Memory Loss and Viagra

Memory Loss and Viagra

I pop the blue pill in my mouth and stand at my bathroom sink, staring down at my junk.  How long was this supposed to take?  Aimee, or was it Mary?  Well she’d be here in an hour and I have to be ready.  Ready for what?  Things go a little hazy and I see the bottle of pills in my hand.  Right.  But nothing’s happening.  I should have read about this stuff before I took it.  The only thing the guy told me was that I wasn’t supposed to take it in conjunction with any other medication.  When I brought up the Memantine I was prescribed for my memory loss he took it away.  There was shouting and pleading and somehow I got the pills.  

I look down at my dick again.  It hangs between my legs, flaccid and sad, so I down another pill for good measure.

I tried going through my doctor but he refused, telling me taking both at the same time would be dangerous or severe or something.  A friend of mine, he knew this guy that sold the stuff.  I bought twenty or maybe twenty-five.  I could have sworn it was twenty five but the bottle feels a little light.  Probably ripped me off.  Can’t trust anyone these days.

 
I see my clothes lying in a pile on the bathroom floor and move to pick them up.  A bottle of pills rattles in my hand and I look down.  One’s not doing the trick.  Better down another.  I swallow hard and move to get dressed again.  

I’m fully clothed and hear chimes in my pocket.  It’s from an unknown number and I want to ignore it.  Something tells me I should pick it up and I answer with hesitation.  

She says her name is Aimee, and she’s running a little late.  I see the pills on the counter and remember about the sex.  I tell her to take her time and hang up the phone.  My crotch feels a little funny and I rub it before leaving the bathroom.  

There’s a bottle of red wine on the kitchen table.  I take it and pour myself a glass.  Probably for Mary, I guess.  The wine is bitter.  The aroma fills my head and I relax.  Two more glasses and my head feels large.  I stand up for another and feel my dick, hard, pressing against the front of my pants.  My heart is pounding in my chest and I remember something about Martha and pills.  I try to focus but I can feel my pulse beating in the head of my dick and I run to the bathroom.  

I haven’t been this hard in years.  My pants fall to the ground and I lean over the toilet, furiously yanking my junk.  I see bare-breasts and blue skies.  My fists pounds against the wall as my legs go weak.  Beads of sweat cover my forehead and a dribble of spit falls from my mouth.  

My head is swimming as I stagger, half naked, to the sink and wash my hands.  I glance at a bottle of pills sitting on the counter.  They look funny and I can’t remember when my prescription changed to blue.  I pick one up and squint.  Pfizer, is imprinted on its side.  I shrug my shoulders and down the pill before putting my pants back on.  My dick is still hard as hell.  It’s sticking straight out and it looks like I have a gun in my crotch.  

I taste wine on my breath and feel a little drunk.  My legs are far apart as I waddle into the kitchen.  I should probably call my doctor about this.  The doorbell rings and I drop my phone.  I duck behind the table and look towards the front door.  It’s a beautiful young girl, dressed in a tight black dress and long red heels.  Must be the wrong house.  If I answer the door like this, with my raging hard-on, she’d probably call the cops.

I stay crouched behind my table and now my dick is pressing hard against the zipper of my

pants.  It hurts but I can’t get up for fear of her seeing me.   My phone chimes and I lunge to silence it.  I fall flat on my stomach and the floor smashes into my dick.  I feel it bend and snap and I let out a sharp cry of pain.  A girl is on the other end, she says her name is Aimee before I hang up on her.  

A stain of blood is growing on my pants as I roll over onto my back.  I’m panting and sweating.  The girl at the door sees me now.  She looks concerned as she pulls her phone out of her purse.  My phone chimes again.  I don’t pick it up and now I see her walking away.  I stare up at the ceiling and close my eyes.

Toast

          Toast

  Jonathan Miller

            Edward Thompson always said that the most important part of any breakfast was the toast.  Without it all you would have is coffee and eggs and really, who wants that?  Edward prepared his breakfast on this particular day dressed in his finest black slacks and a rented dress coat his mother had picked out for him.  His brown hair was slicked back with a slab of grease and he was sporting his finest aftershave.  
         

   Normally he’d be cooking for two, but Julie had woken up before him and left, not to be seen again until the ceremony later that afternoon.  Edward fried his eggs and warmed the coffee, and then turned his attention to the toaster, a small white box with a plastic lever.  He methodically placed a slice of bread into each slot and pressed down with a delicate touch.  

As he stood in the kitchen waiting for the toast to rise to a golden brown perfection Edward thought to himself about his wedding.  After years of badgering from his mother he finally decided, or rather she decided, it was time for him to settle down.  It was fine with him really, he was sick of hearing how he was thirty-five and still without a family.   Without a steady job or any ambitions.  He wasn’t sure where his mother got all that.  Working at the local grocer was fine when he was seventeen, what was so bad about it now?

