Post by carol on Feb 4, 2019 23:01:34 GMT
[Carol thumbs the Bose, Prince's My Name Is Prince explodes from the speakers hanging from the rafters. Carol backs her ass around the dance floor, stomping on the glass tiles, making green tiles pop and then red tiles beam and then white hot light beams up at the mirrorball. She stomps and shakes her head, and she twirls, and she hops hops hops across the Floor, her lips tight, her eyes half-lidded. She comes across DePlancher's desk, leans in and gives DeP a kiss on the mouth, and then she turns and waltzes over to the Cherrywood. Kinski's "A Nap Is a Slice of The World" takes over the Bose speaker. Carol twirls and twirls. Most folks who work at literary venues, magazines, bars, coffee shops, don't dance very well. They don't have a beat. Carol dances really fucking good. She hops and then shifts her hips and wags her ass, purses her lips, squints her eyes, twirls her fingertips, nods her sweaty head. She settles herself behind the Cherrywood, lowering her ass into the pilot's chair, snuggling down into it, wagging her head to the beat of Kinski, and she spreads her fingers and lands them on the desktop with a bang! Kinski fades out. She spreads out the current capital, John Hanna' s Bucket of Bolts. She wags her ass in the pilot's chair as she examines page 1. She hums some tune, something from Van Halen 2. Sounds like Bottoms Up. Outside, the deluge has gone all snow, balls of it]
Wow. I just examined the worst opening paragragh ever. "Franklin was taking a walk in the forest with command in his step. He had a purpose visiting the old citadel now just a mile distant. His elders didn’t approve saying they preferred him to be pulling duty in the village but once a year of so he was compelled to subject himself to the queasy heights of the artifact." I'm guessing the VC does not speak English easily. This guy most probs is from Russia or somewheres. I mean, what the fuck? Why would this god awful bullshit get through to the bottom of the bottoms, the dog is done. I'm tossing this dredge to the storm, folks.
[Carol walks over to the Porthole and rips the window open. She tosses the current capital out the window, and it zooms and whirls...]
[The view out the Porthole is awesome. A snow storm has piled humps of cotton along the streets, dirty with soot and dirty footprints. If a crime'd been committed, you could follow the culprit to his apartment real easy and slap him around and laugh and play the records he has arranged on bookshelves. Carol turns from the Porthole, and she stomps back to the Cherrywood]