Overtime: The Floor, Fall Issue 2010

Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/15 23:07 By: tqr Status: Admin
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[Rorschalk looks at his empty hand, wondering why the coin so rudely was taken from him and then why he was subjected to the ramblings of this strange little broker who's feeling Minnesota with Keanu Reeves obviously bullying his frontal lobe, which would be "chaneling" people, get with it, will you]

Boligard, get a holt of yerself. There are miles to go before we sleep. Hey, Did Dep ever come up from her pencil diving? Does she need an extra bottle of Oxygen? Get me some adrenaline stat! I'm going in!

[Rorschalk dives over Dep's empty chair and disappears into the depths below her vacant and darkly foreboding desktop]
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/17 06:44 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey stands and watches DeP's desk, waiting for results, tapping his toe, anxious]

hey!

[nothing happens. he sits, frowns. after a few beats he grabs up a fresh cap from the corner of his cherrywood and rips into it, eyeing DeP's desk now and then]

the show must go on, i s'pose. ok. let's see. we got some cap from a mister peak. a mister tony peak. looks like...yes, we have two caps from mister tony peak.

[doomey pulls some items from the brown paper parcel and arranges them on his desktop. he places a silver medallion inscribed with intricate symbols and an old charred robe to one side, and a severed head to the other. his attentions are aimed at the head, surprise surprise. he sees the head has been bashed in and he discovers the brains are missing. inside the skull he can see something has been scratched into the bone. it reads: Genevieve was here]

hah.

[doomey looks from one cap to the other, and then he eyes DeP's desk]

hey!

[nothing. he looks back to the cap, gazing at the robe and medallion and then the severed head. he taps out a smoke, lights up. smoke fills the Floor...]
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/18 00:53 By: deplancher Status: Admin
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[DeP emerges from the dark space beneath her desk, a sharpened blue pencil behind each ear and a silver gloves on both hands, the fingers cut out to show her fingernails have been painted vavoom yellow and black. She takes a deep breath, then arranges herself at her desk, straightening the remaining cap. Lights a candle, then a gitane.]

Doomey? Remember when I asked if you'd ever consider getting your ears clipped? Non? Anyway...[She adjusts a miniature mannequin so that his blue spandex suit isn't cutting off the circulation to this groin.]

I think you could start a new life at a Star Trek convention. It's possible, isn't it?

Work at it, Ms. Karmazin, and it will come. Right now, I cannot believe in this reinvention of Eric, although he does have possibilities if he's able to see past life with hollow Colette.

[She sticks the fuming gitane between her lips, pushes back the chair and walks At the Star Trek Convention to the porthole where it falls like a meteor shower to the gathering deluge below.]

Au revoir, a bientot, peut-etre.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/18 01:48 By: deplancher Status: Admin
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[On her way back to her desk, DeP flips Doomey a packet of licorice cigars. They are those rare kind, with the flecks of red candy dots on the end. He takes the box but says nothing. He is busy trying to meet the unmeetable deadline Theo has set. Something about a Home Stretch. DeP stops under the mirror ball, suddenly realizing that being crouched under her desk for so long has left her constricted and tense. She breathes in, breathes out. Stretching for Home. Or maybe it was Om.]

Babies don't need to stretch, do you know why? They haven't learned how to sustain a prolonged state of muscle spasm. They have no worries, at least the ones who are cared for don't. I can't think about the others.

[There's a rustling sound coming from her desk but DeP refuses to allow it to distract her from her down dog full spinal stretch. When she closes the pose, she is sure she hears a snicker from somewhere near the wardrobe.]

Jesus? Just get on with the dusting, d'accord? We all have our cross to bear.

[A gyrating little replica of the Buddha is doing some kind of hula dance on her desk. Do fog machines come this small? Rimbaud is pawing at a coin spinning in the centre of DeP's desk. She is grateful that she paused for some rest. It looks like somebody's pulling a fakie.]

What? You want a belly rub, little fat one?
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/18 03:16 By: deplancher Status: Admin
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[DeP limps over to the porthole. The little buddha guy has tripped her and she has had to collar him with one of Rimbaud's old bell collars. It is pink and accented with a few sparkly jewels. Buddha-faker resisted at first but he is co-operating now, having been given one of the licorice cigars.]

Ms Harrison's Have a Little Faith has taken the last train to quicksville via the porthole.

[Returning to her desk, DeP sees a letter addressed to her personally. Caps aside for a moment, personal mail...in writing...is rare and must be given its due respect.]

Dear Ms DePlanceree: I am a fifty-seven year old man, fat and lazy and...but, really, really tan.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/19 06:07 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey snickers]

DeP has a secret admirer, i see. nice, that.

[he stands and grabs up the two caps from his desktop and walks over to the tube. he flicks the switch, and the tube roars to life, whooooooooosh, pulling at his tie-tip. he tests the weight of each cap, the robe and medallion in his right palm, the severed head in his left. he gazes at the dead eyes that stare back at him from the bashed-in skull]

yo, poor alric. i'm nude, tim fellatio, a dude of intricate heft, of most excellent adventure. he bored me in the backside a few times too many for my tastes, and now...well, you know, there's the nightmares. thanks for the memories. my gorge rises at them.

[doomey stuffs the severed head up the tube and it's sucked upward]

i do declare, Tony Peak's Food For Thought has been Terminaled. however...

[he saunters over to the Porthole]

...Tony's The Wizards Too Many...

[doomey tosses the robe and the medallion out the tiny window]

...has been Portholed. now farts a noble arse. goodnight, sweet prince. and flocks of geese honk you to thighs grease.

[doomey gazes after the flitting, flapping robe as it rises, rises, rises into the storm]
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/19 06:46 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey rips into a fresh parcel of cap. out falls a digital voice recorder. he picks it up, looks it over. he hits a button and a pre-recorded message sounds. a weedy, female voice, like someone who has just hustled up a flight of steps]

you wouldn't believe what i've found out - but it sounds so fantastic i could not pay any attention to it.

[doomey hits a button and the voice is silenced]

huh?

[he scratches at his neck, scratches just under his shirt collar. he pushes a button on the recorder. a different voice this time. deeper, more confident, but with a slight lisp. perhaps a gay lawyer type voice, like say a lawyer was speaking to the jury, right? but he was gay. oh no. i'm starting to sound like bradlee]

the nanobot technique was supposed to help the planet's human inhabitants absorb its toxic atmosphere and enable them to breathe freely, but it did only up to a point. it worked fairly well in the beginning, though even then some people had to be sent back immediately, before they die as soon as they landed.

[doomey fast forwards the message]

after the first year of their stay, people started getting sick, then die, in large numbers.

doomey hits a button, the recorder goes die. doomey scratches his scalp. then he scratches neck again. then he digs into his shirt and scratches as far down his back as he can reach]

fuck me. nanobots.

[doomey grabs the digital recorder and rushes to the Porthole]

ok. fuck. Tala Bar's Opal Magic is hereby Portholed, sister. damn her eyes.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/19 21:53 By: deplancher Status: Admin
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[DeP smiles. She doesn't particularly want to read the letter but the letter has presented itself so she reads the fat man's words, skimming quickly in an effort to discover the point of this personal note from a stranger.]

You and that gay dude, Doomye, have a big responsibility to the world but I don't know if you could say that you take things as seriously as your positions suspend you to do.

With all dew respect, Ms. Duplancee, you and your smart dirt mouth friend are a bit of a disgrace now, are'nt you? As a man of words (and ultimate tannibility, ha ha) I feel it my duly to afford you this information. I hop you don't mind or are insulted by my fortituate as I do see you and Mr. Boligart as the nevough in editorship. You and that TQR. You are all the futur.

I just want you to be the best you can be, if you hear the tune to that song, ha ha..