Interrupting his thoughts was a curious smell, the smell of something a little too done.  Edward glanced at the stove, the eggs looked about right.  His eyes then darted to the coffee pot, which had stopped dripping and was ready to be poured.  Finally, they landed on the toaster. Staring back at him were two pieces of what once resembled toast.  At some point these slices of bread were cooking in the toaster.  There was probably a couple seconds where they were cooked to perfection, and then they kept toasting.  Concerned, Edward rushed to the charcoaled remains and quickly removed them.  He placed them on a plate and sat at the kitchen table.  

Contemplating his next move he glanced at the clock and remembered the strict order of events that had been planned out for the day.  Edward fumbled around in his coat pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper reading “Wedding Itinerary” scribbled in his mother’s handwriting.  It was a bulleted list of the day’s agenda.  On it were short descriptions of everything that had to be done.  Glancing down he noticed he had already missed bullet number one:

“10:00 AM – Brunch at the Waffle House.  Don’t be late Edward!”  The words “Don’t be late” were furiously underlined in red.

  Annoyed, Edward folded the paper and placed it back in his coat, returning his attention to the most important part of any breakfast.  He glanced at the clock and figured he’d already missed the brunch.  That gave him another couple of hours before he was to recite his “I do’s”.  He stood up and walked over to the pantry and pulled out a fresh loaf of bread.  Edward turned the dial on the toaster down to the lowest setting, making sure his toast would come out correctly.  

As he placed two more slices of bread into the toaster Edward again stood in his kitchen waiting for them to rise.  In his pocket his phone began to ring.  He flipped it open and answered.  On the other end was his mother.

      

      “Eddie where are you? Are you ok?” She said in her shrill, high-pitched voice.
            

“Hey ma, I’m fine, I slept in is all.  Sorry I missed breakfast”
        

    “Brunch Edward, it’s called brunch,” His mother explained with a hint of concern and annoyance.  “Didn’t you even read the itinerary I wrote for you?”
          

  He slipped his hand in his pocket and felt the paper.  “Yeah Ma, it’s right here.  Look I’m sorry, something came up and I wasn’t able to make it.  I meant to call you, it’s just I’ve been so busy this morning, what with the wedding and all.”
          

  His mother’s voice softened. “I’m sorry dear, you know how important this day is for you.  And for me as well, my baby boy is finally getting married.”
            

Edward stiffened and he felt a pain in his stomach.  
         

   She continued, “Anyways, I was just calling to make sure everything was ok.  Don’t forget, be at Sunnyside no later than –“
           

“Two, I got it ma.  Like I said, I have your schedule right here.  Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”
       

     “That’s my boy, don’t be late.  You don’t want to keep your bride-to-be waiting. Julie is such a sweet girl.”
        

    Edward hung up the phone just as he heard that familiar snap from the counter.  Smoke was curling up from the toaster, and once again Edward was left with nothing but burnt remains.   As he walked to the counter Edward became even more concerned.  He folded his arms and stared intently at the small white box.  A bead of sweat slid down from his forehead.
          

  “Goddamnit. Piece of shit toaster,” Edward mumbled to himself as he let out a long deep sigh.

He trudged back to the counter and proceeded to cook slice after slice.   Soon, his eggs hardened and his coffee cooled.  The clock continued to tick, not caring about its owner’s predicament.  An hour later, after the entire loaf had been destroyed he sat at his table and came to a sad, terrifying conclusion.  The toaster was broken and he was to get married on an empty stomach.  

Unfolding the itinerary Edward looked down and saw he was running late for bullet number two:

            “12:00 PM – Leave for Sunnyside.  Easy on the aftershave.”
         

   Picture a place where couples and their families go to get away from it all, a quiet countryside far from the city.  Now fill in the blanks with white folding chairs and bouquets of roses.  Add a few relatives here and there and a grilled chicken dinner.  Voila, one has a wedding.  It wasn’t Edward’s ideal location, he would’ve rather just gone to the courthouse and been done with it.  But his mother insisted they have something traditional, and came across Sunnyside in the local newspaper.
        

    Defeated, Edward left the kitchen and grabbed his keys.  He glanced in the bathroom mirror hastily making sure he looked presentable before leaving the house.  His mother wanted to ride with him to Sunnyside, but Edward convinced her that a man should have some time alone before his big day.  He would be meeting her when he arrived at the wedding.  
       

     It was a warm, bright day as Edward got in his car and started the engine.  He drove through the city, taking his time as he passed tall buildings and busy streets.  His stomach grumbled and the toast hung on every thought.  It felt strange, getting married today.  It seemed like any other day, nothing special or out of the ordinary.  Edward wasn’t nervous or anxious, or happy or excited. He was, as some would say, indifferent.

