Second Entry
Stardate: 0522200815.28
It
was an outrage. A tremendous blow to the collective ego
of Jack Swag and Jimmy Gag, and it would not be stood for.
They
were high rollers! They may enjoy the comfort and feel of
circa-1970's era pantsuits, but they felt and acted like
the kings of the land! There was no reason (besides being
a deaf, blind, mute...who plays really awesome pinball)
why they should be treated in such a manner. Like...commoners.
They
had gone to their favorite fast-food place earlier that
day, feeling as if they owned the whole town. The t-shirt
business was booming, their pet cougar was well-fed and
happy, their polyester pants had only shrunk a little bit
in the drier, and their hair was especially bouncy today:
all of which added up to a pretty damn good day thus far.
They
walked in and waited patiently by the door, waiting to be
seated. It took almost 33.2 minutes for an employee to ask
them what they wanted.
Jack
responded, "Well...I guess some yum-grub, baby."
"We
want to sit first...then the yum-grub." Jimmy was quick
to pipe in.
"So
sit." Replied the greasy-faced boy. "Whatever."
Jimmy
blinked in disbelief. "What....ever?" Jimmy lurched
at the kid, who fell on his ass in surprise. Jack grabbed
hold of his brother-man and restrained him from kicking
the crapola out of the kid with his platform boots of pimpin'
pain.
The
kid scampered back on his hands, scooting his but along
the freshly-mopped floor. "Hey, dude! Easy!"
Tears
of rage stood out in Jimmy's eyes and he jabbed a finger
in the kid's direction, screaming in fury, "I'll SHOW
you whatever! I'll do it! Don't test me!"
Jack
pulled Jimmy away, dragging him through the door and whispering
words into his ear to calm him. Things like, "Remember
peanut butter, man. Remember. Calm down, dude. Peanut butter."
always seemed to bring Jimmy down from the edge.
On
the way home, Jimmy fumed. "I can't BELIEVE they would
treat us like that. 'Go ahead and sit!' 'Whatever!' Who
talks to big shots like us like that? Nobody! That's who!"
Jack
just let his main bro vent it out, because he had an idea.
He had the type of idea that made them the ultra-high level
of big-shits that they were today.
When
they got inside, Jimmy went right to his room to play with
their pet cougar. Jack set to work on his idea. He'd make
a new t-shirt that would let EVERYONE know what big-time
superstars they were.
Hours
went by, and Jack finished his project. He took the two
new t-shirts and knocked on Jimmy's door. Jimmy opened the
door a tiny crack and mumbled something that sounded like
"Goway."
"Dude,"
said Jack. "I got the answer, man. Let's go back to
the burger-joint and show them who's boss."
Jimmy
didn't look convinced, but he trusted his bro-man. He put
on the shirt Jack gave him and pulled his pleather jacket
on over it. "Let's go, man. I'm ready like Freddy."
It
didn't take them long to get back to the fast-food joint,
and they jumped out of their caddy convertible Starsky and
Butch style. Jack walked up to the front door and booted
it open, striding in and standing there purposefully with
hands on hips. Jimmy came in after him, dropping to one
knee and Hulk-posing for the security cameras in front of
Jack while he exclaimed, "Find me a seat, assholes!"
Everyone
in the place stopped to stare at them. The shirts worked.
If they wore t-shirts that announced that "I'm Kind
of a Big Deal", then people wouldn't be able to resist
acknowledging their super-star status.
Jack
Swag and Jimmy Gag might still have to order at the counter
and find their own seat, but everyone in that place knew
how awesome they were just from reading their shirts. It
turned out to be a pretty good day, after all.
First Entry
Stardate: 0415081702.23
Jack
Swag gardens. He gardens because it makes him happy, sort
of like when the milk picks up some of the ice-cream flavor
in the fridge. It's a waste of good ice cream when it gets
melty in the fridge, but how else are you supposed to make
milk taste like Cookies, Cookies, Cookies brand ice cream?
You can't, so the sacrifice must be made.
As
Jackie-Boy Swag gardened one sweltering afternoon in February,
he noticed a face peeking mischievously through his sambucus
bush. The face was crinkled in a sly grin, holding up one
finger as if testing the wind for a rocket-ship ignition
test. It was a gnome of the olden stories his gran-ma-ma
told when he was just a little Swag.
Gnomes
are testy creatures of the earth. Swag knew if he could
capture it in his own two hands, he would be able to force
it to grant him a wish. He needed that wish. He wanted a
ham melt in the worst way.
"Come
here, you little man-mole!" Swag bellowed in his reedy
voice as he burst through the shrubbery, hands tight around
the throat of the gnome. He felt something shatter underneath
him and he gasped in horror as he held up the head of the
gnome.
"You'd
rather shatter yourself then give me my ham melt, you mouse
turd?" he raised the head up to the sky, screaming.
"NOOOOOOOO!"
He
recovered quickly, tears in his eyes. "Mr. Gnome. How
many of you are there? Redeem yourself before you die."
He pleaded to the head.
He
got no answer. The gnome had died without his head. He looked
down to the broken body of the smitten gnome. He looked
at that one finger raised to the heaven, and he knew that
the gnome had answered his question before he was shattered
into two broken gnome-pieces. Gnomero uno. There was only
one. His ham melt would never be granted.
"Oh!
Silver lining!" exclaimed The Swagger King. "That'd
make a great shirt! Gnomero Uno! Who needs a ham melt?"
Jack
Swag jumped up and ran into the house, mind racing with
ideas of Gnomeros and Unos.
