IMPROV #8
Poetically Pathetic
There are problems with The writing of poetry.
the biggest,
the poem shouldn't Sound too much like
a poem,
otherwise it smells
up the page, nothing
but farts and belches
on each line, stinking,
breath, ass and feet,
nothing original,
only that organic earthiness
that comes with rot. The poems that rhyme like those by Shelly, and Byron, Suess
and Ogden Nash were clever
and enlightening, but the advent
of pop music and the greeting
card business has ruined the A B A format.
The four lines per stanza with alternating rhyming lines
Leaves me cold,
especially my old Beatle's, Pink Floyd inspired stuff,
the whole moon, June, croon, spoon thing irritates me.
And I really become annoyed when a poem states the obvious. We owe to ourselves to explore beyond the obvious.
Each line should contain the microcosms of a tiny universe,
that blend each macroscopic mmmmm with every ahhhhh.
That moment of vindication.
when the obvious is transcended
Virgil is not needed as guide through each concentric circle
Of hell. Sent from my iPhone
There are problems with The writing of poetry.
the biggest,
the poem shouldn't Sound too much like
a poem,
otherwise it smells
up the page, nothing
but farts and belches
on each line, stinking,
breath, ass and feet,
nothing original,
only that organic earthiness
that comes with rot. The poems that rhyme like those by Shelly, and Byron, Suess
and Ogden Nash were clever
and enlightening, but the advent
of pop music and the greeting
card business has ruined the A B A format.
The four lines per stanza with alternating rhyming lines
Leaves me cold,
especially my old Beatle's, Pink Floyd inspired stuff,
the whole moon, June, croon, spoon thing irritates me.
And I really become annoyed when a poem states the obvious. We owe to ourselves to explore beyond the obvious.
Each line should contain the microcosms of a tiny universe,
that blend each macroscopic mmmmm with every ahhhhh.
That moment of vindication.
when the obvious is transcended
Virgil is not needed as guide through each concentric circle
Of hell. Sent from my iPhone
Sunday, August 21, 2011
I've seen the light with eyes behind my head
Would you buy a used car from this man? 
Sent from my iPhone
THE DAILY IMPROV #7
No Nipple Clamps
Velvet monkeys shoot lasers from their eyes.
There are beans that are more dangerous than human beans.
Talking heads bow to those masters
That dabble with phonics and ebonics.
There is no way anything here makes sense,
unless my subconscious actually influences the economy and I
know where there is a door that allows access to Obama's mind.
I abbreviate those things that have lengths, the URLS shorten with will power and there is no mail today.
You don't have mail.
Mopping floors and scrubbed away, the pirates bleed on the chests of booze and women that We all love.
Victory Bung Poop.
Pity Newt Gingrich.
Tired and dragged
I dream that I am
Dead.
No more nipple
Clamps
Only nipple rings and piercings.
Arg!
TSent from my iPhone
Velvet monkeys shoot lasers from their eyes.
There are beans that are more dangerous than human beans.
Talking heads bow to those masters
That dabble with phonics and ebonics.
There is no way anything here makes sense,
unless my subconscious actually influences the economy and I
know where there is a door that allows access to Obama's mind.
I abbreviate those things that have lengths, the URLS shorten with will power and there is no mail today.
You don't have mail.
Mopping floors and scrubbed away, the pirates bleed on the chests of booze and women that We all love.
Victory Bung Poop.
Pity Newt Gingrich.
Tired and dragged
I dream that I am
Dead.
No more nipple
Clamps
Only nipple rings and piercings.
Arg!
TSent from my iPhone
Saturday, August 20, 2011
THE DAILY IMPROV 6
The ends of things 1.
I bought a tiny new notebook today and put it in my pocket.
Its blank pages I consider An affront And a challenge
I want to fill the negative
Space
With positive matter and I
Know how dangerous That can be, 2.
How, everything that seems
Important to everyone Will come to an abrupt
Ending. 3.
People are afraid of endings
They are too terminal,
Too inflexible and too
Static,
And that is why they never
Finish anything, they're Scared of the state of
Completion,
Terrified to be committed
To some kind of
Finality and fixed
Determination. 4.