Soon, the tall buildings were replaced with lines of trees, and the busy streets transformed into secluded roads.  Edward’s thoughts shifted to his mother, and he again felt a pain in his stomach.  It was fine with him, really, how she set him and Julie up.  That first blind date went well enough, despite the constant calls from her wondering how everything was going.   He could even stand the daily inquiries of a proposal.  Sure, they went on for a few years, but it was only a bother a few minutes every morning.  But today Edward had an empty stomach and a broken toaster.  And instead of resolving the matter at hand, he was forced to attend a wedding.  This was, to him, more than a slight annoyance.

As he pulled up to Sunnyside and got out of his car, Edward glanced around.  There were a number of cars parked in the lot, one of them being his mother’s.  He walked up to the tent that had been set up for the reception and looked outside to the left.  He could see the guests already sitting, waiting for the wedding to begin.  Unfolding the itinerary once more Edward glanced down at bullet number 3:

            “2:00 PM – Clean yourself up and take a stand at the front, just as we rehearsed.  Don’t forget the ring!”

“Edward there you are!” His mother said as she waddled up from the tent.  “I was worried you’d gotten lost again.”

            Startled, he quickly stuffed the paper into his pocket. “Hey ma, traffic was a mess.  Anyways, I was just gonna duck inside real quick before I had to go up there.”  
       

     His mother walked up to him and took him by the hand. “Yes Eddie, we’d better get you inside, you’re a mess.  And what did I say about the aftershave?  You know, sometimes I swear you just don’t listen.”
            

They both trudged inside the tent and into the dressing room that had been set up.  With a damp handkerchief his mother wiped down Edward’s face.  She then fixed his hair and straightened his coat.  

As they exited the dressing room and headed towards the ceremony they passed a large round table.  On it sat a photo of Edward and Julie, holding each other and staring lovingly into the camera.  Next to the picture a sign stood reading, “In Celebration of Mr. and Mrs. Thompson.”  Scattered around the table were neatly wrapped gifts the guests had brought.  One of them caught Edward’s eye and forced him to stop.  

            “Eddie, what are you doing?  Everyone’s waiting.”
          

  Edward pulled his hand from his mother and walked over to the table in a daze.  He pushed the gifts aside and picked up a large square box.  It was wrapped in red and tied with a bow.  It weighed about right, not too heavy, not too light.  He placed his ear to the box and gently shook it.  A quiet rattle rose from beneath the wrapping paper and visions of toast danced in his head.
          

  Laughing, his mother said, “That’s just like you, can’t wait to open your presents.  There’ll be time for that later.”  She walked over to Edward and grabbed his hand.
         

   Edward took the gift under his arm and awkwardly began to walk again. “Yeah, right, later,” he said as if in a dream.  
        

    “Would you put that down, no need for that now.”
        

    He clutched the box like a boy holding a toy.  “No ma, please, I’m gonna hang on to this one.”  His voice rose.
        

    “Nonsense, give me that.  This is no time to be fooling around with gifts,” his mother said as she grabbed the box from underneath Edwards arm.  She threw it back on the table and it landed with a thud.   “Now hurry up and get to the front, Julie will be out here any minute.”  His mother nudged him towards the ceremony.
         

   He began to walk again, but his stomach growled and it caused him to stop.  
           

“No.  I won’t,” Edward said, “I’m hungry and I need my toast.”
        

    His mother stopped with a puzzled look on her face. “Well, serves you right. You missed the brunch this morning.  If a man can’t keep track of simple appointments, he has no right eatin’ a breakfast anyways.” His mother huffed and tried to pull Edward along, but he stood, firm as a rock.  
         

   “You don’t understand ma, toast is the most important part of any breakfast.  And you always told me you can’t start a day without a good breakfast,” he said without a waiver as he walked back to the table and retrieved the red box.  A smile spread across his face as he turned and began walking back to the parking lot, gift in hand.  

His mother stared in disbelief,  “Where do you think you’re going?  Edward Thompson you get back here this instant!”

“Can’t do it ma, not this time.  I’m goin’ home and makin’ breakfast,” he said as he quickly walked to his car.

His mother, realizing what was going on, rushed in front of him and blocked his way.  “You’re not going anywhere.  I worked so hard for this day and I’m not letting you take it away from me,” her eyes full of fire.

       

     A crowd began to walk up from the ceremony as they noticed what was going on.  Whispers could be heard from the group.  Out of the corner of his eye Edward saw Julie standing in her wedding dress.  Her expressionless face was scanning the situation.
          

  “And what about her Edward,” she motioned towards Julie, “Don’t you love her?!”
          

  Edward locked eyes with Julie and for an instant he waivered.  He stared at her for what felt like forever and then turned to his mother.
         

   “I love toast,” he said as he got in his car and started the engine.   
       

     His mother ran towards the car and banged on the window.  Edward began to drive away, leaving her screaming in his rearview mirror.    

