RANDO STUFF

I haven't posted much recently. You can tell I'm going through my files and trying to consolidate some stuff. Throwing some stuff up because I don't want y'all to get too lonely out there. Enjoy.

KEIN Will will will not be part Will will will want to be a part Will want to be a part not be part not of what was - there was nothing not by what comes soon not by anything of it ... RED FLAG Gwen was smashed . She dumped the contents of her purse on the couch in a mad search for her cell phone. “Aw. What’s this?!” She made a point of alerting my attention to the tiny wad of yellow, lined paper among the trash. “How did this thing get here?” I honestly didn’t care about it, but she followed herself up quickly and without prompting. “Okay, okay, it’s coke,” she shouted, just a hair too loudly. “That doesn’t bother you, does it? I mean, I do it sometimes. It’s not meth, I promise---I wouldn’t do that. Well, I did do meth once, with my Ex, but I don’t do that anymore. You don’t mind, do you? Well, I know you wouldn’t hold it against me…you wouldn’t, would you? No….that’s what I love about you, baby. You’d never do that. I know you worry about me, but you’d never judge 2 me, would you? I love you like that, babe…I’m just sayin’ it, you know? I know hearing the ‘L’ word gets you nervous, but I love you like that….you know? I’m just sayin’ it, okay, babe? I’m just sayin’ it ‘cause I’m sayin’ it ‘cause I’m sayin’ it…” Copyright 2022 C.F. Roberts/Molotov Editions THIS WEEK'S PLAYLIST: PINK FLOYD-Piper at the Gates of Dawn PINK FLOYD-The Wall BLACK SABBATH-Paranoid STIC BASIN 3

THE GOOD GUY

 

Excerpt from the forthcoming novel, THE BIG UGLY

jackie

JACKIE

I need all of you to understand one thing

listen to us, jack

Pigs hung this man on a cross because he was a GOOD GUY

they told us it was a bad thing jack a VERY BAD THING

copyright 1990 C.F. Roberts, 2021 C.F. Roberts/Molotov Editions

SCENES FROM AN IMAGINARY MOVIE: HELLO, UGLY 11-13

 

TRIGGER WARNING: AUTHENTIC DIALOGUE

1. INT. THE GYMNASIUM, BROOKDALE HIGH SCHOOL. A SECTION OF THE BLEACHERS IS PULLED OUT AND THE BOYS’ GYM CLASS ARE SEATED ON THEM. MOST OF THE CLASS ARE DRESSED FOR GYM; TEESHIRTS, SHORTS, SWEATS AND SNEAKERS---WITH THE EXCEPTION OF A SMALL CONTINGENCY OF STONERS, WHO ESCHEW GYM WEAR AND GIVE OFF AN AIR OF PRACTICED DISINTEREST. DOWN TOWARD THE FRONT, BRYAN HARRIS AND A NUMBER OF HIS FRIENDS, ALL POPULAR JOCKS, HANG TOGETHER AND LAUGH AND JOKE. SEVERAL ROWS BACK, THE CAMERA PANS ACROSS JACK AND A MOTLEY ASSORTMENT OF CAST-OFFS: BLINKY EPSTEIN, A SMALL, INTENSE, BESPECTACLED BOY, MARC HODGE. A LANKY, AWKWARD, EFFEMINATE BOY WITH AN UNEVEN HAIRCUT, AND HANNIBAL, A SKINNY, MEAN-LOOKING KID WITH RATLIKE FEATURES.

THE CLASS IS BEING LECTURED AND BERATED BY COACH BELLOW, A CRAGGY, 50ish GYM COACH. ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE GYM, THE GIRLS’ GYM CLASS IS SITTING ON ANOTHER SET OF BLEACHERS AND THEY ARE BEING LECTURED BY THEIR GYM COACH.

BELLOW:

I know a lot of you ladies have been habitually turning up out of uniform (BRIEF CUT TO THE STONER KIDS, LOOKING BORED) and not participating, and we’ve been going real easy on you….that is OVER as of this semester. You don’t show up in uniform, you don’t participate, you get a failing grade for the day!

\

JACK (V.O.):

There’s this long-running myth that we youngsters go to P.E. to get some much-needed circulation and to help build our young bodies. It’s a crock of shit, of course. This class has, since the puberty heyday of Junior High, revolved around our dicks, and not much else. It’s a big, staged battleground, where we get our manhood tested, and not everyone wins.

DURING DIALOGUE AND NARRATION, A SILENT SCENARIO PLAYS OUT:

JACK GAZES OVER AT THE GIRLS ON THE BLEACHERS ACROSS THE GYM. CHERYL KINGSLEY IS ONE OF THE GIRLS IN THAT CLASS. HE STARES WISTFULLY ACROSS THE GYM AT HER. SHE APPEARS TO BE LOOKING BACK. SEVERAL ROWS BELOW, BRYAN HARRIS GAZES AT HER AND SMILES. CUT TO CHERYL, LOOKING BORED BUT ALSO SMILING.

BELLOW:

Anyway, ladies. As the weather’s bad and we can’t put your sorry butts through too much wear and tear, I’ve got paperwork to do, so you get to play Bombardment.

(AN ASSISTANT COACH DRAGS OUT A LARGE SACK OF PINKISH-PURPLE KICKBALLS AND DUMPS THEM ON THE FLOOR.)

GENERAL RELIEF AND EXCITEMENT FROM THE BOYS. THE ASSISTANT COACH PUSHES A SLIDING PARTITION CLOSED, SEPARATING THE GIRLS’ END OF THE GYM FROM THE BOYS. JACK WATCHES CHERYL DISAPPEAR BEHIND THE PARTITION.

