stuartsfiction1982-blog

[stuartsfiction1982-blog]

I have been chosen by a God.

It is my honor and privilege to serve You, Lord Floof. For there is none above You. I am undeserving and unworthy. A poor human wretch that will bring you delicious treats, fluff out your throne pillows, and suffer the tempest of your temper.

Would you like your plain Greek yogurt now, Master?

😻

[stuartsfiction1982-blog]

Waterboarded with Lies

Last one from the notebook. I guess I didn’t write as much as i thought. Now I remember. One of the curve balls I couldn’t dodge; my beloved Pinto hatchback Chutzpah finally broke beyond repair. Dragging it to a junkyard that wouldn’t laugh me back out of the lot was challenge by itself.  Finding a replacement dash home for Woodward and Bernstein with the money they gave me for scrap was a different one altogether.  That I’m still working on..

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Waterboarded with LIES

Stuart B. Liever

You know, the whole storm Area 51 thing got me thinking some more. Its out in the desert, right? It’s hot during the day. I was pretty uncomfortable. Good thing the grocery store had twenty four packs of portable drinkable water I could buy for a finger and a left toe. May as well have asked for body parts, I wouldn’t have minded cutting off something I could cauterize easily over paying what they were charging! For something as basic as a liquid we all need to survive.

You all follow the news lately, and what the Nestle corporation is doing in the state of Michigan? Basically, that fancy pants bottle of Ice Mountain water you all suck down is Michigan tap water. That Nestle pays next to nothing to suck out of the state, which whole parts are going without drinkable water thanks to poisoned supplies and shitty infrastructure. Not to mention what sucking out all that ground water is doing to the fishing and wildlife. 

You ever been? Its a pretty part of the world, folks. Frankly somewhere I want to pack my trailer to and move when the Hoover dam dries up and all that fresh water is all we got left. See, once upon a time, big corporations wanted to suck all that fresh water out west for themselves.  Michigan and the surrounding states said NOPE! That’s ours, we need that for fishing, tourism and its not our fault none of you figured out how to make sea water work for you for farming. Good for you all! But now big corporations are being sneaky. “Hey, let us put in a plant for that water, we’ll create jobs, you aren’t using all of it, what’s the big deal?” Now, not everyone is on board, plenty of people are peeved. But I’m thinking back to the whole hoopla created by that idiot creating the Facebook event it the first place. And all the Ice Mountain empty bottles littering the desert the next morning. Not a single one of those bottles was given out as charity. Cheapest price I saw was $5 for a small bottle. 

That guy, he works for Nestle. They were losing water sales from all those pissed off people in Michigan making noises about stealing their groundwater, so they sent him in to make a big event, in the middle of the desert, to get people to buy more bottled water!  And you all bought it!

[stuartsfiction1982-blog]

We Are Siamese For Your SOULS

Another one from the journal. This one I was stuck in the bunker where aside from the TV, dvd player and the library, I’d prefer not to have electronic equipment sending signals.

We Are Siamese For Your SOULS

Stuart B. Liever

Hey friends, its your pal, Stuart. My trailer is being bombed for roaches so I’m in the bunker right now. But I’m not alone. The neighbors cat Mr. Meowgie crept in after me. His eyes are the most beautiful blue. Siamese, you know. They inbred them is why he’s pretty to look at but as crossed eyed as a bat. Oh well I don’t mind the company much, and there might be a mouse or two hiding out here. So we’re just hanging around. I watch him make himself at home in this glass bowl I have sitting on a table. Not a very big bowl, mind you. But enough where its shouldn’t be possible for him to fit all this body into it comfortably. But he does. 

That got me thinking about Isaac Newton. Somewhere in this bunker I had squirreled away a science book that mentioned things called Non Newtonian Fluids; basically, fluids that don’t follow Newton’s law of viscosity. Example of this is ketchup. The more I watched my feline friend, the more I began to see that yes, Mr. Meowgie’s body was composed entirely of non-Newtonian fluid. The way he moved around bends in door frames, he crammed himself into a vase to get to a ball of lint and got himself out!  I thought to myself “Stuart you did it! Proof of alien life!” But no. I thought bigger. 

It struck me like the first time I got smacked upside the forehead with a Bible. Way back when, thousands of years ago, a whole civilization worshiped Mr. Meowgie’s species as Gods. But their people left, poof, gone. Their Gods wandered off. And here is the proof. A God in exile among us, its body constantly defying gravity and scientific explanation. After that I gave him all the damn tuna in the bunker and the sardines, too. I even let him watch Garfield and Friends on the dvd player. At least I think he was watching it, can’t really tell which way he’s looking.

[stuartsfiction1982-blog]

Tales From the Road: Recovered

Good New, Readers! Hard copy saved the day! Found some honest to God journal entries I had written out while I was travelling this big beautiful country, and it kicked up so many fond memories I didn’t put it away. Turns out your pal here managed to jot some things down on paper instead of the miniature Idiot Box.  This blog entry is one of them: 

Tales from The Road

Stuart B. Liever

Its been three months since I discovered the truth out there in the desert. While everyone else wimped out and waited in line for DDR like the glow stick sheep they are, I knew what I had to do. I knew it was just me, Woodward and Bernstein against a universe of ignorance. So what if it was pitch black out there, and I was still technically over the legal side of the line? One Eyed Bob at the Surplus tent at the Flea Market wouldn’t steer me wrong for equipment.  No sir. That man’s a hero. I saw what I saw and I heard what I heard! Ain’t nobody can tell me otherwise!

 Oh hellfire and spit! Damn cops took my notes and tape recorders! Fucking pigs don’t want any of us to know the truth about anything! I’ve watched Reno 911! I know they wear those hot pants on duty! They’re in it with the government and the aliens! They work security and they don’t want anyone else to know! Dirty damn bastards!

(update: found the recorder..raccoon peed on it)

***

Yep. The raccoon peed on my recorder. And chewed it up pretty good. I’m not sure what else he did to it, and I’d rather not ask. The sticky stuff not reeking of raccoon piss is, spit. Yes. From the raccoon chewing on it. Not the raccoon doing really weird, weird things to electronics.

[stuartsfiction1982-blog]

Disclaimer

Dear, dear Readers. You will probably notice the dates of all these posts will be, well, today. Life has thrown your old pal Stuart here many curve balls. I successfully dodged most of them; however, out of nowhere a fast ball came straight up the middle and nailed me between the eyes. That was my Facebook account “indefinite suspension,” pending the charges of my alleged trespassing of FB HQ being dropped. And my computer tower fried beyond repair. Every article, research paper, EVERY SINGLE PIECE OF PROOF BACKED UP AND SAVED IS NOW TOAST.

I wish I could say that I handled the loss with dignity. That, as an adult I learned the coping skills to face a rather minor setback with grace, aplomb, and a good old positive attitude of tomorrow is another day with a blank piece of paper and a fresh pencil.  I wish, dear friends, I could give you that message.

I cried for a week eating cookie dough straight out of the tube watching X-Files re-runs. Then it switched over to Bridget Jones’s Diary, and I was so exhausted from all the crying I didn’t have the strength to shut that crap off. But seriously if you don’t start singing “All By Myself” right along with a drunk Bridget at the beginning, do you really have a heart, Reader? Do you?

But like my ex told me years ago, before she left me another restraining order, eventually you run out of cookie dough and excuses. Usually not all at once, which is what happened here. And I can’t let any of you down. So its time to salvage what I can from memory, all in one shot. Here we go. Strap in, Readers. Its about to get weird.

Your pal Stuart