He drove off back down the road, leaving behind the wedding, and his mother, and Julie.  As he drove, secluded roads turned to busy streets, and lines of trees were replaced with tall buildings.  The entire time Edward felt his phone ringing in his pocket.  He had no interest in ever picking it up.   

The sun was low in the sky as Edward returned home.  With the gift in hand he entered his house and went straight to the kitchen.  The eggs sat on the stove, cold and uneaten.  The coffee was still in the pot waiting to be poured.  Edward sat at the kitchen table and unwrapped the gift.  In front of him stood a box with a beautiful stainless steel toaster on the cover.  It had a black rubber lever and four individual slots.  

His heart skipped a beat as he opened it up and took out the toaster.  Without thinking he went to the pantry and retrieved a fresh loaf of bread.  Edward plugged in the toaster and placed four slices into the new appliance.  As the toast cooked he took the eggs off the stove and poured himself a cup of old, cold coffee.  Soon, the toast rose and out came four slices, perfectly cooked and golden brown.  

Edward placed the toast, eggs, and coffee at the table and sat down, exhausted from the day’s events.  Before eating he felt around in his pockets for the itinerary.  He looked down and read the final bullet on the list:

“5:00 PM – Say a toast in celebration of this beautiful day.  Make it short and don’t ramble on.”

Edward crumpled the paper and tossed it across the table.  He raised his coffee and toasted the air.  He took a bite of his breakfast and it crunched that perfect crunch.  He was content.  

Chapter 6: Be Pro-Gay

Chapter 6: Be Pro-Gay

My publisher told me this chapter was a little too controversial and that... aww, who am I fooling?  I don’t even have a publisher.  How did this book get published then, you ask?  Well, I hate to break it to you but what you’re looking at isn’t a book at all.  It’s called a “computer screen.”  The fact that it took you six chapters into this blog for you to figure it out astounds me.

Anywhoo,  in this day and age it’s important to retain a cheerful, happy disposition.  People want to see a company that can really brighten their day.  Be pro-gay.  The general public is sick and tired of the doom and gloom, and any chance for them to be gay should be applauded.  Would you rather see sad people, or people with a huge gay smile on their face? That’s what I thought.

At this point you may be a little confused as to which definition of gay I’m talking about.  Well, to help clarify this point and make it far less ambiguous I have concockted a few scenarios in which you could demonstrate your pro-gay stance.


SCENARIO 1:
You are at the beach wearing a speedo.  While passing out rainbow flyers of your up-and-coming business a man starts to scream.  It seems that a shark has bit him in half and he’s washed up on shore, still mildly conscious.  You run over to him, take off your speedo, and shove it into his mouth.  This mutes his piercing screams and he dies in silence, choking on your less-than-sanitary swimwear.  

At this point you turn to the crowd of bystanders and pronounce “Everything is okay people!  I just wanted everyone to have a gay time and this man was ruining it!”  

You may or may not be arrested for indecent exposure, but you showed the world that your company will not let anything get in the way of public gayness.


SCENARIO 2:

You are at a bar full of men to promote your up-and-coming business.  All of a sudden a fight breaks out and bottles start flying.  Slaps are being thrown and hair is being tugged.  At this point you stand up with a frown on your face and scream to the crowd “Can’t we all just get along?!”  

Few people take notice, and the people that do begin throwing pool balls in your face.  You have balls flying at you from all directions.  Balls are slapping you on the forehead, and a few balls even land in your mouth.
Saddened and bruised you sit back at the bar and drop a roofie into your drink.  Soon after you down the beer you begin to feel a little funny.  A large gay smile spreads across your face and you again stand up to the crowd.

“Can’t we all flust shit abong?!”, you kind of sort of say just before you pass out.

You remember little from the night before and your ass is a little sore, but you can be sure that you made the night just a little gayer.


SCENARIO 3:

You are laying naked in a bed with another man.  You have just been roofied but you don’t remember how and this makes you very angry.  All you wanted to do was promote your up-and-coming business.  

All of a sudden the man next to you wakes up and fondles your penis. You immediately turn the opposite of sad, and become extremely gay.   

You are now very much turned on and you turn and lick the sweaty man's neck. He moans in pleasure and firmly grabs your ass. At this point you reach down beneath the sheets and begin to tickle the large, hairy man’s bal--------


DUE TO UNSAVORY CONTENT, THE REMAINDER OF THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN EDITED OR REMOVED AT THE WILL OF THE PUBLISHER.  WE APOLOGIZE FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE.

From "Life Lessons and Fairytales" - Little Greedy Billy

LITTLE GREEDY BILLY

Little Billy was a young, rambunctious boy who did only what he wanted, rarely listening to the warnings of his parents.  He would eat mud and bugs and anything else he could get his hands on.  Whenever attending the swimming pool Billy would run around and dive in the shallow end.  Over and over again his parents would chide him.  But even the strictest of punishments would fail to have any effect on his behavior.