BELLOW:

Harris and Redmond! You guys are captains. Now, behave yourselves, girls…(HEADS OUT BACK, LEAVING THE BOYS MORE OR LESS UNSUPERVISED).

BRYAN HARRIS AND PHIL REDMOND, ANOTHER OF THE JOCKS, CHOOSE

PLAYERS. EVENTUALLY IT WHITTLES DOWN TO THE STRAGGLERS.

REDMOND:

Hannibal.

HANNIBAL JOINS REDMOND’S TEAM.

BRYAN (pointing out Jack):

Shit-for-brains. (JACK REFUSES TO MOVE) What are you, deaf? (JACK STANDS, DEFIANT) Pettet! Come on! (JACK CONCEDES TO STEP IN WITH THE TEAM, FOLLOWED BY SNICKERS. ONE BOY SAYS, “DUUHHHH”.)

BRYAN:

Fuckin’ space cowboy…

REDMOND:

I’ll take Hodge.

MARC HODGE JOINS REDMOND’S TEAM. ONE OF THE OTHER KIDS CALLS HIM, “FAGGOT”. SEVERAL OTHERS LAUGH AND MAKE FART SOUNDS.

BLINKY, ODD MAN OUT, JOINS HARRIS’S TEAM.

BRYAN:

Hey, trade.

REDMOND (LAUGHING):

Yeah, right?

BRYAN:

Come on! Blinky for Levine---whaddya say?

REDMOND:

Sure, guy….

BRYAN:

Okay….check it out. The Jew and the mouthbreather, here, for Levine. You outnumber us.

REDMOND:

Throw in Quinn.

BRYAN:

Cut me some slack, man, you outnumber us!

REDMOND:

Yeah, with cannon fodder! (Bryan looks upset) Alright---tell you what---I’ll take your trade and you’ll STILL be cryin’ for your Mommy at the end of this game.

BRYAN:

That’s what I’m talking about….now we’re cookin’ with gas.

REDMOND:

Jack, Blinky, come on. (JACK AND BLINKY CROSS OVER AND LEVINE, A BIGGER, STRONGER KID, GOES TO HARRIS’S SIDE. SEVERAL OF THE KIDS START CHANTING, “JEWBOY” AT BLINKY.)

BLINKY:

HEY! (STOPS HALFWAY. GETTING IN LEVINE’S FACE.)

You’re Jewish too, you fuck. Why don’t you say something? (LEVINE SMILES AND SHRUGS. ONE BOY YELLS, “COME ON. YOU PUSSIES!”)

LEVINE:

I might be half Jewish, but I’m not a whiney kike like you, Lipschitz.

BLINKY LETS IT DROP AND ANGRILY CROSSES TO THE OTHER TEAM AMIDST CATCALLS.

HODGE (to Blinky):

They’re bigger than you---they’re stronger than you. Too. Do you wanna be a hero? Do you wanna die a virgin?

BLINKY:

Fuck you, man---grow some balls, or at least some dignity!

HANNIBAL:

Okay. Girls---you can have your family spat later---let’s put the hurt on!

THE TWO TEAMS CONVERGE IN BATTLE. BOMBARDMENT IS A VARIATION OF DODGEBALL, WHERE TWO TEAMS ARE ARMED WITH A DOZEN OR SO BALLS. RATHER THAN BEING “OUT” WHEN HIT, PLAYERS IN BOMBARDMENT ARE SIMPLY ABSORBED INTO THE OTHER TEAM. THIS GOES ON UNTIL ONE TEAM REMAINS.

BALLS FLY AND SEVERAL BOYS ARE HIT. BLINKY TAKES A BALL DIRECTLY TO THE FACE. HODGE IS HIT IN THE LEG AS HE TRIES TO FLINCH AWAY FROM THE BALL. JACK MAKES IT PAST THE FIRST ROUND. HE SEIZES A BALL FOR HIMSELF, THROWS IT AT BRYAN BUT MISSES. HANNIBAL HITS A LARGER BOY POINT BLANK IN THE STOMACH. AS THE KID FALLS OVER, HANNIBAL SEIZES THE REBOUNDING BALL AND HITS HIS FALLEN VICTIM IN THE FACE WITH IT.

HANNIBAL:

Suck on that, Biff!

MORE BALLS FLY BACK AND FORTH. KIDS ARE HIT AND THEY TRADE BACK AND FORTH ON TEAMS. AT ONE POINT, JACK ENDS UP ON BRYAN’S TEAM. DODGING A BALL, JACK STUMBLES PAST BRYAN, WHO “ACCIDENTALLY” ELBOWS HIM IN THE FACE.

CUT TO: THE GYM LOCKER ROOM. CLOSE-UP ON BRYAN HARRIS, IN THE SHOWER.

BRYAN (Booming like a foghorn):

CUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNNT!!!!!!!

ANOTHER BOY (Picking up the yell):

Clit-TORIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THE CAMERA PANS DOWN THE ROWS OF LOCKERS WHERE THE BOYS ARE CHANGING. DOWN ONE ROW WE SEE A VERY LARGE BOY GRAB BLINKY BY THE SHOULDERS AND SLAM HIM, HARD AND REPEATEDLY, INTO THE LOCKERS. HANNIBAL IS PULLING OFF HIS SHIRT AND OBSERVING THE SCENE DISPASSIONATELY.

LARGE BOY:

WHAT?! WHAT?! You little kike faggot----don’t you EVER! TALK! BACK! To ME! AGAIN!

THE CAMERA MOVES TO THE NEXT ROW. JACK IS CHANGING UP. ONE BOY, BILL COURTNEY, ADDRESSES JACK.