[DeP stops reading a minute. Her freshly lacquered lips twitch slightly. She is bemused by this innocent, well-intentioned gnat, though tempted to correct the errors in his missive with a red pen and return it for revision.]

Doomey? We've got mail. [she refolds the letter without reading the rest, feeling she's got the overall intent of the thing.] If you want to read it, it'll be on my desk.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/19 22:07 By: deplancher Status: Admin
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[DeP opens the box labeled Lionel. Mick Jagger's voice is in there, down deep and hollow, but she can still make out the words...well, I followed her to the station, he drawls from somewhere under a culvert. Or maybe a trestle.]

Woo-whoooo! This Monsieur Holland knows somehow that I cannot resist the sound of a train whistle, of the train in the distance, rolling up the track, going a-clackety clackety clak.

This Mercury ain't got no blues, Doomey-san. Look out mama...I mean, Terminali. Monsieur Holland's Opus...I mean, Mercury, is rising up. [under her breath, she whispers in a husky voice: all aboard! but her voice is lost in the long whistle of the northbound train as she rolls the cap up neatly and waits for it to be sucked into the realms above.]

I feel good, mon ami. Let's have a little break before midnight, d'accord? I'll get the glasses. You get your medicine, Dr. Doomey. You get your medicine.

[she reaches for a gitane, a hand emerges from the darkness near the wardrobe, lighting it with s single, yellow flame.]
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/20 09:20 By: tqr Status: Admin
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C'mon baby, lick my fire...
[so says Rorschalk extending hi Zippo for Dep's inhalation, then striding out from behind the wardrobe, shaking mothballs from his blue dreds, reaking of sea salt and vinegar]
Ha. You thought you'd leave me down there in your hollow. Well. Think again, sister. What's the buzz about senor Holland's Opus? Richard Dreyfuss deserves no such fuss, eh? But let us not talk of country matters, noncle. What was I saying? Oh yes. I have been to the deeps. You think Gandalf the grey turned white in a day? Nay! You see, time and tide are different entities and in different locales. Once upon a time we had a cap that illustrated that beautifully. A young girl stuck on the event horizon of some singularity who needed to find fare to get the hell off. I wish I remembered her name... You two brigands are obviously stuck on the slow side of town. I must away to the other side of the tracks to make sure nothing untoward affects the outcome of the things that are yet to come. Good day!
[With that, Rorschalk opens the wardrobe and disappears inside. The wooden contraption shudders and shakes, but then is still as Deplancher makes love to her gitane and ponders]

Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/21 09:00 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey walks over to DeP's desk. he picks up the letter lying there and reads silently to himself, his lips moving, his eyes squinting, his brow furrowing. after a few minutes he puts the letter down]

this is from fucking bradlee, isn't it. goddamn his eyes.

[he saunters back to his desk]

not like i didn't mean to make an enemy, but...

[he sits squeakily, taps out a smoke, lights up]

well, it sounds like brad's a fan, eh? he likes us? not sure how that settles with me. did you respond? did you send him flowers? what are you up to, DeP? what's bradlee up to? hm. the mysteries that hover about on the Floor are legion. like, how many fucking secret entrances does theo have in here? he's sliding from the ceiling down a pole one instant, swinging in from the wings on a rope the next. he's in the wardrobe, he's in a desk drawer. what's next, i wonder? he'll rise from the tiles? he'll just appear? poof?

DeP, what the hell are you doing to that poor cigarette?

[doomey shakes his head, leans forward, grabs some fresh cap]

best i get back to work, i s'pose. theo wants to rush us, eh? well, i say fuck that, sister. rush me. not gonna happen, butch. i figure, the longer i take, the longer the Floor stays open, the less time i'll have to find other places to sleep, eh? not that i sleep much these days. worries, DeP. i's gots worries, friend. cement shoes just my size, that's worry numero uno, eh? i'm gonna have a fucking tuna as a bedmate, eh? i need goodstuff. right now my money's on Miller, but what the fuck do i know, eh? i'm just a broker. i do the best i can with what's sent me, eh? it's outta my hands, DeP. we have no control over this, and that damn cat upstairs is gonna rip me a new one for sending him that Sykora cap, i just know it. but i was desperate, you know? like when you first start the quarter and you're wading through the slush, right? and your thinking, shit, man, so far no goodstuff, i need goodstuff or my clients are gonna tie my tongue to my balls and throw me overboard, right? so you figure you better find something quick so your thinking becomes askewed, DeP. it becomes warped and wrong, you know what i'm saying? so we Terminal a cap that maybe shouldn't have been Terminaled, you know? and then you get all worried, thinking oh shit i talked bad about a VCs cap and now they're gonna hunt me down and cut out my liver, as if they can hear what i'm saying in here? hah! what? they have bugs in here? jesus is a double-agent? nah. we're buried on the second page. nobody's listening in on us? but you can see now, eh, DeP? i got worries galore. i worry too much.

[he reaches in a drawer, pulls out a bottle of amber and pours himself a tumbler-full. he takes a few sips. the booze seems to balance him somewhat, puts some color in his cheeks]

worries.

[he sits and stares into space. a minute passes. bukowski's ghost walks past, farting with each ghostly footfall. doomey slaps his desktop]

back to work. baby needs some new shoes.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/21 10:12 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey rips into the fresh cap]

let's see here.

[sand dumps onto doomey's desktop with a hiss. doomey's already spitting, trying to keep the stuff out of his mouth, squinting his eyes against the grainy wash. it keeps pouring out of the parcel, much more sand than the parcel could possibly hold. he has his arms straight out in front of him, holding the torn open parcel over the desktop as far from him as he can get it, and the sand just keeps dumping onto his desk, making a pile and broadening out, running over the edges, the hiss becoming a roar. as the sand tumbles to the tiles, a dust cloud arises, obscuring the Floor from sight]

holy fucking hell. Jesus Christ! get the dustbuster! stat!
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/23 06:28 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[the dust clears. where doomey's desk usually sits is a huge pile of sand. it's a sand dune, really. with the little waves caused by the winds. pristine, noble...ah, but wait. see? all good things come an end. near the tip of the sand dune a human hand jets forth, holding a white flag, waving it as only the truly vanquished can. a muffled voice can be heard coming from within the sand dune]

i hereby proclaim Kirsten Davis's When the Sandstorms Pass Terminaled. god save the queen.

[the hand keeps waving the flag, back and forth, and then, like a toy robot, it seems to wind down until it droops, a wilted flower. the flag drops to the sand, slides down the dune, ruining the flow of the wavlets. the hand grabs a handful of sand and thows it aside. it grabs another and throws it aside. then the hand wavers, looking the part of a panting, weary dog. this goes on for a minute or so. the muted voice can be heard again]

help.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/23 14:51 By: deplancher Status: Admin
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[the fool moon has listed behind some clouds, prompting DeP to stray away from the window where she's been standing and smoking for some time. She schleps back to her desk, though she does not sit in the chair. Instead, she lifts the hem of her cloak...it's cold in here...and hops with ease onto the corner of her desk where she fingers some cut out dolls, laying out a selection of cut-out clothes in a row just above them.]

Oh look at this one! Embroidery and feathers with red satin shoes. This I could make for your girlfriend, Doomey. [she turns to locate Doomey who appears lost in the suspense of his latest cap]

Too bourgeois? Too coquettish? Too what's-for-dinner Bernadettish? Too slutty maybe, this one?

[DeP selects attire for each of the five cut-out dolls clad in varied colours of undergarments, all smiling with clean, even teeth. Except for the raven-haired one, whose smile is that of a deviant. Or a suspect.]

Dark eyed girls are always planning something, Doomey.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/23 16:33 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey stands, sweeps the front of his suit coat with his palms, knocking the last of the sand to the floorboards. he taps out a smoke, lights up. he walks to mid-Floor, the colored tiles under his shoes lighting up in their particular hues as he steps on them and snuffing out as he steps off]

you know, DeP...