“Billy, if you do not listen to us, one day you will be very sorry,” his parents would say.

But over and over again Billy did as he wished screaming “I do what I want!”

One day Billy opened up the kitchen cupboard and noticed a large bag of cookies staring back at him.  They were in bright, glowing packaging and were the most delicious cookies he had ever laid eyes on.  Having never noticed them before, Billy was intent on devouring the delightful dessert.

“These cookies are mine!”  Yelped Billy as he hungrily grabbed for the package.

His mother, while cooking a beautiful pot roast, looked disapprovingly to her son and warned “Billy, if you eat those cookies you will spoil your dinner.”

“I do what I want!” Billy responded as he tore open the bag and began to munch away.

“Billy please, if you eat those cookies this dinner will be spoiled,” his mother pleaded.

“SHUT UP YOU COW!” Billy screamed as he continued to eat.  The package shined and shimmered underneath the kitchen light as Billy ate one after another.  Soon, the cookies were gone and the package was empty.  Billy was satisfied and threw the empty, glowing package, carelessly on the kitchen floor.  

A few minutes passed and soon he was again hungry.  Billy’s mother sat the pot roast down on the table and Billy began to scarf down what his mother had prepared.  His mother and father shook their heads and left their plates empty with their arms crossed, staring intently back at Billy.  

Bite after bite Billy devoured the entire pot roast, leaving nothing for his family.  

“I’m full and you are both cows!” Billy said happily as he began to get up from the table.

Just then, however, Billy felt a sharp pain in his stomach.  He grasped it with both hands and abruptly sat back down.

“Oooooooo, my stummie hurts!”

A smile spread across his parents face as they continued to watch in silence.

Billy’s stomach was in more pain than he had ever felt before.  It was as if millions of tiny knives were jabbing at him from the inside.  He doubled over and fell onto the floor screaming in pain.  

“You cows, oooooooooo, help me you cows!”  Billy could hardly think straight as his stomach began to inflate.

Calmly, his mother looked down at her son, “Remember what I told you Billy?  If you ate those cookies you would spoil the dinner.  The dinner went bad the second you ate those cookies.  I warned you about this.”

Billy could hardly comprehend what his mother was saying.  Were those cookies magical? Did they really spoil the roast?  These thoughts raced through his head as the pain became unbearable.  Laying flat on his back his stomach ballooned.  The skin began to tear around his belly-button as blood spewed from his mouth.

“HELP ME!!!!!” He screamed.  The pain was blinding as his stomach grew and grew.  It was the size of ten basketballs now and blood was coating the kitchen walls.  Just as it seemed his stomach would burst Billy let out one last sentence.   “I’M SORRY I ATE THE COOKIES!!!!!”

At that moment the pain seceded and his stomach began to deflate.  Billy whimpered and soon lay on the floor looking more like a normal boy.

His parents, still sitting at the table, glanced at each other with a look of concern on their faces.  His father got up and walked out of the room, leaving his mother at the table.  

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Billy panted as he lay on his back.  

A few moments later his father walked back into the kitchen, pulling along a large spotted cow.  

“What are you doing?!” Billy asked, incredulously.  

“Teaching you a lesson,” responded his mother.  

His father led the cow over Billy’s face and made a downward motion with the palm of his hand.

“What?!  Please, I said I was sorry!  PLEASE NOOOO!!! PLE-” But just then the cow sat down atop Billy’s face, crushing his skull.  Billy made a suffocating, gurgling noise and after a single loud crack, fell silent forever.  

The cow moo’d and defecated.
“Who’s the cow now?” His mother asked as his parents high-fived.  

Chapter 5: Calm Down, Freak.

Chapter 5: Calm Down, Freak.

This chapter was originally reserved to speak of the follies of taking risks, however my tractor-trailer home burned down along with all of my belongings.  I originally lived in a normal trailer but became increasingly paranoid about the possibility of it burning down.  So I sold the lot and moved into an abandoned tractor-trailer.  Unfortunately what I thought was a tractor-trailer was actually just a cardboard cutout of a tractor-trailer.  Long-story short, the thing burned up, along with all of my previous chapters.
In the business they call this ‘winging it’.  I wish i could further explain what ‘winging it’ means, however that chapter burned up in the fire as well.

If you’re upset about this, calm down, freak.  Should you feel cheated out of any knowledge you would have gained about making a billion dollars?  Maybe.  Are you irritated that the title of this chapter is insulting you?  Perhaps.  But just calm down.  And before you completely ‘lose it’, let me warn you about a few other things.  Billionaires never ‘flip their shit’, so i’m just going to lay this all out for you nicely.  

