Ode to Selfish People, interlude

To Mr. Dehydrated Orange, who, years ago, out of randomness, sent me a hateful note, turned out to be the jealous, crazy ex of the cute girl I met on Facebook once upon a time, back in a time when they didn’t have the anti-bullying policies they have today…or he would have never sent that note:

…It wasn’t that there’s something wrong with me, or that I’m soft, or that I’m cowardly. I tried to be nice, and there’s no point in arguing with ignorant people.

–from “Ode to Selfish People, Where Are You Today?” by Arthur Donovan “Cufflinks” Springs-Meyer, published by Morning Thoughtful Golfclub Press, Topeka, Kansas 2016.

Ode to Selfish People, interlude

To Mr. Dehydrated Orange, who, years ago, out of randomness, sent me a hateful note, turned out to be the jealous, crazy ex of the cute girl I met on Facebook once upon a time, back in a time when they didn’t have the anti-bullying policies they have today…or he would have never sent that note:

…It wasn’t that there’s something wrong with me, or that I’m soft, or that I’m cowardly. I tried to be nice, and there’s no point in arguing with ignorant people.

–from “Ode to Selfish People, Where Are You Today?” by Arthur Donovan “Cufflinks” Springs-Meyer, published by Morning Thoughtful Golfclub Press, Topeka, Kansas 2016.

Loud Motorbikes, interlude

According to research on reddit, loud crotch rockets are a product of either modifying post purchase or removing the muffler, either a selfish ego motive or a self preservation, “loud motors save lives” philosophy, right up there with “bright LED headlights at all times save lives.”

Therefore, since I gotta deal with the issue of loud motorists at home at ungodly hours, I’ve come up with this:

“Loud motors save lives!”

“What?”

Or the ego reason:

“Hey look at me. Hey! You’re not looking.”

–from a tired old guy who was woken up in the middle of the night by a loud motorist at a traffic stop near his house. Recorded on June 18, 2017.

Insurmountable Odds, Interlude

In a rush, the flaming portal closed with finality. Whartleburg was where he needed to be. Though June and her son Eddy wanted to go with him, Whartleburg knew they would only get in the way. Indeed even as he thought about his charges back on earth, in another dimension, the storm was brewing.

This would be the fight Whartleburg had been moving toward. He would do his best, he would push through. And when the dust settled, in a granite tower waited Salyria, his fiance. She had been waiting for him, should never have been waiting, but the Spider King Ahab wanted her. He could not be told no, and to keep her safe locked her up in frozen isolation, so no one could harm her. Whartleburg was the only opposition who had lasted this long. Though he too was caught and banished to an unknown dimension, thanks to Eddy and June here he was again.

From afar could be felt the presence of Spider King Ahab driving forward his armies. First send in the weaker thugs to wear him down, next the tougher ones, then the champions. And should he succeed still, well we’ll just see what happens next. His Arachness Spider King Ahab will not get up unless he must.

In came the bikers, whooping and hollering. Whartleburg brandished his twin giant axes and bared his mandibles. Suddenly something overshadowed him. What’s this? A pincer attack! From behind were more bikers. Among them was a great hulking guy whirling around his head heavy chains.

“This is the end, Whartleburg!” shouted the great biker.

Whartleburg threw his twin axes and looked at the big man.

“What goes around comes around. That includes razor sharp spinning axe blades.”

Excerpt from “Enzectozoid Chronicles: The Legacy of Whartleburg the Whalloper” from the curiously long book of short stories, I am lettuce, who are you?

The next chapter: “Reminiscence.”

Previous chapter or entry

A message from Dr. Winter

Greetings,

In your absence I have not been idle. I’m having no difficulty recruiting new test subjects. It’s an task when people underestimate you.

While I’m stuck as a white feline, know that I’m still a genius intellect. People refuse to accept that. They still treat me like an adorable ball of white fluff!

They say, “Aw, what a cute kitty! And he’s dressed in his own tiny lab coat!”

Then before they know it, they’re wearing a cat suit and chasing mice. I cannot stand playing the role of the friendly cat. Until you can think of new ideas for this blog, and include me in them, I will be waiting.

Sincerely,

Dr. Winter

 

P.S.,

The Marb and the Moonlight Fettre also want attention.

P.P. S.,

As if The Marb can beat me, that overgrown orange, saber-fore-pawed, fur ball and his army of organic weirdos!

P. P. P. S.,

You’ve been calling me “Dr. White” the past few blog posts. Seriously it doesn’t take a genius to look at the previous posts and understand my name is Winter. Winter!