[he looks down at his feet. he steps backwards, watching in awe as the tiles light up and darken]

hey, man. these glass tiles did not fucking do that before.

[he walks around the Floor, making patterns. he tries to moonwalk, fails staggeringly. what's he doing now? is he trying to mimic the billy jean video? how imbarrassing for him. he does so not have skills, let me tell you. oh, god, he just grabbed his crotch. this is hard to watch. close my eyes, give it a minute..and, yes, he's given up the mike jackson impersonation. phew. he's standing at the edge of DeP's desk]

you know, DeP. you're the only woman in my life. not saying i haven't tried. it's just that the Queen's Rump does not attract the sort of women that...who am i kidding. the Queen's Rump does not attract any women. the only people that go there are from the office, the TQR office. am i right?...huh. that's weird. never really thought about it before, but, i swear i've never seen a stranger in the Rump. hm. i did once watch a film called Stranger in the Rump, but that's like a totally different sort of thing. no, but, hey, DeP, come on, i mean, you know? my last girlfriend's cooking was like a good man. hard to keep down. my last girlfriend was like a greek statue. beautiful but not all there, you know? i told my last girlfriend that i'd go to the ends of the world for her and she said yeah, but would you stay there. my last girlfriend called me and told me to come over, told me there was nobody home. so i went over. there was nobody home! my last girlfriend was so ugly that when she was at work, she worked at a pet store, customers kept asking how big she would get. my last girlfriend's teeth were like stars. ah, the memories. her teeth would come out every night...so you can see why i avoid jumping back into a relationship, eh, DeP? i mean, it's real tough for a guy to find a great girlfriend. they're like parking spaces. all the best ones are taken and the ones available are handicapped.

[doomey looks down at the paper dolls DeP is fussing with]

DeP...

[he looks her in the eyes, she looks up, there's an awkward moment, like maybe DeP is afraid doomey is going to kiss her, or maybe she wants him to kiss her but she doesn't, at the same time, right? you guys know what i'm talking about? like when there's a cliff at your toes and you want to jump...but you don't want to jump? or, like, when there's a tar pit in your way and you want to save time by not going around it, diving in and swimming across, but you don't want to? or, okay, let's say you're at a nude beach...]

DeP, who fucked with the tiles, sister? i mean, what the fuck, eh?

[eck. anyway, doomey goes back to his desk, grabs up the latest cap, blah, blah, blah. so on and so on, ad infintum]
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/25 06:44 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey unwraps the latest cap. a hardback copy of kafka's penal colony and an old beat up copy of A Christmas Carol, their pages interwoven, the book covers bent back as they crowd each other, making the duo look like a beast with two backs, or some crass 2D diorama of kansas after a tornado. doomey tries to pull the two books apart, his efforts wasted. try and pull two phonebooks apart after their pages have been interlaced. try it. impossible. doomey gives up, and he lets the book beast drop to his desktop. he pokes at it, knuding it along the cherrywood, and he begins to hum a tune, a john phillip sousa tune by the tempre of it. he stands and walks the cap over to the tube. he flicks the switch, whooooooooooooooooooooosh, and he sends the cap upward]

gordon sharp's the recidivist has been Terminaled, folks. that's right. write it down. word.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/26 06:32 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey pulls out a half empty bottle of amber and he pours a couple tumbler-fulls. he taps out a smoke, lights up, grabs a tumbler and leans back in his chair. the corner of his cherrywood is empty of cap]

well, DeP. that does it for me. seems the fat lady has sang and she's exited stage left and she's taken off her bra and gone home to beat the wife-husband. here's to hoping i don't end up at the bottom of the lake, eh?

[he lifts his glass and then he downs the amber in one gulp]
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/26 16:33 By: deplancher Status: Admin
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[DeP has been staring at the wall across the room. Doomey's revelations about hard-hearted women weigh heavy. Is she, DeP, a hard-hearted, mean woman she wonders? She thinks of holding Doomey like a mother but she is not his mother. She is...his dancing partner. They share these steps inside these walls where no one..wait! where EVERYone can see them. They are like exotic fish, swimming round and round and round until the waves they create for themselves become too much and they sink, spent to the bottom of the bowl to rest on the shiny green stones, on the illuminated tiles that stablize the Floor under the watchful eye of the omniscient Mirror Ball.]

Is it safe? [she squeezes her eyes tightly closed. all this staring has given rise to a nasty little aching in the back of her neck. She needs a massage. Or a tablet of some kind.]

I can't seem to dress these dolls so that they don't look grotesque. Look. [she holds one up to the light. It's all frilly and white but there's something misaligned about the face. DeP sets it down, careful to place it at a distance from Rimbaud, who is asleep in his basket.]

Ms. Povey's Witch has gone sailing. The dolls will find new fabric in the deluge. [she drops the dolls one by one from the ledge of the porthole and watches them as they float silently down.]

Do you think that old lady's bra would make a good hanging apple holder? I feel like apples.

And Doomey? I'm glad you're the one I share this space with. For what it's worth, I really hope those guys, your clients I mean, don't put your legs in cement and through you into the river.

Je vous manquerais, mon ami. Je vous manquerais.

[she rubs her neck, then moves to sit on the edge of Doomey's desk where he hands her a small tumbler. They sit in silence, smoking, sipping, and pondering the fate of the caps that have risen and those that have been set free.]

Week 4: The Floor, Fall Issue 2010

Week 4. Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/08/09 08:27 By: tqr Status: Admin
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The home stretch, you loves.
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Re:Week 4 Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/08/10 08:16 By: doomey Status: Admin
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Home stretch?

[doomey looks around wildly, frantic]

no. say it ain't so. i still need more goodstuff or i'll be sleeping with fishes, man. this is fucked.

[he looks into nothing as if there's a camera recording him and he's looking straight into the lens imploringly]

come on, VCs. send it. you can do it, sisters. what? you want to see old boli wearing cement boots doing the samba at the bottom of the sea? you wanna see me dead? well, maybe some of you do, but please, the rest of you who don't know me from adam sandler, don't know me for the asshole i am, please send goodstuff! rip the world a new one, VCs! blow minds!

[he sits and breathes heavy]

i am fucked.
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Re:Week 4 Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/08/12 09:46 By: tqr Status: Admin
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[A shadow, like a spider patrolling its web in the dark corner of the room, flits across the far wall. But it is only Rorschalk rapelling down the North Face. He plants both feet on the Floor with a sharp click and releases the ropes from his caribiner as he turns]

Greetings from the top! So...

[He swaggers over to the space twixt Dep and Doomey's desks in his tight fitting Gortex climbing garb, brightly colored just shy of earth tone pastels]

What's shaking? Have we any PCGs on the horizon?
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Re:Week 4 Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/08/14 07:49 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey looks rorschalk over]

nice, ted. digging the tights.

[doomey holds up a silver dollar]

this, ted, is what you've come down here for, me thinks.

[he thumbs the silver dollar up into the air, flipping it edge over edge, and it travels an arc, glinting under the mirrorball, from point A, doomey, to point B, rorschalk. theodore catches the coin, gazes at it]

90% silver, that, ted. 90% silver, 10% copper. that there's a morgan dollar, sister. hard to find. now look...

[theodore brings the silver close, squints at it]

look at the date, ted. 1877. right? now, the funny thing is, the morgan dollar was only minted from 1878 until 1921. so that makes this particular coin some sort of, like, you know, an anomaly, eh? like in one of them star trek episodes, eh?

[theodore lowers the coin, and he stares at doomey blankly. one can only guess that theodore is wondering how long he's going to have to listen to this inane blather, and he might be wondering just how dumb doomey is. but one doesn't want to put thoughts in anybody's head]

so...

[...now does one. especially not theodore rorschalk's head]

as i was saying...