1. This book is over 3,000 pages long.  If you look past page 27 you’ll probably notice about 2,973 completely blank pages.  This was a decision I made to have the book appear larger and more substantial than it actually is.  To make yourself feel better about this I have designated those pages as “a place to jot down important thoughts/ideas”.  Because after all, there are probably a lot of ideas that you haven’t jotted down yet.  

(Note: The second and third editions of this book have comically large font to fill up the allotted 3,000 pages.  If you would like to receive additional blank pages, those can be purchased for the low cost of $500.00 plus shipping and handling).

1-A.  If you are listening to this on audiobook, you may believe me to have a strange and annoying speech impediment that forces me to speak at an incredibly slow pace.  That last sentence alone took about 7 minutes for me to say.  This was a decision I had to make because otherwise the audiobook would only fit on one side of a cassette tape.  I chose to digitally slow down the recording to 50x the normal rate so that it would span twelve cassette tapes.  The more tapes, the higher the price.  Most walkmen have the ability to fast forward.  Just hold that baby (button) down if you get impatient.  

2. I farted really bad while writing chapter 2.  It happened just as I was beginning to write.  When the stench hit my nostrils it threw me into a sort of trance and made me nauseous.  I remember vomitting on my keyboard and passing out.   When I came to I found that I had produced an entire chapter along with a few hundred pages of “hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”.  I chose, wisely, to delete the letters my face had mashed onto the page but kept the chapter.    I can’t necessarily vouch for any advice given during my gaseous state.  What I can say, however, is that I learned never to eat week old burritos that have been laying on the floor of my trailer.  And you can take that to the bank (where you will be keeping your billions of dollars).

3.  This book cost you $300.00.  You already know this.  But just sit and let that really sink in.  What book in the history of the world has cost someone 300.00?  Well, this book.    And maybe some rare collectors items.  This is just a normal how-to book that I chose to randomly cost $300.00 out of sheer greed.  Honestly, you could find better information on Google or Yahoo!.  What were you thinking?  Are you an idiot?  I know because you bought my book you are too stupid to realize how angry you should be at this.  In a moment you’ll probably forget this entire chapter.  What’s more likely is that you can’t read.  You’re sitting at Arby’s trying to impress the cashier by reading a really thick book.  Well, good for me.  Not you, but me.   

If any of this is really pushing  your buttons you’re not following my advice and will never make a billion dollars.  And isn’t that what it’s really all about?  Seriously.  Calm down, freak.  

Nostalgia Pie - Music and the Places It Takes You

Music and the Places It Takes You

Smash Mouth’s Astro Lounge will always hold a special place in my heart.  It was one of the first albums I actually went out and purchased with my own money.  If I think about that album I don’t think about how bad the songs were.   I don’t think about bleached hair or Jennifer Love Hewitt.  Instead, I’m reminded of sitting at home somewhere in my middle school years, listening to the album through the disc drive on my family’s PC.  I used to own these terrible headphones that were made out of rubber. They were like earbuds, except the ‘bud’ part was molded to the outline of my earlobes.  They would wrap around the back and then somehow fit smugly into my ears.  The sound had an awful, tinny quality to it.  But I thought I looked really cool as I sat in my desk chair and sung along to ‘walking on the sun’.  

To every person there are those songs where the song doesn’t matter at all.  It’s about how that old music takes you back to a very specific time in your life.  Good times or more often than not, the worst times.  It’s one of the most personal and unique feelings in the world.  You could be having dinner with a group of friends and hear something come on and be filled with an indescribable feeling of nostalgia while the others around you don’t think twice.  

Putting on Boxcar Racer’s self-titled album takes me back to a summer love during my freshman year of high-school.  I think everyone has that one summer with that one person that just makes them feel good when they think about it.   I would sit with it playing on one of those tacky, gaudy boom-boxes that were all the rage back then while me and this girl would talk on the phone.  For hours and hours every night we would talk, and unknown to her I would almost always have that album playing in the background.  Sometimes it would switch to one of the other four discs that were in the CD-changer.  Inevitably, however, I would always bring it back to Boxcar Racer It was a good time in my life, and that’s where that music takes me.  If I hear that album now, even for a second, it really brightens my day.  Not becuase of the music, but because of what I relate it to.  


On the other hand, most of the time we wish that we didn’t relate that once great album to a long-lost love.  Because after things go bad that music is ruined forever.  Nobody ever realizes they relate those songs to that person until its too late.  

If I close my eyes and listen to Alkaline Trio’s Good Morning I can see so clearly me and a girl sometime during my junior or senior  year..  We’re lying in bed and we’re watching  the dawn illuminate my room.  That same gaudy boom-box is now playing ‘fatally yours’ and I can hear my parents moving around downstairs.  At some point this girl had snuck over the night before.  We had spent the night really just hanging out.  We talked and joked and were somehow more thrilled because we were doing something we weren’t supposed to be doing.   And now I would have to sneak her outside only to have her magically appear at my front door a few seconds later, ready to be given a ride to school.  It’s a good memory tainted by life, and what happens later on.  Because of that, to this day I have a difficult time making it through the opening tracks of that album.  Instead, I find myself making excuses to put something else on.  Nobody really knows why but me.  All because of what I instinctively feel when I hear it.