COURTNEY:

Hey, Jackie----whaddya think of Debbie Lord?

JACK (V.O.):

Bill Courtney is not my friend and he doesn’t care what I think. He’s trying to fuck with me.

COURTNEY:

Well, I think she’s fuckin’ hot, man---I can just see her spreading her legs in front of me, that hot monkey of hers open wide, and that clit of hers shooting out six inches for me to taste….

JACK:

“Hot Monkey”?

BEHIND JACK, A TUBBIER BOY NAMED BILLY ARSENAULT SITS DOWN.

BILLY:

Don’t waste yer time, Courtney---Jackie’s not interested in girls, are ya, Jackie-Wackie?

JACK GLARES AT ARSENAULT.

COURTNEY:

Woah-ho-ho, careful, Billy, I see his nostrils flaring.

BILLY:

Aw, it’s cool. Me and Jack have an understanding. Why doncha come on over and suck my left nut just once, Jackie?

JACK:

Why don’t you come suck my ass forever, Arsenault?

BILLY:

Gee, Jack, I didn’t know you were that kind of girl!

COURTNEY, AT THIS POINT, IS TEASING MARC HODGE WITH PHIL LEVINE. HE HAS FORGOTTEN ALL ABOUT JACK.

COURTNEY:

Hey, Hodge. ever fart?

HODGE:

What?

LEVINE (stupid & slurring):

“Whuuuuut?”

COURTNEY:

Do you ever fart?

HODGE(after a long, nervous pause):

Yeah. Yeah, I fart….

COURTNEY:

I don’t!

HODGE(dumbfounded):

What? Y-yes, you do…..I….

COURTNEY AND LEVINE:

\

ONLY DWEEBS CUT THE CHEESE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (LEVINE SNAPS HODGE’S ASS WITH HIS TOWEL. HODGE FLINCHES AND TRIES TO GET AWAY.)

LEVINE (laughing):

Faggot! (FARTS LOUDLY)

CUT TO: JACK WATCHING THIS SCENARIO WITH DISGUST. BEHIND HIM, BILLY ARSENAULT GRINS.

BILLY:

Whatsamatter Jackie-poo----you saving it for Marc? You wanting to give him the high, hard one in the butt? (JACK GLARES AT BILLY ARSENAULT AND WALKS OUT OF THE AREA) Oh, Jackie, don’t walk out on me now!!!!!!!

12. OUTSIDE IN THE HALLWAY. THE BOYS ARE LINED UP IN THE HALLWAY OUTSIDE THE GYM, WAITING FOR THE BELL TO RING. JACK,

LOOKING SICK TO HIS STOMACH, IS TOWARD THE FRONT OF THE LINE.

SNIPPETS OF CONVERSATION POP OUT OF THE CROWD---“MY DICK, YOUR SISTER.” “FAGGOT.” “POONTANG”.

JACK (V.O.):

We’re not civilized. It’s a fucking Barbarian testing ground, and people love and support the shit, top to bottom. It’s a joke. Making the Grade. Proving you’re Man enough. Maybe, deep down, people have this stupid-ass need to be powerful and strong and moronic and bigoted and ass-kicking. Maybe it’s all just nature. Maybe that makes me the unnatural one. They’d agree to that, I’m sure. I think I’d rather be dead than have to live by their Nazi Jockstrap code of ethics.

DISSOLVE TO A FLASHBACK OF THE MANDATORY PEP ASSEMBLY FOR THE HOMECOMING GAME IN NOVEMBER.

JACK (V.O.)

It was an assembly for the Homecoming Game. Brookdale Nuremburg. Why the hell are these things Mandatory? I mean, why do we all have to go? All more Master Race Mania. People can hype up all the bovines into a bloodthirsty frenzy---we must be fiercely loyal to our alma mater and rally behind those real men, The Brookdale Lions.

THROUGHOUT THE NARRATION THE CAMERA PANS ACROSS THE GYM AND WE SEE FACULTY MAKING EXCITED SPEECHES, CHEERLEADERS DOING THEIR ROUTINES, THE LIONS (Brookdale’s football team) CHARGING INTO THE GYM AND EVERYONE CHEERING AND GOING BERSERK. THE CAMERA FINALLY SETTLES IN ON A MALCONTENTED, APATHETIC LITTLE SECTION OF THE BLEACHERS. JACK AND A NUMBER OF OTHER OUTCASTS SEEM TO BE STOICALLY TOLERATING ALL THE GOINGS ON.

JACK (V.O.):

Everyone was having the usual conniption fit, making the wave, stomping and yelling. It’s been a black mark regularity since Junior High that there’s always one Deviant little section at these things who don’t act up, never make noise….that’s cool by me, ‘cause I guess that’s where I belong in the scheme of things. We are a sad lot….so unpatriotic. So lacking in pep.

VOICE:

Jack!!!!!

JACK LOOKS DOWN TOWARD THE FLOOR. CAROL GATES AND HER BEST FRIEND, ZOE MILLER, ARE STRAGGLING IN. ZOE, DWARFED BY CAROL, LOOKS LIKE A BOHEMIAN NIGHTMARE.

JACK:

Zoe! How’s your attitude?!

ZOE (yelling):

My attitude sucks!!!!! (THE TWO GIRLS SHUFFLE OFF IN AN ATTEMPT TO FIND SEATS)

SEVERAL MORE SHOTS OF CHEERLEADERS FORMING PYRAMIDS, PEOPLE CHEERING AND JACK’S LITTLE SECTION OF BLEACHER LOOKING APATHETIC.