[...seeing as how rorschalk's head must be filled with the strangest of thoughts]

would you fucking stop that.

[...least strange of all being the images of monkeys in dresses serving tea at an outdoor porno convention]

oh fuck this.

[...in the arctic zone. but, anyway, doomey gets up, walks around his cherrywood and grabs the coin from theodore. he stomps over to the tube, flicks the switch, whooosh, blah blah blah, so on and so on]

Don Chance's The Legend of Katie Dollar has heretoward been promoted to the Terminal.
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Re:Week 4 Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/08/14 08:57 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey leans back in his chair squeakily. he shakes out a newspaper and slams it down on his desktop. he'd been reading an article about somesuch, i dunno, but whatever it was seems to have upset him. he leans forward and pokes his fingertip at a particular paragraph]

DeP! listen to this.

[he reads]

"Homosexuals play the victim when they are, in fact, the predator. On average, they molest 117 people before they’re found out. How many kids have been destroyed, how many adults have been destroyed because of crimes against nature?"

[doomey leans back, and then he busts out laughing. he can't stop, it would seem. he clasps his stomach, he beats the cherrywood (hah), he grasps the edge of his desk white-knuckled, and he ends up bashing his head onto his desktop, upsetting the pile of cap that rests on the corner. he calms. he sits back]

my god! what a fucking asshole.

[doomey goes about folding the newspaper all nice and neat, tidying up]

that's a quote by some cat named bradlee dean. brad is the founder of You Can Run But You Cannot Hide International, and he's the drummer in a band called junkyard prophets or something like that. junkyard pedophiles? not sure. s'pose i should get my facts straight before i...oh fuck that. he said that on average gay dudes molest 117 people? each? every gay guy, on average...wait a minute. on average? where the fuck does this guy get his info? what stats page does he subscribe to? i would have to guess that there's no way brad said this. has to be a lie. i mean, DeP, come on...

[doomey rips open the newspaper and holds it out so it can be seen by DePlancher. DePlancher, fyi, is paying absolutely no attention to the doomster. she is working away at some new cap]

look at this guy!

[pictured is an average looking male, long hair (dark hair now, no more blond dye, what's up with that, braaaadlee?), average body build (except for all the haaa-uge muscles), a slight redneck tilt to his stance, a spark of hate in his dreamy eyes, blah blah blah, so on and so on]

you can't tell me this cat said those really horribly stupid things, eh? has to be a lie. has. to. be. a. fucking. lie. you with me on this, DeP? we on the same page? we slurpin' from the same milkshake? DeP?

[he brings down the newspaper, crumpling it into his lap]

DeP?
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Re:Week 4 Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/08/14 09:26 By: Jesus Status: Admin
Karma: 2
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Posts: 199



[Jesus Christ tap-dances onto the Floor. Where the heck did he come from this time? You know, the more this guy shows up, doing the weird things he does, makes me think he might be more than just your AVERAGE janitor. Kind of freaks me out. But what do you guys care what freaks me out? I'm just the narrator. I'm just the dude that tells the dudes what the other dudes are doing. Anywhat...Where were we? Ah, yes. Jesus Christ tap-dances onto the Floor. He holds a printout, and as he passes Doomey's desk, he hands off the printout. He tap-dances off the Floor. blah blah blah. so on and so on]
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Re:Week 4 Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/08/14 10:21 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
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Posts: 1482



[doomey picks up the printout]

ooo. an article from the minnesota independent. oh i love a good article. lend me your ear and i'll read you an article. hah. anyway, DeP, you wanna hear this?

[DePlancher has gone under her desk for a dropped pencil]

okay then. here goes.

[doomey clears his throat. he reads the printout]

“he’s un-american!” bradlee dean’s opinion of president barack obama — broadcast on his radio show “the school of hard knocks roxx” on apr. 4 — may echo that of fellow minnesotan, rep. michele bachmann, who in october 2008 told MSNBC’s chris matthews she’d like to see an investigation into whether obama and members of congress hold “anti-american” views.

but he takes his views where she wouldn’t. bachmann backed off her statement, saying she was misunderstood and railroaded by matthews, but dean recently went on to say Obama is “not american. he’s unpatriotic to the max. folks, he doesn’t have the spirit of a president.”

yet, bachmann still stands behind dean, who runs an annandale-based christian ministry that brings an evangelical message into churches, prisons, and public schools. next month, she’s headlining a fundraiser for that ministry, called You Can Run But You Cannot Hide (YCRBYCH), in bloomington on nov. 12. YCRBYCH says they will use the funds raised to reach others with their ministry — often public school students.

following a minnesota independent report earlier this month that featured sources who question the constitutionality of the group’s taxpayer-funded assemblies at public schools, YCRBYCH scrubbed its podcasts and audio archives from iTunes and the several websites it maintains. but the minnesota independent has obtained several of the group’s audio offerings, which give an overview of the opinions bachmann is endorsing by headlining the fundraiser.

on the april 4 show, a caller, lynn, said that obama was not a u.s. citizen. dean replied, channeling a bit of bachmann, “he’s un-american, he’s not american, he’s unpatriotic to the max.”

on aug. 1, dean recited an open letter from the white house: “truth be told with each passing day more and more americans are unable to get the health care they need,” he read. to that, dean added, “in other words, obama is saying, ‘i can give it to you, who’s yo...daddy?’”

[doomey gently puts the printout down atop his cherrywood. he closes his eyes, he breathes deeply, evenly. after a minute of this, he picks up the printout and begins to read from it]

on the same topic, dean attempted to speak for african americans.

“just this week me and steph [dean's wife] just began to ask people on the street, ‘what do you think about obama?’ we asked two black folks, which the color didn’t matter to me, but i do care more about their perspective right...now...because...

[doomey slaps down the printout]

fucks sake, brad.

[he closes his eyes again. breathes deep and regular. another minute ticks by. another minute i'll never get back. finally he picks up the printout and reads from where he'd left off]

...because it seems like the black communities are not for this guy at all. i believe there’s, like, a 70 percent ratio that they are very angry at this administration for what he is doing to them because this isn’t what they voted for. this isn’t what they signed up for.”

McMillian chimed...

[doomey squints, presses his lips tight. he's made a decision. like we care.

ok. i am not going to read her name anymore. it's long and it bugs me, so...

[he reads on]

McChick chimed in, “they realize they’ve been used.”

in august when the show aired, polling of african american voters showed approval in the 80 to 90 percent range.

[doomey jumps in his chair, barking a laugh or two, looking like a little kid. a little brat fresh from a dirty roll in the mud under the house. blah blah blah. so on and so on]

hah! fuck you brad. seems the dude isn't as cool as i thought. so fuck you, brad. and, hey, fuck me, too, while we're at it. how stupid am i? anywhat...

[he reads on]

in the same broadcast he called obama a criminal. “you’ve already seen this president deny christianity. you’ve already seen this president address the muslim nation four times. you’ve already seen this administration, him and his wife, going into foreign countries, telling them that they are ashamed of this country,” said dean. “this man is an internationalist. this administration is set against against your constitution, folks. that is a crime. that is a crime and do not let it go.”

dean continued, “crime cannot be tolerated especially from them that rule in government. It cannot be tolerated … criminals mock society’s laws. that’s what you see in this administration.”

he frequently refers to the president as an “obamanation” and sen. al franken as “frankenstein.”

[doomey puts down the printout, giggling]

oh, franken must fucking love this shit.

[he picks up the printout, reads on]

on the aug. 1 broadcast, the duo recalled an alleged clash between bachmann and some constituents.

McChick: “i remember michele bachmann did something up in scandia county a while back. the homosexuals tried to corner her and confront her.”

dean: “they even locked her in the bathroom. if that had been a homosexual senator or congressperson they would have brought charges immediately. no questions asked.”