Then there’s the music that makes you truly long for something.  It doesn’t cheer you up or bring you down.  What it does instead is fill  you with regret knowing you took for granted something you couldn’t get back.

For about six months I lived in a run-down duplex with me and three friends.  It was the lowest point in my life but something that I would give anything to go back to.  It was a time where I was liberated and without fear because I’d reached rock bottom.  I had nothing to lose because I knew that if I failed at something it really wouldn’t matter. I could not feel worse than how I already felt.  What got me through it were the friends that lived in that duplex with me.  If I felt terrible I always knew at least someone would be there.  Night after night we would get drunk and insane.  After about a month of this my place resembled something that looked like a large, two bedroom two bath garbage can.  

My roommate and best friend, as his ring-tone he had The Draft’s ‘Lo Zee Rose’.  I’m not sure if it was the entire song, or just the first few seconds, but I would constantly hear that familiar song about five times a night coming from his phone.  This was a guy that saved my life.  He was always there and made me realize that there were actually people that truly cared about me.  To this day, when I hear that song I wish I could go back to that duplex and feel completely terrible.  Not because it was fun, but because it put everything in my life in to perspective.  The people I love are the ones that matter the most.  More than a job, or money, or anything.  

I was talking to a close friend recently and told her how Fleet Foxes’ ‘Helplessness Blues’ was ruined because of a failed relationship.  

“What you need to do is take a trip and listen to that album while you make new memories.  That way you can relate that music to something else”

I understand what she’s saying.  But am I really willing to give up those summer loves, or dumpster duplexes?  If I overwrite those memories with something else I’m afraid I’ll lose something forever that I'll never be able to get back.  I’ll lose the places that music takes me.  

Hatchet and Axe Outline

Amazing Outline I wrote for a friend taking English Comp 1

English Comp 1

Hatchet and Axe Outline

My essay will center around the art of throwing both hatches AND axes.  Many mistake the two for the same thing, however there are many differences.
In the following essay I will focus on what differentiates the two.  

1.  The first portion of my essay will focus on what it feels like to throw different types of objects.  I will include several different types of balls (baseballs, footballs, etc) and also random items.  is itmore difficult to throw glassware as opposed to hammers or even old compact discs?  It is important to discover how each of the objects will react after being thrown.

2.  after that I will move on to hatchets and axes.   both the weight and the girth will be explored.  Let’s say an axe is hurled at an innocent bystander.  How will the axe and hatchet affect the target?  It is probably very scary and I don’t blame someone for ducking out of the way.  

3.  finally I will discuss the psychological impacts of having both hatchets AND axes being thrown at them.  It can be a very traumatizing experience.  What type of person would cry?  Is it even possible that someone would laugh at being threatened by death?  This paragraph will also encompass the euphoric feeling one feels when throwing both hatchets AND axes at innocent bystanders.  The feeling is something that cannot be matched.

THE END

Chapter 4: Never Stop Moving

Chapter 4: Never Stop Moving

At this point you should be well on your way to making a billion dollars.  You may even be feeling a little fatigued.  This is a normal feeling and shouldn’t be dismissed.  In business, you don’t want to be satisfied with what you have.  You always want to be a forward thinker, constantly making moves.  Don’t ever stop. After all, what kind of people stop moving? Dead people, that’s what kind.  Do you want to turn out like one of those dead people? No? I didn’t think so.  

Close your eyes and imagine this if you will: (Note: Make sure you don’t close your eyes for too long.  It may lead to falling asleep, and many people lie completely still why they’re sleeping)  You are standing in a room with a billion ants.  You have one of two choices:

1) STOP MOVING - Making this choice will cause your body to be completely still.  At this point the billions of ants will begin to crawl all over your body.  Because there is nothing else to eat the ants will eat your flesh.  First your skin and then your muscles and then whatever is beneath your muscles.  Please consult my book Ouch! I’ve Stubbed My Toe: Your Body and YOU for a more detailed description of the human body.  After about three days you will finally be totally consumed.  Your family will open the door to this room only to find a trillion ants because after all that feeding the ants have obviously multiplied.  They will not mourn your loss.  Instead they will think of you as an illiterate because obviously you couldn’t read the fourth chapter in this book.

2) NEVER STOP MOVING - Making this choice will cause the ants to never become attached to your body.  In this scenario you do somersaults around the room, squashing the tiny insects.  Not only does this kill every single bug and save your life, but you also gain an amazing amount of strength thanks to the hundreds of somersaults you just did.  Your body morphs from a fat, ugly, flabby thing into a toned, sexy, athletic type of build.  After you leave the room hundreds of attractive men or women surround you.  I don’t want to get too explicit in case there are any underage entrepreneurs reading this book. But you get the idea.