And they go back to the beginnings
And find comfort in revisions,
Killing their darlings And starting over and over
Never reaching the ends of things 5.
And then there are those that deny they trade Freedom for security And deserve neither
Because they're stuck
Between lines, from
A majority point of view
And mount up in a crusader frenzy To storm the castles and keeps
of the Holy Land to bring back
Treasures that lose their value
And may have been worthless All along. 7.
There is a futility of marrying or having a relationship with partners with Polarities that push away and all that time claim love. They deprive themselves evenness and try to be what and who they
Are not and could never be.
They turn their backs on true attractions and to whom they wish to surrender
But they fight against being repelled,
And hope their oaths, vows,
rationalizations, intellectualizing, And the deep seated need to do right by the other, an almost
Psychotic compulsion to do what is considered good and normal in their own eyes and the eyes of everyone else
Force them to live against themselves And the natural order of
The ends of things.
Sent from my iPhone
I bought a tiny new notebook today and put it in my pocket.
Its blank pages I consider An affront And a challenge
I want to fill the negative
Space
With positive matter and I
Know how dangerous That can be, 2.
How, everything that seems
Important to everyone Will come to an abrupt
Ending. 3.
People are afraid of endings
They are too terminal,
Too inflexible and too
Static,
And that is why they never
Finish anything, they're Scared of the state of
Completion,
Terrified to be committed
To some kind of
Finality and fixed
Determination. 4.
And they go back to the beginnings
And find comfort in revisions,
Killing their darlings And starting over and over
Never reaching the ends of things 5.
And then there are those that deny they trade Freedom for security And deserve neither
Because they're stuck
Between lines, from
A majority point of view
And mount up in a crusader frenzy To storm the castles and keeps
of the Holy Land to bring back
Treasures that lose their value
And may have been worthless All along. 7.
There is a futility of marrying or having a relationship with partners with Polarities that push away and all that time claim love. They deprive themselves evenness and try to be what and who they
Are not and could never be.
They turn their backs on true attractions and to whom they wish to surrender
But they fight against being repelled,
And hope their oaths, vows,
rationalizations, intellectualizing, And the deep seated need to do right by the other, an almost
Psychotic compulsion to do what is considered good and normal in their own eyes and the eyes of everyone else
Force them to live against themselves And the natural order of
The ends of things.
Sent from my iPhone
Thursday, August 18, 2011
THE DAILY IMPROV #5 NO CONTROL
No Control The remote control slip out of Grant's hand, fell between his legs and plopped into the dirty toilet water. He had been looking forward all day to watching American Idol, his fav. The guy's on the road crew had been talking about the new chick on there that hit all those high notes. Grant read somewhere that Pat Benatar had sang opera or was trained as an opera singer or some shit. But this chick on Idol, all the guys on the crew liked her. Liked her hell, they fucking loved her or they would have loved to fuck her. Even Toby, that quiet fucker who didn't say shit if he had a mouthful was turned on by her. Grant asked him point blank and Toby gave him a look that had 'Duh' written all over it. They stood around and bull shitted, leaning on their shovels or on the sides of the one dump trucks. The goddamn Caterpillar D10NC Bulldozer shit the bed again and they had to wait until the that creepy Sid Emerson, their so-called onsite mechanic got done yanking his pud and fixed the dozer. It had been no skin of Grant's nose, as long as there were doughnuts to eat, coffee to drink and butts to smoke. He got paid by the hour whether he broke a fucking sweat or not. So, fuck them if they can't take a joke. The crew kept talking about that Idol opera singing chick. If she was a day over twenty-two Grant would eat his hard hat. And he said to the guys if Steve Tyler wasn't knocking her boots yet, Grant would eat his goddamn BVD'S too, after a drinking binge during hot wing night at Applebees. He was glad they didn't hold him to that bet.
All day long Grant leaned on his shovel and bullshitted with the guys just about until quitting time and the fat ass foreman showed and said that Sid had fixed the Dozer and then asked who wanted overtime. Grant bowed out claiming he had the trots and that he'd been "shitting his Goddamn brains out all day long on that fucking Ameri-Can that everybody said pinched their ass.