[doomey puts down the printout. he's laughing uncontrollably. he's gripping his stomach, he's pounding his head on his desktop. goodness. hey, if he's just going to read a line and then laugh, do i really need to be here? i mean, can't i go grab a sandwich or something? i really don't see the...oh. he's back to reading the printout]

hah. the homosexuals locked buckmann in a bathroom. hah hah. oh my. this shit is funny.

[he picks up the printout, reads on]


in fact, bachmann filed a police report, but as witnesses said, there wasn’t much to the incident.

the ministry has harsh words for gays and lesbians, as well. during its april 4 broadcast, the duo lashed out at the decision by the iowa supreme court that legalized same-sex marriage in that state.

“in minneapolis, they had to spread their smudge and their shame and their ignorance and their idiocies and their immorality and their debauchery in the face of the american people, all the way to minneapolis, by having on the front page of the paper today, jake, two little girls — I don’t know if that was their lesbian parents behind them.”

[doomey puts down the printout]

who the fuck is jake? hm. anywhat...

[he picks up the printout, reads on]

he continued, “isn’t it interesting that these people are so stinkin’ sick in the mind that they use little kids for their agenda, showing their state of mind?”

[doomey puts down the printout. okay. this is getting really stupid, people]

sick in the mind? how the hell did brad work it around to that twisted angle. huh. i'll be. another dumb rocker. that all he is. and lord knows, i've known a few dumb rockers. i remember a day when me and the boys set up our amps and drums and PA in the courtyard of christina ricci's house, the los angles house, the one she sold? nice pool, lots of greenery. we set up out there by the pool for a party her drug dealer was throwing and...
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Re:Week 4 Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/08/14 10:57 By: Jesus Status: Admin
Karma: 2
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Posts: 199



[Jesus Christ tap-dances onto the Floor. He is really working it now, doing a riff walk across the glass tiles]

Get on with it, Boligard. For my sake.

[Jesus Christ tap-dances off the Floor]
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Re:Week 4 Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/08/14 11:17 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
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Posts: 1482



suck it, jesus!

[doomey frowns, looks around, resettles himself in his chair]

i do what i want.

[he taps out a smoke, lights it with a swan vista, begins to read where left off]

after reading bible verses, the duo incorrectly stated that homosexuality is a crime in the U.S. and said gays only live to be 42 years old.

[doomey puts down the printout. he's laughing again, big rolls of laughter. i mean, come on, can't i just take a flippin' break? go watch a movie or something? okay, he's back. he's slapping the printout against the edge of his desk]

ok, that's fucking funny, but what's more fucking funny is that some mid-aged rocker is sitting behind a radio mic reading bible verses.

[there he goes again. after a while he dcsides to read from the printout. jeez]

“do you not understand, enemies of god, [that] you are cursing yourselves?” said dean. “this secular government is giving them rights? they are talking away their life is what they are doing. what’s the average age of a homosexual?”

McChick chimed in, “A homosexual male? 42 is what they live to be.”

[doomey puts down the printout. really? again with the putting down the printout and the closing of the eyes and the breathing deep and regular? really? if i had a dollar for every time he puts down the printout i'd...oh. he's back to reading]

dean added, “and by the way, they are aiming at your kids like crazy folks.”

[don't you frickin' do it!]

later in that same program, dean erroneously stated that homosexuality is a crime. “why are they asking for the decriminalization of homosexuals? because it is a crime! it’s a crime! folks, they are lawless people!”

in addition to McChick, dean has also teamed up with the minnesota family council’s barb anderson on the radio program.

[yeah.]

that is one long fucking name.

[yep. you guessed it, what with the picking up and the reading. good for you. you get a brownie pin]

“did you know that it’s illegal in 28 states in this country to commit adultery or fornication or sodomy even in the state of minnesota?” dean told anderson and his listeners on apr. 4. “but the laws have not been enforced in the courts since 1944. it’s illegal. seventy-six percent of those who write your papers see nothing wrong with homosexuality. it’s rightly called crimes against nature.”

[the minnesota supreme court overturned laws against sodomy in 2001, and the united states supreme court did the same in 2003.]

on the murder of a gay student in wyoming, dean said, “the matthew shepard lie had nothing to do with homosexuality. it was a drug deal that went bad.”

during an apr. 11 show, dean compared the trial of alleged ponzi scheme runner, tom petters to the crucifixion of jesus christ.

“and there’s another man that is hopefully going to be coming out of this spotless … just because you have a couple of bad apples doesn’t make everybody a bad apple or a bad apple tree. what they did is, they did it through the color of law. what kind of message is that to you, america? and I’m sick and tired of it. if he is innocent, he is going to ruin some serious lives, folks, and if he is a just man that’s just what he’ll do. the bottom line is that when you have federal prosecutors blocking the defense of tom petters, you better start asking questions why. why, why, why?! this is what they did to christ! they took him by night, they judged him, they didn’t give him a trial, and they handed him over and they crucified him.”

dean is no stranger to conspiracy theories. in 2006, the weekly standard traveled with him and his band, junkyard prophet, on their public school tour. writer matt labash generally praised the evangelical rock band, but did find some areas of disagreement — on whether or not man has landed on the moon.

labash: he is also a gold-plated conspiracy theorist who will readily hold forth on the mysterious plane crashes of paul wellstone and john kennedy jr., how oswald didn’t act alone, how O.J. simpson might’ve been framed (“he’s driving down the freeway, all of the sudden there’s this helicopter on his truck–how convenient!”), and how the moon-landing was faked in a television studio. we disagree so vehemently on this last point that he starts polling his assemblies on the subject just to settle the dispute. to what should be the chagrin of us all, apparently about 35 percent of public school students and teachers believe neil armstrong deserves an oscar for his star turn in that NASA movie.

but dean isn’t all conspiracies and vitriol. like last week’s bachmann fundraising email — which referenced “raising money from patriots like you” — the invitation to dean’s nov. 12 fundraiser uses the same honorific for financial donors. bachmann and dean, the invite states, will give speeches to “empower patriots to be on the offense.”

bachmann’s office hasn’t responded to the minnesota independent’s inquiries about dean’s past statements or her involvement in this fundraiser.

[doomey slaps down the printout]

well, slap my ass and call me sally. that was a motherfucking entertaining read.

[he sucks the life out of his cigarette]

Week 3: The Floor, Fall Issue 2010

Admin


Posts: 2149



[Rorschalk stalks the battlements like Hamlet's father's ghost ... or is that just a sack of flour Doomey showered him with whilst he slept? Anyhow. Rorschalk stalks the battlements, preparing his defenses for the time ere Burnham Wood comes to Dunsinane and his tomorrows have dwindled to almost yesterdays...]

Fie! This world is royally besnookered and guiled not unlike a lily and the blush is off the rosay savignon blanche and if I had a hammer, I'd hammer in the mooring that scoundrel's head calls a desk, were it not for the fact that I, once bounded in that nutshell, cannot find the antecedent necessaries with which to extricate my person.

Lo, the quarter has slipped into the bottom half and my cap runneth not over, but empty. Like an overunder scatter gun that finds itself naked in the breach! Nay. I shan't call this efficacy defeat, but a way to sling my narrows and necessitate this buxom prose onto the historical record of fury and sound accumulating nada, e puis nada now and forthwith, publius.
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Re:Week 3, Fall Issue
Date: 2010/08/03 04:06 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
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Posts: 1482



[doomey wakes. he sits up, looks around. he stands and takes up DeP's cloak where it'd fallen at his bootless feet. he walks over to DeP where she lies aslumber in her hammock]

thanks, sweet lady.

[doomey covers her with her cloak and he pats the heavy-lidded cat that guards her from its perch atop her stomach]

good kitty.

