Tag Archives: Biff Carter 02^*++++

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I had… Anocemax right here on the table where yesterday I’d been woofing down a suspect bland topless pizza and where I was sitting when the unsliced top showed up afterwards with a mouth running on about Silver this and Silver that, turning *me* Silver in the end, *sigh*. Should’ve been Jack instead of Luigi’s at the end of that row staring with King followed by Queen but it wasn’t in the cards; all sour grapes or at least fruit by this point. This won’t happen tonight; I’ll make sure of *that*. I unload two pills red and blue from the bottle before me into my shooting hand and raise them toward my open mouth.

“Don’t do it!” shouted a likewise open mouthed, frilly, grape colored Prince barging through the front door. My Hitcher! I realized, or close enough. Must have used the wrong vendor. “Oh,” I said, realizing what he was concerned about. “No no, these are *appetite suppressant* pills, not the kind that can kill you. I just wanted to avoid the pizza again.”

“You sure about that?” Prince said, looking at me askance with that famous pout like he knows something I don’t.

Anocemax, I ponder. “Oh DARN! I bought the wrong drug from that cheap ass pharmacy in town. I wanted Aconamex!”

“Precisely. And I’m here to collect the remainder of your balance.” Then Prince shrunk down into the same blasted banana I was trying to avoid all along, starting the cycle all over again. “Empty your pockets,” he commanded. “Give it all over to me. NOW.”

I turned them inside out like before, handed over the $19.99 it surprisingly produced which he seemed pleased with and said it was just enough to party down like there was no tomorrow. Which he also indicated there wasn’t. tbc?

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0051, 0611, Bandanaboro, Omega

00510511

It was the end of us, I knew. End of the band; start of an 8-5 or 9-5 job under a boss who cared not one lick about music or its benefits to society. Creativity *murdered*. 666. How to avoid?

—–

“That’s really beautiful, Frank. Spongeberg #5, you say?”

“Fresh off the printer and into our home. Middle C middle C middle C,” he chants, a thing that got him through the ultra-complex piece. He had to remember that the composer had a plan, an endpoint. Wasn’t writing down notes by the seat of his pants. I heard recently that creativity without outline is just noise. Planners not Panters, at least for the chromagraphs. Spongeberg had the process down.

Everyone seemed to be enjoying it! Wall to wall fun for the 12, 13, 14 people who attended (pheh).

—–

The manager shows up with his wad of empty Money, choice looming. Keep living day to day, meal to meal, bill to unpaid bill, or escape the threat of abject poverty and enjoy the benefits of health insurance, college ed for the kids, so on. He hands me his card (see top).

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0051, 0511, Bandanaboro, Omega