CUT TO: SCHOOL LETTING OUT---JACK MAKES A QUICK EXIT INTO THE STUDENT PARKING LOT. CHERYL KINGSLEY AND A GAGGLE OF HER FRIENDS CROSS JACK’S PATH. THE GIRLS ARE IN MID-CONVERSATION.

CHERYL:

…Heard she’s going with Steve…

JO ANN :

OH-MY-GOD!

AMY:

He is SOOOO hot….

JILL:

But SHE’S so….

JO ANN BREAKS FREE OF THE GROUP AND GETS UP IN JACK’S FACE.

JO ANN:

Oh, HI, honey, you’re so CUUUUUUUUUUUUUUTE….

THE GIRLS EXPLODE INTO LAUGHTER. JACK CONTINUES ON, HEAD DOWN. BRIEF SHOT OF CHERYL, LOOKING BACK, NOT LAUGHING. JACK DOES NOT SEE THIS.

A FEW ROWS OVER, A MOB OF KIDS BURSTS OUT OF THE GYMNASIUM . IT IS MADE UP OF MEMBERS OF THE FOOTBALL TEAM AND OTHER KIDS. THEY ARE CARRYING A LARGE, PAPIER MACHE CAGE CONSTRUCT WITH A LARGE POSTERBOARD SIGN ON IT, READING, “STOMP THE EAGLES”.

JACK WATCHES AS THE MOB STORMS ACROSS THE STREET AND OFF SCHOOL PROPERTY. THE KIDS FORM A CIRCLE AND THERE IS MUCH COMMOTION, JUMPING AROUND AND CHEERING. JACK DRAWS CLOSER, STILL MAINTAINING A COMFORTABLE DISTANCE. IN THE CENTER OF THE MOB, TWO BOYS HAVE TAKEN THEIR SHIRTS OFF. THEY BEAT EACH OTHER BLOODY AS THE OTHER KIDS CHEER THEM ON. THE FIGHT EVENTUALLY GRINDS TO A HALT, AND EVERYONE BRINGS THE TWO TIRED, BLOODY COMBATANTS TOGETHER TO SHAKE HANDS AND MAKE UP. AS THE TWO ATTEMPT TO DO THIS, SOME OF THE CROWD VIOLENTLY SHOVES ONE BOY INTO THE OTHER AND THE BRAWL STARTS UP AGAIN. IT DOESN’T LAST LONG, THOUGH, AND EVENTUALLY, THE BOISTEROUS MOB BREAKS UP AND RETURN TO SCHOOL GROUNDS TO PACK IT IN, CATCH THEIR BUSES, DRIVE HOME OR WHATEVER.

JACK PASSIVELY WALKS ACROSS THE STREET TO GET A LOOK AT THE TABLEAU. THE GROUND IS ALL TORN UP, TORN BITS OF CLOTHING, RIBBON AND THE PAPIER MACHE CAGE, WHICH LIES IN RUIN, ARE STREWN EVERYWHERE. THE “STOMP THE EAGLES” SIGN BLOWS BY LIKE A TUMBLEWEED.

IN THE MIDDLE OF THE MESS, JACK FINDS A DEAD BIRD, OBVIOUSLY A SACRIFICIAL “MASCOT” FOR THE OPPOSING TEAM, THE EAGLES, THE BIRD HAS LITERALLY BEEN STOMPED TO DEATH. JACK GLARES AT THE DEAD BIRD, DOUBLES OVER, VOMITS AND BEGINS CRYING UNCONTROLLABLY. EVENTUALLY, HE REGAINS SOME COMPOSURE, SUMMONS HIS STRENGTH AND DIGS A SMALL HOLE IN THE DIRT. HE PUSHES THE BIRD INTO THE HOLE WITH HIS FOOT AND PUSHES THE DIRT BACK OVER IT. HE PULLS HIMSELF TOGETHER AND LIMPS BACK TO THE EDGE OF THE ROAD.

BEFORE HE CAN CROSS, A SMALL, BLUE CAR ZOOMS BY. IT IS FILLED WITH KIDS. “STOMP THE EAGLES” IS SCRAWLED ACROSS THE CAR IN SHAVING CREAM. ONE BOY HANGS HALFWAY OUT THE WINDOW AND LEERS AT JACK.

KID (tongue hanging out):

MUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

THE CAR SPEEDS AWAY. JACK STARES AFTER IT, LOOKING WOUNDED.

JACK(V.O.):

It was the face of everything people stand up and cheer for. (AS JACK’S NARRATION CONTINUES, THE SCENE DISSOLVES BACK TO HIM, STANDING IN LINE IN THE HALLWAY.) This world is a meat factory. It’s a slaughterhouse jockeyed by goons who wear the hallowed school colors. I can dream up plenty of nice images and memories to make me say, oh, it’s not that bad---then the dead bird pops up again and proves me wrong. Hell, it was patriotic! It was good, clean fun! It was for pride, for the fucking Lions! It was apple pie and “be true to your school”.

THE BELL RINGS, JERKING JACK OUT OF HIS FUNK. HE BEGINS MOVING FORWARD, BUT IS OBVIOUSLY STILL DISTURBED.

BILLY (moving up behind him):

Move yer big, fat smelly ass, you faggot retard! Some of us have to get to…

JACK WHIRLS AROUND AND THROWS A RIGHT CROSS TO BILLY ARSENAULT’S JAW. BILLY FALLS BACKWARD INTO THE CROWD. STILL HOT, JACK TURNS AND CONTINUES WALKING, VERY QUICKLY. BILLY STAGGERS BACK UP THROUGH THE CROWD AND SLAMS HIS LOOSELEAF NOTEBOOK DOWN SQUARELY ON JACK’S HEAD. HE STUMBLES OFF TO THE SIDE AND JACK CONTINUES WALKING.