[doomey wanders over to his cherrywood, sits, taps out a smoke, lights up]

so where are we?
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Re:Week 3, Fall Issue
Date: 2010/08/03 04:24 By: Jesus Status: Admin
Karma: 2
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Posts: 199



[The door to the cleaning closet bursts open and out slides a modernist office set up. Jesus sits at a glasstop desk, its supports are made of sparkling metal. An iMac with a 27 inch flatscreen holds his attention as he flicks his fingers over the mouse, the glow from the screen underlighting his facial features, making him look ever so slightly bogeymanish. The only things out of place in this sharp(er) image are Jesus's grimy robes and the Ledu L557BR Traditional 60w Incandescent Banker S Lamp with the green shade (yeah, that lamp) that lights up the few notes scribbled on the spiral notebook at Jesus's left elbow. He's scanning the screen of the iMac]

Let's see. The deli called. Looks like they're out of pastrami. Which is ridiculous. I mean, come on. How can a deli be out of pastarmi. So I canceled your order. You'll have find something else to eat. Um...David Perlmutter sent you a work entitled Please Don't Talk About Me When I'm Gone. And...oh, it looks like you've already opened and examined Please Don't Talk About Me When I'm Gonnnnnnnnnne...and you've made a note to rename the work Don't Worry We Won't.

[Jesus squints at the screen. He shakes his head, rubs his eyes, looks over at Doomey]

That's not very polite, Boligard.
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Re:Week 3, Fall Issue
Date: 2010/08/03 04:30 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
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Posts: 1482



no. it's not.

[doomey puffs at his pall mall. he grabs the t.v. guide that rests atop the ripped-open parcel on his desktop. it's a special edition, all about cartoons. he stands and walks to the porthole. he tosses the guide out into the deluge]

what else we got?
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Re:Week 3, Fall Issue
Date: 2010/08/03 04:45 By: Jesus Status: Admin
Karma: 2
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Posts: 199



[Jesus scrolls, reads the screen]

A woman called, left no name, wanted a message passed on to you. An unmentionable message, something about a blender and yourrrrrrr...well. There's a fresh cap up for your perusal, over there on the corner of your desk, sent to us from Kamila Miller, a work entitled Out.

[The iMac beeps and growls]

Hold on just a sec.

[Jesus slaps a Jabra STONE to his ear, clears his throat, speaks into the bluetooth headset]

Yes...Certain aspects, from a particular perspective, yes...Do not even dare to try and misquote us...Sounds good...Alright. I'll let him know.

[Jesus pulls the bluetooth from his ear, its tangled itself in his long, dirty hair. He wrestles with the device, pulls it free, docks it]

And...it looks like your dry cleaning's ready for pickup.

[He crosses his hands on the desktop, pops a few knuckles]

That's about it.

[He stares at Doomey. A few beats pass uneventfully]

And, yyyyyeah...I'm not gonna pick up your dry cleaning.

[The office set slides back into the cleaning closet and the door slams shut]
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Re:Week 3, Fall Issue
Date: 2010/08/05 23:19 By: deplancher Status: Admin
Karma: 14
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Posts: 1058



[DeP rolls out of the hammock and yawns. Rimbaud lands with a thud, shakes, and walks off somewhere behind the wardrobe. Is that where the catbox is now? For a few seconds, DeP stands still, listening. Then she checks her ears.]

Bien! Give me one of those PMs, Doomey. Merde! I am having the dreams again.

[She flings the cloak onto the hammock where it lands, curiously giving the illusion that someone still sleeps there.]

Was Jesus here? [She pauses to light the smoke Doomey has reluctantly passed to her outstretched fingers. She touches her ears again, then sits down at her desk, shuffling through the checkerboard and camouflage bandana-wrapped caps, then pulls on the one with the finger attached to a shaved head.]

Doomey, would you ever have your ears clipped?

[Doomey appears to be thumbing through the phonebook, under the Ps. She looks down at the Pall Mall and wrinkles her nose but says nothing. Outside, someone shouts in a Farsi accent: 'Bean me up, Scotteee!']
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Re:Week 3, Fall Issue
Date: 2010/08/05 23:41 By: deplancher Status: Admin
Karma: 14
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Posts: 1058



[DeP's attention is scattered. She sings almost inaudibly along with the tune she can vaguely hear from somewhere out on the street. Do people still imitate Bob Dylan?]

If today was not an endless highway...

Je regrette...non! No regrets at all. This is a tough business, mademoiselle. A tough one in all respects.

[DeP breathes in, breathes out, then gathers up an old truck panel, a pint of blood, and a half-eaten video tape, shoves all the fragments into a stained brown backpack, then out the porthole.]

Au revoir, Mlle Thornton's Tomorrow, which is not yet ready for TQR today.
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Re:Week 3, Fall Issue
Date: 2010/08/09 06:40 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
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Posts: 1482



[doomey stares at the spot where the office set sat moments prior, he grinds his teeth for a few beats. he grabs up the fresh cap and tears into it, shreded brown paper flying around him and the cherrywood as if he sat within his own personal snowglobe and someone had just violently shook the bejesus out of it]

let's see here. Miller's Out, huh? let's see what you got, Kamila. bring it, sister. light my fire.

[out drops a few GQ magazines, a few pages stuck together. doomey arranges these on his desktop, then he rearranges them, eyeing his handywork. old issues, these. clive owen and tom cruise. and what's jack black doing on the cover of a GQ magazine? hm. doomey upends the remains of the parcel and out drops a pamphlet on alzheimer's disease. doomey glares at the pamphlet, leafs through it, and then he shakes his head]

i...don't think so.

[he gathers up the stuff on his desk, stands and walks to the porthole, and then he tosses it all out into the deluge]

Kamila Miller's Out has passed on. it is no more. it has ceased to be. it's expired and gone to meet its maker. it's a stiff. bereft of life, it rests in peace. it's pushing up daisies. its metabolic processes are now history. it's off the twig! it's kicked the bucket, it's shuffled off its mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile. THIS IS AN EX-CAP!

[saying that, doomey returns to his desk and sits]

Week 2: The Floor, Fall 2010

[Rorschalk paces the plush carpet of the executive suite, ruminating, marinating even, upon the vicissitudes of his current lot in life. Unable to figure it out, he takes off his pince nez and picks up the phone]

Tony's? I'd like an extra large pie with anchovies and extra cheese. Make sure I get the peppers and the mozerella. No. I'll be there in half an hour to pick it up. My phone number is........

[Meanwhile, the Floorites plot their insurrections...]
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Re:Week 2, Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/07/25 23:08 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
Admin


Posts: 1482



[doomey paces the glass tiles of the Floor, picking at some dried guacamole that's somehow adhered itself to his suit coat lapel, the left one, not the right, which makes sense seeing as how he's left handed and would more than likely dip a chip with that hand. he gazes up at the mirrorball]

it's been decided that no more ruminations shall pass from the upper tiers of this building to the lower, the lowest, the basement, the Floor. on this day, the twenty-somethingth of, what the fuck is it, July? unless said tier, point of fact the executive suite, is open and has its own icon on the front page of tqrstories.com, no mention of said tier shall be mentioned as if one were pacing said tier's carpet and tasting said tier's marvelous, or so i've heard mention, roast beef, although mention of said tier, once more, point of fact - just so we're all on the same page - the executive suite, will be allowed when mentioning it as subject matter, ie "so i was up in the executive suite this afternoon rubbing my penis on things that would likely be touched at a later time by someone other than me, point of fact theodore rorschalk." mention of said tier in that manner is totally cool.

[doomey nods to jesus christ, who's up on a ladder wiping down the mirrorball]

you getting all this, shapiro?
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Re:Week 2, Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/07/25 23:12 By: Jesus Status: Admin
Karma: 2
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Posts: 199



[Jesus wipes sweat from his brow and looks down at Doomey]

Eh?
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Re:Week 2, Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/07/25 23:36 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
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Posts: 1482



[doomey goes back to pacing the tiles, wiping clean his lapel]

good, good. and also, let it be known that i wasn't kidding about the rubbing thing. but now, you know, like the good book says, time is money. back to the biz that is brokering.