There was no way in hell he would miss his girl on Idol. But wouldn't ya know it, as soon as he got home his stomach acted up and he ended up being on the can shitting his brains out for six hours. Every time he thought it was out of his system and he went into his living room to relax a little, maybe smoke a stogie and drink a cold one, all these fucking fists clenched in his stomach and he'd barely make it back to the shitter, throw the seat up, drop trou and shorts and piss liquid shit from his ass. It burned like fuck. He be damned that he would miss American Idol. During a less painful bowel moment that wasn't a movement. Although he thought that would be funny, somebody shitting their pants during American idol. Grant squeezed his checks together, ran into the living room and set the television up in the bathroom doorway on a kitchen dinette chair. He stretched the electrical cord and plugged it into the outlet used for blow dryers, curling irons and other female crap. Luckily he had excess cable wire coiled up behind the tv. Fox was showing the last five minutes of a Simpson's episode. Grant liked the Simpsons but for the moment didn't give a shit about them now. Idol would be on soon and his stomach seized him again, like someone cinching his tummy tight like a lady's girdle. Another wave of cramps washed over him and for a minute he thought he was having a hear attack. Gas filled him up to the point where even his balls hurt. Each wave hurt more than the last. The next one hurt so bad he stood up while still on the bowl and screamed. that was when he dropped the remote control in the dirty toilet and the channel changed to QVC, no way was he going to fish that out and he couldn't reach the manual control on the television. His bowels clenched so hard that he thought his heart might stop from the agony. Idol was on right now and he wanted to see the chick. Instead he was stuck with the goddamn hag from the Quacker Factory or something and her tacky old lady clothes. He
reached out with his foot to try to turn the channel and his ass slid off the porcelain and he had almost shat on the seat bowl and himself. Oh damn it, damn it, damn it. He guessed he would have to wait until everything took its course. "Shit," he said out loud and did just that.
All day long Grant leaned on his shovel and bullshitted with the guys just about until quitting time and the fat ass foreman showed and said that Sid had fixed the Dozer and then asked who wanted overtime. Grant bowed out claiming he had the trots and that he'd been "shitting his Goddamn brains out all day long on that fucking Ameri-Can that everybody said pinched their ass.
There was no way in hell he would miss his girl on Idol. But wouldn't ya know it, as soon as he got home his stomach acted up and he ended up being on the can shitting his brains out for six hours. Every time he thought it was out of his system and he went into his living room to relax a little, maybe smoke a stogie and drink a cold one, all these fucking fists clenched in his stomach and he'd barely make it back to the shitter, throw the seat up, drop trou and shorts and piss liquid shit from his ass. It burned like fuck. He be damned that he would miss American Idol. During a less painful bowel moment that wasn't a movement. Although he thought that would be funny, somebody shitting their pants during American idol. Grant squeezed his checks together, ran into the living room and set the television up in the bathroom doorway on a kitchen dinette chair. He stretched the electrical cord and plugged it into the outlet used for blow dryers, curling irons and other female crap. Luckily he had excess cable wire coiled up behind the tv. Fox was showing the last five minutes of a Simpson's episode. Grant liked the Simpsons but for the moment didn't give a shit about them now. Idol would be on soon and his stomach seized him again, like someone cinching his tummy tight like a lady's girdle. Another wave of cramps washed over him and for a minute he thought he was having a hear attack. Gas filled him up to the point where even his balls hurt. Each wave hurt more than the last. The next one hurt so bad he stood up while still on the bowl and screamed. that was when he dropped the remote control in the dirty toilet and the channel changed to QVC, no way was he going to fish that out and he couldn't reach the manual control on the television. His bowels clenched so hard that he thought his heart might stop from the agony. Idol was on right now and he wanted to see the chick. Instead he was stuck with the goddamn hag from the Quacker Factory or something and her tacky old lady clothes. He
reached out with his foot to try to turn the channel and his ass slid off the porcelain and he had almost shat on the seat bowl and himself. Oh damn it, damn it, damn it. He guessed he would have to wait until everything took its course. "Shit," he said out loud and did just that.
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