JACK:

What was that----a piece of paper??? (CONTINUES WALKING, VERY QUICKLY) (V.O.): I figure I save about as much face as he did. I pretend I’m walking away with dignity…just a little, just a tiny bit….

13. INT. SENIOR COMMONS ROOM, BROOKDALE HIGH SCHOOL. CLOSEUP SHOT OF ZOE MILLER. P.O.V. JACK. SHE IS SCANNING JACK’S HEAD FOR ANY POSSIBLE INJURIES. ZOE IS A PETITE, BOHEMIAN BRUNETTE WHO WEARS GLASSES.

JACK:

Any blood?

ZOE:

Nope…sorry, Jack---no big, brave battle scars today. Only thing wounded is your pride.

JACK:

Figures. (TWO JOCKS LOOM INTO THE SCENE)

JOCK #1:

Hey, Zook---isn’t this OUR usual seat?

JOCK #2:

Yep. Hey, Misery Chick! We’re evicting you.

ZOE:

Suck me until I bleed.

JOCK #2:

LISTEN, bitch…

JOCK #1:

Hey! Buddy! You need to try and control your woman---keep her mouth shut!

JACK:

She’s not “My Woman”. And please---suck her until she bleeds. (THE TWO SEEM TO SILENTLY DECIDE IT’S NOT WORTH THE TROUBLE AND THEY WANDER ON. JACK AND ZOE SETTLE DOWN.)

ZOE:

Smell the genius in THIS room!

JACK:

So, Zoe, how’s your attitude?

ZOE:

My attitude sucks.

JACK:

Atta girl. How’s your day been?

ZOE:

Well, I was up ‘til two in the morning, working on some new sketches, and that wasn’t real good for me, but inspiration is sometimes a cruel mistress---so I’m fairly exhausted, still.

JACK:

I’ll bet.

ZOE:

Then there’s Home Ec, and I can’t stand LeBeau, she’s such a cow---I think she picks on me, personally---takes out all her rage against feminism and 21^st century thought on poor little Miss Miller. Sexual Revolution? All my fault. Watergate? All my fault. The stupid economy? Guess who? I’m her own private nightmare, you know…

JACK:

That’s what I keep hearing. So, other than the heartbreak of Cow Economics, how’s life with the Zoster?

ZOE:

Oh…..alright, I guess….I was talking to Carol last night…..

JACK:

Yeah?

ZOE:

Oh, God, she was going on about this weekend camping trip she’s going on with her brother and a few of his friends…she kept giggling and laughing and cutting out of the conversation and saying, “stop it! Stop it!” And I asked her who she was talking to and she said, “oh, it’s my boyfriend, he keeps tickling me!”

JACK:

Who’s her boyfriend?

ZOE:

She doesn’t have one…she’s been doing this for a couple of weeks, now---she makes them up.

JACK:

Jesus Christ!

ZOE:

I know, right? God, Jackie, I just don’t know what to do with her!!!! (THERE IS A LOUD RUCKUS OUTSIDE THE COMMONS ROOM) What the fuck?!

KIDS BEGIN FILING OUT TO SEE WHAT’S GOING ON.

JACK:

Oboy! Go, lemmings, go!

ZOE:

Don’t be so cynical, young man---the entire foundation of our culture is built on the desire to rubberneck at car accidents, and you know that you want to! Future generations depend on it!

JACK:

Yay, future!!! Before too long we’ll be making toast with shoehorns and riding around the skies in flying cars---we’ll be just like the fucking Jetsons!

ZOE:

I know, right? Come on---before the carnage is over---let’s be good Americans!

(THE TWO GATHER UP THEIR BOOKS AND BAGS AND HEAD OUT INTO THE HALL)

JACK AND ZOE BLUNDER INTO A LARGE BOTTLENECK IN THE HALLWAY. IN THE MIDDLE OF IT, BRYAN HARRIS AND A STONER ARE SQUARED OFF IN A FIST FIGHT. KIDS ARE SURROUNDING THEM, THROWING THEIR FISTS AND CHANTING, “FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”

JACK SEES CHERYL, LOOKING DISTRESSED, ON THE OTHER END OF THE HALLWAY.

KIDS:

FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!

JACK LOOKS OVER HIS SHOULDER AND SEES SEVERAL KIDS HOLDING UP THEIR CELL PHONES. HE LOOKS MOMENTARILY PERPLEXED AND ANNOYED BY THIS AND TURNS BACK TO THE ACTION. PEOPLE ARE CHEERING ON EITHER ONE OF THE TWO BOYS. BEFORE EITHER OF THEM CAN MAKE ANY HEADWAY, THREE TEACHERS INTRUDE AND BREAK UP THE FIGHT.

TEACHER:

Okay! Break it up! Everybody get to your classes! (BRYAN AND THE STONER KID ARE HAULED OFF BY THE TEACHERS. THE CROWD DISPERSES.)

ZOE:

Gladiatorial contest’s over---let’s go, Jack--- (GRABS JACK’S ARM. JACK LOOKS BACK OVER HIS SHOULDER AND SEES CHERYL WANDER OFF LOOKING DISGUSTED)

HANNIBAL (Turning up behind Jack & Zoe):

Looks like Biff got a chance to show off his dick size again….Cheryl has to be on the bottom tonight.

JACK (looking annoyed):

Biff…what, Hannibal? You mean Bryan?

HANNIBAL:

Bryan. Biff. They’re ALL fuckin’ Biff!

ZOE PULLS JACK BACK INTO THE COMMONS ROOM.