[he wanders over to his desk and examines the latest cap he's ripped into]

sent to me from some cat named Chris Miller.

[in the middle of the cherrywood sits a plastic praying mantis, five inches high standing on its four skinny hind legs, a creepy smile on its creepy little alien face. surrounding the mantis is a whole bunch of little plastic grasshoppers. little plastic grasshoppers that twitch their antennae occasionally. oh, and now that one over there at the edge just jumped at doomey, threw itself at him like a friggin' bullet]

oh shit.

[the grasshoppers attack, boinging and cracking doomey in the face and chest. doomey raises his hands in defense, but then he turns and runs]

i thought those little bastards were fake! i'll Terminal your cap, Miller! Just call off your fucking bugs!

[doomey runs out the door. the grasshoppers calm themselves. they encircle the plastic bug like its some sort of idol they deem worthy of worship]
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Re:Week 2, Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/07/27 02:03 By: deplancher Status: Admin
Karma: 14
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Posts: 1058



[DeP sets the bagel down on the napkin. The stack of caps languishes on her desk. Part of one packet, a bright red one with what appears to be a giant peanut attached to the front page, lies askew. She might have been using it to test the new calligraphy pens she found at the pawn shop. Then again, she might not. She is reading, studying really, but the restless Jesus dangling from the mirror ball distracts her.]

Shay-zuus! You must complete this and go---get some buttermilk or something svp. Clean out your closet.

Doomey? [it seems he is temporarily absent] What are all these bugs doing in here?

[she strokes Rimbaud and he purrs like the lazy fat cat that he is]

What is this then? Glint? Curious title. I could swear I've seen this before and yet I have not yet seen it.

[she flicks the red cap with the peanut aside and smooths the pages of this familiar, albeit slightly wrinkly packet.]

We shall see if there is a shine to this Glint.

[DeP flicks on the desk lamp and slumps down into her chair, reading.]
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Re:Week 2, Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/07/28 05:34 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
Admin


Posts: 1482



[doomey barges in through the door. strapped to his back is a bulky gizmo, looks like something from a ghostbusters movie, hoses and switches and lights and a big empty bell jar perched on top just behind doomey's head. he grabs a nozzle from a thigh holster, and he reaches around and flicks a switch. the machine lights up, it starts to hum a wicked tune, it belches and farts and rumbles, vibrating, shaking doomey's slumped shoulders, and all this seems to put pep into doomey's step, a glint of hope in his eye. he steps over to his cherrywood and thrusts the tip of the nozzle into the throbbing mob of grasshoppers gathered on the desktop. the bugs are sucked into the nozzle and they appear in the bell jar perched behind doomey's head. soon the jar is full and the desktop is bug-free. the bugs are jostling for shoulder room in there, really beating each other up. doomey grabs up the plastic praying mantis, and then he walks over to the tube. he shoves the tip of the nozzle up into the tube, turns the tube on, and with a mighty whoooosh, the grasshoppers are sucked from the jar and they race upward]

hah! let those fuckers deal with that!

[craning his neck, he can see the jar is empty. he pulls out the nozzle and reholsters it. he examines the plastic mantis one last time. it turns its creepy little alien head and gazes at doomey. it opens its maw as if it would really like to eat doomey's head]

fuck me sideways.

[he shoves the bug up the tube and sends it Terminalward. doomey stumbles back to his desk, the weight of the gismo on his back dragging him down]

man of my word, Miller's The Mantis has been Terminaled, sisters. phew. jeez. did not see that coming.
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Re:Week 2, Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/07/29 00:27 By: deplancher Status: Admin
Karma: 14
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Posts: 1058



[Dep stretches and looks up from her curious family cap to see what the racket is about. Doomey's back. A bell jar on his head...jingle jangle. Sounds like a pop song.]

Hey. Have you seen page eleven of this? [she holds up a purple sheet with poplar leaves embossed into the bottom right hand corner. Some investors are, well, serious.]

Doesn't matter. Peralta-Paulino's Glint is Terminaled.

Unless, of course...you don't think the Irish got it, do you?
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Re:Week 2, Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/07/30 01:12 By: deplancher Status: Admin
Karma: 14
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Posts: 1058



[DeP is standing in Tree Pose. She is ignoring Jesus, who is balancing, in sandals, on the top step of the ladder. Breathe in breathe out.]

This is this and that is that. Jesus? I'm ignoring you and your dangling slack pants. I hope you fall, I do!

Well, I don't but---you're a reckless man. And who's gonna shine the mirror ball if you slip and crack your fat skull?

[she shifts a little, having lost the breath rhythm for a few seconds]

I thought that last cap was a tribute to a brassiere maker. The mind wanders, Jesus. The mind wanders.

I don't know. I just don't know. What's the era? The motivation? Why should I care about this little Barbie doll?

[she lowers her left leg to the floor and then, straightening, closes the pose. Stretches. She returns to her desk, pausing only briefly to glance out the window into the street. Through the dust, she sees Doomey with two paper sacks. It's either lunch or liquor. Maybe both.]

I think you can do better with this, Ms. O'Keeffe. Your girl has been launched but she needs dynamics. C'mon, give her some!

[DeP gathers up the cap adorned in pink ribbons, straightens the pages, then pushes the whole thing out the porthole.]

I don't like this part, Jesus. I don't like it.
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Re:Week 2, Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/07/30 02:31 By: deplancher Status: Admin
Karma: 14
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Posts: 1058



[DeP is sloshing salsa over the corn chips Doomey has delivered. She checks her shot glass for the worm that Jesus warned her about. Cuervo, she knows, does not have worms installs worms in its bottles. That's that other stuff, Metaxa or something. She is sitting cross-legged on the floor, directly under the freshly polished mirror ball. Doomey has removed his boots and now lies on his back, looking upward and smiling.]

It's like the moon sometimes, non? When we're living in this place, surrounded by creations and visions of the VCs, it's like we've been dropped down into someone else's imagination. Capital managers on the moon.

[Doomey chuckles but says nothing. He indulges her and she goes on. Salsa, cuervo. The mirror ball, the half moon peeking in through the temporary window coverings. Sacks des potates avec cherises et le lune.]

Hey, I've got one ready for a read on my desk over there you know? It came in a little box that looks just like a coffin...non! I swear it did. And there's this creepy little doll voice that shouts from inside whenever I get near it. It shouts 'Heil Hitlah!' and right after that there's a guitar intro to what I think is a song from the seventies.[sings] Your mama won't like meeeee... Anyway.

I'm diggin' it I guess. Though the little voice, you know. Creepy. What if there's one of those mini Me guys on page fifteen huh? Doomey?

[she sees that he is napping, a smile on his face, relaxed for once. It's exhausting being an international man of mystery. DeP tips the glass up, the last drops of the cuervo passing her lips, then covers her friend with her cloak.]

Just you and me for awhile, oh Great ceiling ball. Shining Moon of the Floorites. Keeper of all our secrets here.

Archives: Week 1: Floor Fall Issue 2010

Boardwalk :: Forum List TQR Stories Discussions Capital Discrimination / Level 1

Week 1, Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/07/15 01:57 By: tqr Status: Admin
Karma: -1999976
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Posts: 2149



How do you like your new portal? Can you say copyright infringement? Nein! Oh, and don't mind that nincompoop, raygun. I think he got shot or something and is operating on half a loaf.
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Re:Week 1, Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/07/15 06:18 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
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Posts: 1482



[doomey, standing by his desk, head down, sighs. theo watches doomey expectantly. as time passes, theo becomes aggitated. he taps his foot. his cheek twitches, some new facial tic. he crosses arms and glares at doomey. minutes tick by. tick tock. out in the lobby, someone screams. doomey comes to life. he grabs a ream of typed sheets from his desk, steps up to theo and shoves the manuscript up under theo's nose, startling the poor old shark-toothed bastard]

you sent me this? this...this...