I know what you’re asking yourself. “But Jonathan, this really doesn’t seem to make any sense.  At first I thought you were using moving as a metaphor to explain the intricacies of business.  But now it seems that you have taken it a step further and are actually telling me never stop moving my body. I’ll probably drop dead from exhaustion after a very short time.”  

Well that’s exactly what i’m telling you.  But remember, if you never stop moving, then you will never die.  If you’ve purchased the Deluxe version of my book please look in the attached goody bag.  In there you will find, among other things, a pair of black rubber gloves. This is a little invention I came up with.  When you slip the gloves on you will notice your hands will start flapping uncontrollably.  This is a way to never stop moving, and you don’t even have to do anything!  The gloves do all the work.  It may be extremely painful and annoying at first, but you’ll get used to it.  

From "Classical Fairytales and Life Lesson" by Jon Miller

(Originally published in "Classical Fairytales and Life Lessons" by Jon Miller.

Foxy and Thumper

Once upon a time there lived a fox named Thumper.  He lived in a forest with all of his friends.  Every day of every year the fox and his friends would play in the woods.  The sun would shine down as they threw acorns back and forth.  The dragonflies usually watched in anticipation waiting to see who would drop it first.  The deer and the antelope cooked three daily meals and all the animals were fed well.  All was as it should be in the forest until one day a curious creature appeared in the field across the way. The two worlds were divided by a line of trees.
 

It was an animal not a single one had ever seen before.  The creature had long ears and a bushy white tail.  It moved strangely as it hopped to and fro, without a care in the world.  Thumper was intrigued and went to the edge of the forest to greet this peculiar being.

“Why hello there, my name’s Thumper.  What’s yours?”
 

“I’m Foxy,” replied the animal.

Thumper was always anxious to make a new friend so he immediately opened up to this thing.  “Well Foxy, I’m a fox.  I’ve never seen an animal like you before.  What do others call you?’

“I’m a rabbit.  You all don’t have rabbits in your forest?” Foxy asked.

“Nope, but you’re welcome to come join us.  We’ve just begun playing acorn toss.  It’s the greatest game ever!” Foxy and Thumper trudged over to the woods where the rest of the gang was just beginning to play

“Who’s this?” One of the dragonflies replied.

“Well this here’s Foxy, she’s a rabbit.  And she really wants to play acorn toss.  So lets show her some good old forest hospitality!”

The animals and Foxy all played acorn toss.  It was a lovely day, however Foxy was surprisingly good at this game.  So good in fact, that none of the other animals got a chance to even touch the acorn.  Foxy tossed the acorn over and over again and eventually won the game.
 

“Hey, what’s the big idea! This game is for everyone,” yelled the dragonfly.

“I’m sorry,” Foxy said apologetically, “I guess I’m just good at this game for some reason.”

“Well that’s not how we play here,” said the dragonfly, “we SHARE here!”

Foxy was beginning to feel uneasy.  She slowly hopped away as the other animals began to laugh.
 

“I’m hungry! Let’s eat Foxy!” all the animals chanted at once.

“Wait what?” Foxy said

The animals circled around her. “Yeah, We’re going to eat you because that’s what we do to animals we don’t like.”

“Nooooooo!” screamed Foxy.   Thumper looked on in horror as the animals all pounced on Foxy the rabbit.  One of the bears ripped off her tail as blood streamed from the open wound.  Another took a bite from one of her long, pointy ears.  Several others grabbed at her limbs, pulling in every direction.

“Ohhhhh, Ahhhwwwww!” Foxy screamed in pain.  “Please, I didn’t know the rules of acorn toss, I’ll never pla-” but just then a swarm of dragonflies engulfed her face.  As they streamed down her throat and up her nostrils Foxy became suffocated by the furious insects.   

Thumper had stopped watching, not because he couldn’t bear to see it, but because he had noticed a frog hopping around on a lilly pad, and he thought it was the cutest thing.

A pool of blood seaped out from the animals piled on top of Foxy.  She had stopped moving and now only the sound of chewing could be heard from the group.  “We are full,” replied the animals, “I guess we should go to bed.”

As they began to trudge off Thumper stopped them in their tracks.  “Ok guys, just because someone is different from you it doesn’t mean you can treat them like that.  From now on we must treat everyone equal regardless of what they are!  She was my friend and she will still be my friend, in memory.”

“You’re right Thumper.  We’re sorry,” replied the animals.

Full of pride, Thumper nodded his head and hurried away.  As he neared his foxhole he tried to remember the rabbit's name, but he couldn’t.  
 

“Whatever,” Thumper muttered as he let out a long, wet fart.  

THE END