ZOE:

OKAY, back to reality. Wednesday we do the library, right?

JACK:

Huh?

ZOE:

The library. We agreed on that, right? Hello? Report for Bannister’s Class? Sacco/Vanzetti trial?

JACK:

Oh. Oh. Oh. Shit---that’s due next week, huh?

ZOE:

You are correct, sir! You win the Prize. Wednesday is still good for you, right?

JACK:

Yeah! Sure…

ZOE:

Cool! Am I driving?

JACK:

Could you?

ZOE:

I suppose…hey---hanging out with Blinky tonight---he’s wanting to play Magic: The Gathering. You wanna come?

JACK:

Huh? Oh---no, I’ve gotta work tonight, and then I gotta read a couple chapters….

ZOE:

You sure? It’s gonna be me and half a dozen virgins----I’m going to need SOME protection….

JACK (laughing):

Naw---wish I could----I’d prefer it. (THE BELL RINGS)

ZOE:

Damn!!! Okay---gotta go---seeya!

JACK:

Yeah. Seeya. (THE TWO GO THEIR SEPARATE WAYS. AS JACK WALKS DOWN THE HALL A WAYS HE IS STOPPED BY MRS. ROSEN, AN ENGLISH LIT TEACHER)

MRS. ROSEN:

Jack!

JACK:

Hey, Mrs. Rosen….

MRS. ROSEN:

Jack, you’re one of my best students---how would you feel about doing me a favor?

JACK:

Will if I can…what’s up?

MRS. ROSEN:

I have a student in one of my classes…this student is finishing up the same unit you are….she’s sort of floundering on Thomas Hardy. How do you feel about tutoring?

JACK:

Tutoring?

MRS. ROSEN:

Just help her get through JUDE THE OBSCURE, Jack. I think she’s sincere in her desire to do well----just see if you can prevent her from flunking the unit.

JACK:

Yeah, I guess it’s mot much of a problem!

MRS. ROSEN:

GOOD! That’s my boy. (SHE HANDS HIM A PIECE OF PAPER) So, how did you feel about Mr. Hardy?

JACK:

I liked it---had a really profound effect on me. (SECOND BELL RINGS) Hey, Mrs. Rosen…? Could you do me up an admit slip?

MRS. ROSEN:

Oh, absolutely! (SHE SCRAWLS A NOTE OUT ON A NOTEPAD) Thank you, Jack! (SHE HANDS HIM THE ADMIT SLIP AND HE HEADS OFF. HE GLANCES DOWN AT THE NAME OF THE STUDENT HE WILL BE TUTORING)

CUT TO: A CLOSE-UP OF THE NAME AND PHONE NUMBER. IT IS CHERYL KINGSLEY’S.

JACK (V.O.):

Oh my god.

Copyright 1990 C.F. Roberts, 2011 C.F. Roberts, 2021 C.F. Roberts/Molotov Editions

This little curio is from roughly a decade ago, when I took my novel, HELLO, UGLY, and over a couple of different drafts, adapted it into a screenplay. Special thanks in these efforts went to my eternal support system, Heather Drain, and to some other faraway friends whose screenplay work provided me with a template to work from. I'm aware of some basic theories on screenplays----the later draft was more an According-to-Hoyle workable screenplay, the stripped down sort of which I might hand to a film studio, where a lot of blank spaces are left for the director to work with and fill out as he or she might please.

     This one...? Is from the first draft, which you might call my "Director's Cut". If I were the filmmaker, this is the version I'D make!

      The new edition allowed me a good opportunity to update things---after all, in the late '80s, when I wrote the original book, everyone didn't have a cell phone. Things like YouTube and TikTok and Social Media were just a zygote in some media mogul's eye at that stage in the game.

       Much of the dialogue stays pretty much the same and maybe some of my younger, more politically gentle readers might be taken aback by some of it----or maybe not. This is what locker rooms sounded like when I was a kid, and despite the hype I can't imagine they're any different or any more enlightened now.

     Decided over the weekend that my first book-length project for 2021 is to do a final rewrite/update of the book, and I'm changing the working title from HELLO, UGLY to THE BIG UGLY. Be ready. 

BOTTOM LEVEL

 

1. momanddad tell measachild to avoid ingestion of lead paint chips

which have been clinically proven to contain arsenic slash cyanide slash

strychnine slash lsd slash cocaine slash heroin slash smog slash and slash

or less than the daily maximum allowance of riboflavin

too late the heroes for i'd already done my share of munching and so

was rendered fuckupforlife

later on in the screaming, skinned knee schoolkid days other children

ran from me because i glowed in the dark like an aurora monster model

icing vegetation within a thirty foot radius o lookathim lookathim in my

superman suit but what was happening wasn't my incredible powers it

was gang abuse, was alien virus haunting, unshakeable

now older on my stage refusing to act my age this is me let it be

BRAIN IN A CAGE and proud red sign flickers for your loud, hoary

approval and i open my cranium spurting

jizz

blood

tears

braincake

to show you.

