"Why is there is a screen in front of us?" Amy said. "And why are you shining a light from behind us?"
"Just relax as the nurse clips your eyelids," I said, "and then we'll get started projecting text on the screen."
"It burns!" Andy yelled. "The goggles do nothing!"
"Why am I calling them goggles?!?"
"Everyone ready? Feeling good? Great! Let's start with our first selection:
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His athletic body was molten lead, mind frozen in place. Everything looked gray through blood shot pale blue eyes.
The City of Chicago police had called. It ruined his day, maybe his life, he morbidly thought.
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"This writing is ruining my day, Andy morbidly thought," Andy said.
"Wait, I'm confused," Amy said. "How can a body be molten lead?"
"I think he's the Terminator," I offered. "You know, that liquid silver guy?"
"Oh. I guess that's funny."
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It was late evening when his cell had blurted, dit - dit - dit - daah . . . he'd decided to not pick up the unidentified call, thinking it a mindless mechanical voice selling everything from a wife in Russia to telling him the Internal Revenue Service was issuing a warrant for his arrest unless he paid immediately.
He answered.
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"Wait, I'm confused," Andy said. "Why is he answering the call if he thinks it's a scam?"
"Because he's going to get a Russian wife," Amy said. "Wouldn't you answer?"
"Sarah Connah?" I said. "Make me some borscht."
"Really bad, Greg."
"Runs in the family."
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"This is officer Colin Walsh of the Chicago 4th district calling. Are you Ryan Langdon?"
"I am."
"It tis me distinct displeasure to be informing you your mum passed on today."
His mom died! She was 47.
He couldn't speak.
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"And he can't write."
"This is giving me a distinct displeasure."
"Tis!"
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The police officer, with an Irish cast to his voice, was efficient and polite as he continued. He was doing a business done everyday, in America's third largest city, he obtained Ryan's full contact information and ended, "If her body isn't claimed within..."
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"So he's wearing a cast on his voice?"
"Because it's broken, and it's Irish."
"Are we almost done? The clips are making my eyes bleed."
"Shush! There are 700 more pages."
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On the walk two miscreants came up behind Ryan. He sensed them and whirled around to face them. He knocked one to the ground with a stiff forearm any linebacker worth his salt would be proud of, and the other seeing the damage to his partner ran for help from other gang members. Ryan knew better than to hang around, following his gut, he took off and was a long way away before gang members could arrive.
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"So his gut is running ahead of him?"
"To get away from miscreants."
"How much salt is a linebacker worth anyway?"
"Salt is usually in the signing bonus."
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Once away from them, he went panting and sweating to a convenience store to buy pears. He got to his mom's apartment, then climbed the stairs and knocked on the door, then used his key to enter. He gave her the pears. She loved them but rarely had them because it was an "extravagance."
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"Wait, wait, hold on. Are pears an extravagance now? And can you buy pears at 7-Eleven??"
"Only pear-flavored taquitos."
"This is meant to establish how his tragically-dead mom used to love pears. She was a pear-lovin' mommy."
"I love fetish porn."
"This is more like BDSM without the eroticism."
"Speaking of which..."
________________________________________________________________
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About to cross the intersection, he stopped, "Ok, are you up for it cowgirl?"
A few words of where to rodeo were exchanged. Finally, "My apartment's a few blocks from here?"
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"Goddamnit, doesn't he know where his apartment is?"
"He can't find it since they leveled it for the rodeo."
"I think he meant to end that sentence with an interrobang."
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No argument, "Wherever, let's go." They kind of stumbled four, groping kissing, blocks. They reached the mid-50s apartment building with surging lust, rising each step up the stairs.
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"The true sign of poverty: a mid-50s apartment building."
"It's probably near a pear market. In the pear district. All he can do is wistfully look in the windows."
"Is this about to get gross?"
"HELL YEAH!!"
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At the landing they wrapped around each other. Both knew it wasn't the start of "something big," unless it was below his belt, which she was anxious to get working on.
They walked in and he turned the pod on with Marvin Gaye's singing Let's Get It On followed by Dirty Dancing's soundtrack.
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"Followed by 2 Live Crew's I'mma Fuck You In the Ass."
"It was nice of him to turn his pod on first. Or did he mean pod people?"
"Okay, unclip me. Nurse? Nurse!"
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Juiced, she didn't need musical stimulation, her dopamine was already rushing and flowing through her. While groping, they shed clothes. Both were anxious.
He released her and, holding his slacks, groped for a condom and pulled it out, then dropped them to the floor.
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"My dad never gave me The Talk. I guess he's giving it to me now."
"He's giving it to all of us."
"I can't unlock my seat belt!"
"Maybe if you get more juiced?"
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Wearing nothing but boots on the bed, she was wet and raring to go, "Whatever . . . !"
He came over her and slid into the starting chute of the wild mustang's saddle. The bareback bucking contest didn't take long to get going.
The crazy-ass mare bucked with fury, she bit, arched her back and scratched. He gripped the filly's mane like iron and gave plunging thrust after thrust. Gyration for gyration, on rode the hungered.
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"Okay, I think you're the one who needs to give your dad The Talk."
"I'm out!"
"Hey! How did Amy break free of all those restraints??"
"Probably by crazy-ass power."
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The next day Ryan dawned an innocuous sports jacket for his job interview. The bank manager held out his grizzled hand and...
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"Andy? Andy?? Dear God, the awesome power of my dad's prose killed him. Amy! You're going to be rich!"
"Whoo-hoo! I'm going to buy some pears!"
"A pear. Don't go crazy."
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