Original Radioactive Jam

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Monday, June 27, 2005

Mr. Jam's Wild Ride Around A Book Meme

think thank thunk
Hey got any interluuds, man? Uh...what? No sir I do NOT get the reference, and have no idea why I typed it. Could be some latent, normally suppressed alter-ego. On the other hand, I have different fingers. Wow, so do you! Gaaah Spinning… out… of… control… whap!

Not sure if this is G.Lo’s fault or Carol’s, and – let’s face it – finding answers to deep existential questions involving virtually untraceable causality is normally left as an exercise to the reader. In the previous sentence, the root word “normal” is used as a reminder of something you’re not likely to see anywhere in this post. Buh-bye!

Book meme? Or Wild Ride Part Deux? Which one should I post? Suddenly, a light-bulb goes off in my head, which thanks to the typically low wattage had very little effect. Yes, the – no. It’s No, the freight train of thought – maybe it is yes. I’m almost never sure. Either way the freight train of thought kept right on sitting there on the tracks, baking in the Floriduh summertime sunshine, internal temperatures pushing 140 degrees F (60 degrees C for our enlightened reader). Must have been the vinyl mental furniture set out-gassing, or maybe just ordinary fumes, but suddenly I realized: I don’t have a million typewriters to keep all these monkeys busy. So? I’ll let them sort this out, I’m going to bed. Good-night. Buh-bye!

(Interlude Part Deux)
This is the second part of an apparently multi-part post. If you're like, an in medias res kind of reader, feel free to continue. Otherwise, scroll down the page for the first part.

You might recall our destination was Elsewhere, Indiana, a fine college town where my friend’s sister lived. Then again you might not. Recall. Truth is you should not, but if you did that’s okay, it’s mostly irrelevant anyway. We arrived at sister’s house, battered and bedraggled from riding in cars with suicidal maniacs. She and her husband gave us a warm welcome. That’s warm as in hot, as in angry and put-out and not at all happy to see us, mostly because my friend had neglected to ask if we could visit (No!) and/or stay (Hellogoodbye NO!).

Something else my friend neglected was to mention how he and his sister didn’t exactly get along, in the sense of an inability to tolerate each other's presence on the same side of a given state line. Thus the sister and her disturbing – enough – to – make – dying – in – a – maniac’s – Mustang – start – to – look – pretty – good husband wasted no time on long goodbyes. Or hellos, for that matter. They did however give us directions to the town’s fine college, where we could expect to find dorms available due to the onset of summer.

What they neglected to mention – and by this time I began to perceive a pattern of neglect, beginning with the caretakers of my friend’s family tree – was the lack of vacancy in the fine college dorms. Which is not to say the dorms were occupied. At least, not by students in the conventional sense. Yes, we were allowed to pay for and enter a dorm room. No, the dorms weren’t occupied by students. Yes, the dorms were occupied. No, my obviously sheltered life hadn’t prepared me to spend a night with a bazillion cockroaches. Yes, I will tell you all about it. No, not tonight, the monkeys say they are tired.

And yes, there are worse things than sharing a room with cockroaches. We experienced one such “thing” the very next day.

More. Soon.

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