--APPLAUSE--

2. meanwhile, in comfy suburbianestledinnowhere, leaveittobeaverbradybunch

   man finds himself irritated by BORED meeting, comes home to ralph the

   cocker spaniel and the kids who are playing with their beav and wally dolls

   while watching the cabbage patch kids on tv. Wife has a rolling pin and is

using it to beat the dust out of the cat, three weeks dusty but at a later time

determined to be three weeks dead

“hi, honey, got my wall street journal and my beer in the fridge,” he smiles,

slipping the youngest son into the sock drawer,

“oh, i'm fine,” wife trills, windexing the toaster

with a wistful, faraway glance she dreams picturesque reveries of burying a

meat cleaver in his forehead and WOULDN'T IT BE NICE sing the beach boys

on environmentally-controlled radio

3. “hi,” i say to her sad eyes as godzilla dismounts from his holy ass

4 x 4 and caves my face in for talking to his girl

i bite him in his flabby alcoholic tit and run for pride, vaunted, exalted PRIDE

is a negligible frill in the face of self preservation

tearful in my fool beer it always ends this way

nursing my bruises i plot to neuter the evil bastard and his porcine slut

while they sleep

this last, i think, will be paramount, satisfying cruelty

getting them right where it hurts most---in the raison d'etre

proud o scarred saint i become of these wounds for they name me martyr,

carrier of a little-recognized state of mind

and when they fade i am full of chagrin

4. The convenience store spiel

   it's 7-11 and he wears a harley vest

   he leers and gags and spits and is boisterous and loud and

   unruly with his beer buddies and he talks about “lynyrd skynyrd”

   and “kickin' some faggot's ass” i try not to let him see me

   eyeing the comic books

   why?

   He's on his own mission

   he has own own fucking trajectory and it has nothing to do

   with that worm in the corner

   the blasphemy in his mind

   the flotsam barely thought or whispered

   the cardinal sin, fool, you bite back on every day

   in every aspect of this aberration you call a life:

   I AM.

5. It was a dream i had once

   it was a sunny, clear day and i was waist deep in a pool it was

   my duty on that day to keep an eye on the baby ducks

   inordinantly large body count that day bouyant they would

   be but every now and then one would forget how to swim and

   so then drown

   PAINFULLY

   duty then under circumstances saw me having to dredge

   up the bodies that had floated to the bottom of the pool and

   in the distortions of the dream the bodies had shriveled to the

   size of breakfast cereal marshmallows

   at the same time the abstract effect remained terrible and

   disturbed me profoundly because they retained the

   shape and color of ducklings

   about then i would hear the spectral burble of childhood

   enemies preparing to pelt me with rocks

   i would hear bomber squadrons droning in

   can you relate?

   Dream as recorded has no beginning and no formal ending

   it's just there, crucified in the time and the place of things

   suspended and that is all

6. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

   Playing with the ants.

   WHY?

   Don't look at me that way.

   WHY ARE YOU PLAYING WITH THE ANTS?

   Because they're more fun than people and they cause me no pain

   go away you suck you see the world through a rose colored

   vantagepoint of what OUGHT to be linear limited in scope

   deluded slash oppressive slash happy slash like all the others

   but is it real i think not people like you make me long to be

   attached to a respirator (as in DEAD)

   this is fun

   it's theraputic for me and

   who are you to play judge and jury because i choose to

   play with the ants please go away

7. i was sitting in a small, family type eatery sipping

   on a cup of bad coffee gazing out the window i saw a

   murder being committed in the distance

   a man in a tank top chased a refined looking girl out

   of a beauty salon he was screaming at her smashing her

   delicate frame against a chain link fence she objected

   and struggled, her face beat red she tried to escape but

   couldn't i felt very frightened for her

   my bovine waitress poured me more bad coffee

   stared and smiled at the carnage “my husband did that

   to me last week,” she said warmly

   “why?” i asked

   “it was valentine's day, he wanted to give me a romantic

   evening”

   “i'm afraid,” i told her, “i think we should get help, i think

   he's really going to hurt her”

   the waitress eyed me like i was a blasphemer

   “why?” she asked, “it's so obvious how in LOVE they are

   and who are you to come between two LOVERS? You

   make me sick, mister, enjoy your coffee!”

   she left me there to watch

   i became very upset and before anyone came

   to help the girl, the man killed her

8. the cowboy movie spiel

   i'm the bad guy

   yeah i'm the bad guy

   i dwell alone in the corridors of stone

   and i lurk in the shadows while you live a lie

   i'm the bad guy

   i reached behind the mirror

   and fell inside a thousand hells

   but they're inside you as well

   and i want you to see them all

   so i'm the bad guy

   crowds cheer and canonize you

   when you seize the holy grail

   and i die puking from your bullet

   laughing at a private joke because

   THEY call you humane

   sunny face you head off with your lady

   while i weasel away tail between legs

   plotting your demise while she gnaws

   on your gristle

   there goes the bad guy

   you win congressional medals and

   kiss babies for those photo ops

   but only i see the shit piled up inside you

   i'm the bad guy

   quick

   lock your doors

   get the guns out of the closet

   it's the bad guy

   here comes the bad guy

9. there is a lot of life in this city

   and much death as well

   and joy

   and sorrow

   love, we ought to go find it all, you and i

   take my hand...

   no, but no,

   but no

   we don't want to suffer the consequences of

   my having your hand, do we, now?

   i may be tempted to place it in my lap

   and so something revolting!

   --APPLAUSE--

10. ??!!SHROUD?!!!!!

    pariah shrill on the thundering hilltop

    pariah tirade and scream to the stormcloud

    overwhelmed, overtaxed by the juggernaut of circumstance

    falling, imploding, live cliffsummit in a futile, fetal sprawl

    murmuring strange litanies to the roaring, ravenous brine

    i i can't no i hurt i spike the sky the sky the ocean i oh no

    blooming i no i bug crush bug crush big looming i

    you caterwaul for order, definition

    you subdivide and subjugate

    and pariah rattling i splutter and inarticulate

    how do you define the scream of the nucleus in the

    soul's midnight?

    How can i explain OH GOD the snapcrackle of my

    circuitry?

