Story with No Title.  Day 6

​

I’m working on the new website and it’s super easy.  Just like snapping my fingers* and there it is.  I’ve already gotten the web domain.  I put that on my new credit card from BOA.  What a bunch of dunces!  All you have to do is fill out the form and there you have it – like magic; money in the bank.  What could be easier?  Okay, so I had to use a few tiny bits of data from my roommate, but it’s for a good cause, right? Save a bugs life at saveabug.org.

 

I just know this is going to take off, just like it has wings.  And some of us do, which is annoying to the rest of us, especially when someone comes in the room with a vacuum cleaner.  I mean, really.

 

So I just watched a documentary on a mixed family, beetle and grasshopper, in Russia from about 100 years ago.  It very plainly shows the struggles we have as men, regardless of species, when it comes to the whole, you know,

sexing sexting sexualizing  having sex on each other.  It’s difficult.  It’s like some other part of the brain takes over.  The amygdala or something.  And we all know what happens then.

 

Anyway, in the documentary, the husband takes to drinking and the next thing you know, he’s got himself a mistress.  That’s what happens with alcohol right?  Everything would have been fine, except for the guy tailing him and taking pictures with his super old-time camera the size of a small car.  Hard to stay hidden with that.  Anyway, this is where it gets a little exciting, as it shows the “gentleman” and his Ho running around the room all-naked.  Kind of embarrassing, actually, to see a naked cricket.  I remember one time when I was on a similar job, except I was bugged, super high-tech.  I just walked up to the Joe and asked for a light, you know, like in the movies, and started up a conversation about my recent trip to Uzbekistan, just to get him to talking.  It was no time before he was just rattling on about nuclear triggers and the like.  What a sap.  Nabbed in no time.

 

But here’s the problem.  I’m not too confident that the credit card will last that long, what with having to make payments, and all.  So, just in case anyone out there would like to send in a dollar or two.  Always grateful.

 

Now I can’t remember what I was going to say.  Let me see… was it about the roommate, or maybe his girlfriend, was it the music, was it the leftover pizza?  Maybe I have ADD.  I should try and score some Adderall on the street but then how do you know if it’s any good?  It could have been in some school kids pocket for weeks.  In the middle of cold season.  Some germs are super bad.  I was just reading about tuberculosis.  Now there’s a disease with some great history.

 

Did you know that Jean de Brunhoff had TB?  You certainly don’t see Barbar saying anything about it.  Isn’t that just pathetic? Not a word.  Wouldn’t you have expected something?  Anything?  A few words of credit for having created him in the first place, or at least a word or two of kind condolence?  What kind of elephant is he?

 

Then there’s Anton Chekov, plus a whole long list of other Russian writers (note to self: stay out of Russia), Dashiell Hammett, Robert Heinlein, John Keats, George Orwell.  The list goes on.  I’m thinking if you have to die of TB to be a great writer, I’ll just stay in the mediocre category.  So let me know if my writing gets a bit into the ‘better’ category.  You know what I’m saying?

​

                        Chest radiographs of tuberculosis      F. Kafka

  

 

 

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

(A) Primary tuberculosis in young Franz Kafka (note the right-sided hilar adenopathy, right-sided lower lobe infiltrates, and volume loss).
(B) Lower lung field tuberculosis infiltration and cavity with air-fluid level in lingula.
(C) Reactivated tuberculosis, far-advanced disease with bronchogenic spread.
(D) Miliary tuberculosis.

 

 

Turns out Franz Kafka is on the list as well, or Frankie, as we call him.  Okay, I should let up on the guy a bit, especially as he is already dead.  Of consumption, of all things.  So, truth is, he didn’t really know any cockroaches.  He had to make it all up.  Even the part about rolling over in bed.  He only had his imagination to work with and let’s give him credit – the story had a big impact in the world.  At least in the above-ground world.

 

Oh, yeah, now I remember what I was going to say.  It’s about my people, Archy and Mehitabel, but I’m out of time.  Sorry about that.  Maybe tomorrow.

 

​

 

 

 

*Metaphorically speaking.