[doomey shakes the pages. a few sheets come free and glide to the glass tiles. the mirrorball above creaks]

you sent me a story? i don't examine stories, ted! fuck!

[doomey throws the manuscript back toward his desk. papers twirl and float upward and sideways and downwards, and the Floor is a fluttering snowstorm of typewritten...story]

you sent me a fucking story.

[doomey grabs a page from the air. he shows theo the font typed on the page, pushes it at theo, quides it in real close so there won't be any mistaking what their talking about. theo must be able to smell the ink. the blue haired son of a bitch looks a little nervous]

this is a play slash movie script that's been sent to me by mistake, ted. you know damn well i have clients in the wings just chomping at the bit to tear me limb from limb come the end of the quarter if i don't supply goodstuff. you know this to be true, ted. you can wax poetic all day long about how we've been here, toiling under your thumb, for five long fucking years, but, hey, man, i mean, come on. come on! things haven't changed since day one, sister! i examine capital! i don't do this...this...

[doomey shakes the page]

bullshit, ted!

[doomey walks over to the Porthole, opens it, and then he shoves the page out into the deluge]

there. you happy, ted? dane robinson's Death Blooms at the Edge has been fucking shitcanned! it's been Portholed. i mean, is it a play, ted? with a horse drawn carriage in it? is it a movie script with acts 1 and 2? what the fuck is this, ted?

[doomey races around, collecting pages from the tiles, from his desk, from Dep's hammock. he collects a handfull and then he goes to the Porthole and shoves it all out into the stormy gloom, and then goes about collecting more]

don't do this to me, ted. i do not want to fucking die again, buddy. i need goodstuff or they're going to fucking murder me, okay? if those pussies out there are gonna just send in fucking stories...

[doomey convulses. he gathers his wits, collects the last of the pages and shoves them out into the deluge]

if they're just going to send us stories, then you can count me right the fuck out, ted.

[doomey breathes deep. he moves to his desk and sits, the desk chair squeaks as he leans back. he taps out a smoke and lights it up, sucking in some sweet, sweet smoke]

if your gonna fuck me up the ass,ted, at least buy me a fucking drink first, please. see, i'm being nice. i said please.

[doomey smiles]

so how you been, motherfucker?
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Re:Week 1, Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/07/18 23:55 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
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Posts: 1482



[rorschalk has gone dumb, it would seem]

fine. hey. snap out of it, ted. go upstairs, shuffle your little forms around and read your gmails and send down some proper capital, please.

[doomey watches theo. what is this? a stare-off?]

i was...being nice there.

[seconds tick by]

i'm sorry. okay? i am sorry.

[theodore blinks]

you can just go upstairs now.

[doesn't look like theo is going anywhere]

DeP?

[looks like DePlancher's stepped out to the powder room to freshen up]

come on. ted. come on. hey.

[not much to report]

fuck.

[doomey slides from his chair and crawls under his cherrywood. the mirrorball creaks]
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Re:Week 1, Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/07/19 12:37 By: tqr Status: Admin
Karma: -1999976
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Posts: 2149



[Rorschalk blinks for the first time since he's been staring in Doomey's general direction, as if some binary code had finally bridged the synapse gap in his genetic hard drive]

In a castle dark, or a fortess strong ...

[He turns and begins to leave, lapsing from song to poem with non sequitorial aplomp]

dark and deep ... promise to keep ... metres to go until I schlep...

as you were!
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Re:Week 1, Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/07/20 06:40 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
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Posts: 1482



[doomey pokes his head out, sees the coast is clear, the tiles are ted-free, and he crawls from under his desk, swiping at his suit front to remove the dust bunnies and dirt moles]

well, that's a relief.

[a note has appeared on his desk]

where the fuck?

[doomey picks up the note and reads]

to all whom it may concern.

[doomey looks around the Floor. eyes the note once more]

we are sorry for the lack of professionalism we are posing, but our staff and technical knowhow are fucked. if this slows down your life, we are, once again, sorry. signed, gmail staff.

hm. gmail. those bastards.
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Re:Week 1, Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/07/20 06:45 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
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Posts: 1482



[doomey starts awake. he must have dozed off sitting at his desk. he spies a mound of capital that's been stealthily delivered to his cherrywood, left on the corner of his desk. he grabs up a parcel, reads the return address]

Anna Sykora. hm.

[doomey taps out a pall mall, lights up, and then he proceeds to rip into this new batch of capital. is that a smile on his face? smoke fills the Floor...]
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Re:Week 1, Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/07/21 02:52 By: deplancher Status: Admin
Karma: 14
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Posts: 1058



[DeP yawns. She has fallen asleep in her chair yet again. She looks around the room, wide-eyed. All is still. Doomey's asleep too. Their chairs are not so comfortable but they appear good enough for Floorites]

Whoa! Where'd all this stuff come from? Postman's been holding out.

[She flips through the stacks of capital. TQR, despite the spring hiatus, has not been forgotten by the masses of misfits staying up late to develop the plot conjured up on the way home. She picks one from the middle, the font beckoning to her like a lonesome child on the side of the highway.]

Viens, ma petite. After I splash some water on my face, you and I will take a journey.

[DeP makes her way quietly to the water closet. Somewhere nearby, there is non-instand coffee brewing. She inhales. That breath may be all the breakfast she can expect. At least for now.]

Five days back and already behind. This place....this place!
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Re:Week 1, Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/07/22 06:44 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
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Posts: 1482



[doomey looks up. he hadn't been asleep afterall. just thinking]

yeah. this place. look at what this joker sent me.

[doomey holds up what he'd found in the latest parcel. a bottle of thunderbird wine covered with crushed eggshell and chicken feathers]

crazy bastards. but you know what?

[doomey stands and walks the capital over to the tube. he flicks the switch with a great whooosh and sends the capital upward]

i like the cut of sykora's gib. anna sykora's megachicken has been Terminalized, baby.

[doomey wanders back to his cherrywood. he drags a fingertip along the desktop]

man alive, this place needs a cleaning. i wonder where jesus got his-stupid-self to this time. wonder if he needs bail.
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Re:Week 1, Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/07/23 06:45 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
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Posts: 1482



[doomey rips into some fresh cap]

let see here. from Jaqueline Seewald. heavy.

[doomey reaches into the parcel and pulls out a hunk of cement. on one side the surface is grey and rough, but the other side is smooth and painted blue]

this here appears to be from a swimming pool, eh?

[he pulls out a pamphlet concerning exercise equipment. he leafs through it. he grimaces]

nasty.

[doomey searches through the parcel for more stuff. he comes up with a wedding ring. once a nice ring, it's been snipped and twisted, like maybe it'd been through some natural disaster or maybe a car wreck. doomey puts all these peices of the capital in front of him on the cherrywood, he rearranges them, he gazes at them. he shuts his eyes...]
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Re:Week 1, Fall Issue 2010
Date: 2010/07/26 00:07 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
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Posts: 1482



[doomey stands and marches over to the Porthole carrying the latest cap in his arms. doomey can best be described as frail, thin-boned, so this heavy cap weighs him down. by the time he reaches the Porthole he is winded and dragging his feet. he stuffs everything out the little window]

the matter has been judged...

[he pauses to catch his breath]

and, well, i am dumping Jacqueline Seewald's A Cold Place to Die to the winds, the storm, the deluge. i know, i know, boil, boil, toil and trouble, i am an asshole. been cursed many times over, and i am going to die a slow death. big whoop.

[he wanders over to his desk. after a few beats he raises his head and barks...]

god, i'm bored!