    How do i verbalize and inventory you this?

    i i i cliff crash wave foam rage shake i no swallow no

    consume no cry run hurt night i shrink

    on a cliff too high under a sky too wide

    over a sea deep and impossible

    i've become a paralyzed golem hexed by my vision

    this is not your priority list!

    This is not your subdivision sorter!

    This is not your regimented file cabinet!

    The water is war its tendrils clash in elemental incest

    beneath that,

    calm,

    a big, new sky,

    another world

    fishfishfishfishfishfishfishfishfishfishfishfishfishfishfishfishfish

11. life slows and stagnates congested

    red and yellow lights glare

    where are these modern gods, these heroes of the night?

    They lurk behind the churches and temples, torturing the

    meek and laughing

    i shall be hero-atheist, he who is unbelieving in the hero,

    the good man, the man of action

    for he is a lie and i am a witness

    i caught him urinating on me while i slept in the street

    he laughed and stood revealed

    the white knight's tinpot armor is soiled

    with the blood of thousands and your

    petty hopes and expectations are for nought

12. Hell street gasps, grabs

    suck

    poisonous

    vapors

    we children strove in the gas and machinery

13. i woke to the sounds of footsteps on my roof

    (and the prancing and pawing of each little hoof)

    closed my eyes and prayed for the sun

    'cause a horrible monster who walks like a MAN

and speaks like a CHILD

saunters through the rows of ranch houses and split

levels

whose inhabitants dream away in false security

to those in troubled slumber there are lights

in the stinking, charred tunnels and the only way out

might fail

but look to the end

look to the end

14. Suburban leaveittobeaver man's eyes redden

    as he scans the shopping list:

2 dozen eggs slash waffles slash 1 gallon of milk

slash bread slash cheese slash 2 cartons of cigarettes slash

2 sides of beef slash 1 tube of toothpaste slash vegetable oil

slash 1 hammer slash 1 ball of cotton slash 4 ingrids slash

4 deuces slash 5 aces slash 6 bottles of tylenol

and realizes he forgot to go shopping

he pulls up in his driveway beside the ambulance

two white-coated simians emerge from the two-car

garage carrying a stretcher sheet covering a

tiny, humanish shape

he wipes the sweat off his brow and asks tearful wife

who is waxing the cocker spaniel,

“what's for dinner, honey?”

--APPLAUSE--

Shockbox Press Chapbook #3 copyright 1991 C. F. Roberts/ Shockbox Press. 

rev. 11/20 Molotov Editions

BACK ON THE MICRO TRAIN

 

     So I actually started coming up with the long-neglected form that is the Micro Novel this past week. I wrote like 6 or 7, I'll give you a few here. Don't say I never did nothing for ya.

BUKOWSKI AND ALCOHOL

(A Seriocomic Micro-dissertation in one act)

"You could toss the idea of cause and effect all day long, but consider this: If the hero of the story shows up in an Oldsmobile, what's the central point-----that he was in an Oldsmobile, or that he showed up?"

Wally skulked toward the back. The lecture had just begun and it was already too boring and pretentious.

He found the restroom and locked himself in. His salivary glands were going crazy. He knelt over the throne and spat repeatedly. His entire torso felt like it was about to implode. Finally the feeling passed. He sat down and shat like a horse. After that he stood up, turned around and threw up.

He puked standing, and all the blood vessels in his face exploded. He felt it burn hard across his cheeks and knew his face would be all red and blotchy when he came back out. He lay down for maybe twenty minutes. When he stumbled out the damned lecture was still going on.

                                              ************

STABBY STAB STAB

A Micro Novel

The Meet and Greet did not go well. Some people can bring the whole room up and some people can bring the whole room down. Jeremy had some imagined beef with Knuckles and he was going to sink the whole room with it.

"What happened to the other singer?" Jeremy demanded.

"I'm the singer," said Knuckles.

"You weren't the original singer..."

"Yeah, I am."

"You aren't the guy on the first album," said Jeremy. That guy had a really low voice. You sound like Janis Joplin on a crack bender." Knuckles' face was darkening, but Jeremy seemed unphased by the whole thing. "I liked that first album. What happened to that singer?"

"I am that singer," Knuckles growled.

"How come you changed your voice, then?" Jeremy stared daggers through him.

"It's called throat cancer, you idiot," screamed Knuckles. Jeremy glowered and decided that sounded like it might be important or something. He kept his mouth shut the rest of the time.

                                    ****************

THE NIHILISTS OVER IN DOVER

A Micro Novel

All holy hell over the fragility of furniture and anything on the upended coffee table legally belongs to the floor. It's not an easy night as the goddamned spanking paddle has broken clean it half, cheap piece of crap that it is.

“Was”, not “is”. There's no time to get sentimental about these things.

The sad malfunction's not going to slow me down, though---I'm a bull in the China Shop writ large, bashing down norms, guardrails and your Mom's old bread pudding recipe. What'll I wreck next? What have you got?

I couldn't tell you word one about god, whatever that is---all I know is I go nuts when her lips form the word, “fondue”.

                            ****************

HOW TO GIVE PEOPLE SEPSIS AND OTHER PARTY TRICKS

A Micro Novel

All over the kitchen, up and down the stairs, losing consortium and tearing her hair out, “all the bags, so many bags, where are all the bags coming from?!” She hailed from the Midwest, so “bag” kept sounding like, “baig”.

Punky just laughed the whole thing off. He was eating like a King.

                 ********************

So there's some of the latest fun. I go back and forth on "Stabby" because to me it's less a Micro Novel and more flash fiction. But who am I to split hairs? I think I said what I wanted with it; you clowns can bandy theory back and forth----I got less important things to do.

Copyright 2020/C.F. Roberts/Molotov Editions

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