Normals

Richard had always had a normal life, until that day when he met those teenagers.

"Get off my lawn," he screamed at them. When they didn't move, he apporached their daunting postures and began to realize what kind of scoundrels they were.

From far away, he didn't notice the pentagram necklaces and the long, dark robes.

"Go away," he nervously persisted.

"Smite thee," they chanted, "You are an outsider."

Richard's pride got the best of him. "No! I am a member of every group in Little Creek. I demand you to let me join."

Ed is very lonely. He fell in love with the Statue of Liberty at age 26. As a son of Irish immigrants, Ed saw the green beauty as a symbol of the culture of his ancestors. He spent every night next to that green giant for 4 years straight, until the black and white of New York separated the bond. He now lives with two children and a wife, but keeps an old green penny in his wallet.

Alcohol always made things easier for Charlie. He vaguely remembers Yale parties where he was a lady killer after 5 shots. Nowadaysm his wife is excessively loud and angry all the time. The "couple" haven't slept in the same room for 15 years. Lately, Charlie hasn't even seen the light of sobriety through those foggy eyes, nor wanted to; everything hurts more without his dark ambrosia.

Harold couldn't help himself. He just found Amber o attractive. He swears that it's not his fault that they got married, because when Amber found out about his Beverly Hills mansion, she suddenly found him very attractive. The law says that Harold is married to Marge, but those were the golden days, the glory days.

I'm Waiting for Motivation II

Get up from there.

Why don’t we just get our backpacks on and we’ll head to school.

We could sit in corners and laugh at everyone else that isn’t us because

Look at what they’re missing. Just get up, you, ya scoundrel.

Your backyard is warmer is than inside, somehow.

But your grass is splotchy . The bench in your garden has broken

in half and it’s going to take more than haphazard Elmer’s to get us on our feet.

Great. Fifty feet and we’re back on our spines under

a fort of couches and linens. Let’s pretend that rules

don’t apply and that holes in the fabric are huge stars

and we can hide from our problems.

Just get up, you, ya scoundrel.

Sure, we could drive around for hours and waste your week’s gas in one night.

We tend to nothing a lot, don’t we? Filling, dead air with its hot counterpart.

We would try something different today as we sat in your car.

We could talk about your subtle comments and my snide remarks.

Look at us. Look at what everyone else is missing.

Just get up, you, ya scoundrel.

At one point, one of us will feel like actually doing something,

But the other will have been iron on to the leather seats

of your Sedan by rays of nonchalance.

“Why can’t life be like as easy as fucking Marmaduke?

Why can’t I have as few worries as him?

Why don’t people chase me when I runaway from me?”

And you’d turn your DGAF head towards me and say

“Why don’t we play the Quiet game. Ready. Go.”