Today I randomly opened Eternal Road – The final stop to page 201. With eyes closed, I pointed to the page, and the word nearest my finger was planet. Planet is our prompt today.
My need for a direct infusion of caffeine was met with a cold, dark touchscreen on the coffee machine. Puzzled, the haze-filled investigation began. Hitting reset-no help. Checking the line trip – no help. Calling the electric company – no help. Sitting on hold at the manufacturer – no help. Finally, speaking with a customer service representative who asked the definitive question, “Did you check the plug?” The plug? Does this person think they are talking to a moron? The plug? How flipping insulting can one get? Reminds me of talking to a WordPress Happiness Engineer. The plug? For crying out loud, of course I checked . . .the . . .plug. “Thank you for your help, customer Service person. I’ve got it from here.”
WHO UNPLUGGED THE COFFEE MACHINE? was the question heard round the block. Of course, there was no answer. Once plugged in, my 8-oz crema-topped brew was available for the inhaling. The first sip was also accompanied by the reverberations of the Westminster chime from the front doorbell. These were instantly joined by the baying of Egor’s hounds, also known as Twiggy and Tempeste. The toss of a knuckle bone into the soundproof room and a door slam brought the sound of silence to this tortured space. Looking at the front door camera, I see something that looks like an Empire Stormtrooper. “State your business,” was the order through the intercom. “Package for Howell,” came the reply. “Just drop it there.” “Sorry, sir, but it needs a signature.”
With a sigh, the security system shutdown process has begun. The SWAT team needs to be put on standby. A quick text to the leader confirms that status. Also, the flight of A-10 Warthogs must be diverted. Another call to the commander puts that worry to rest. The SEAL team needs to be called off, and a call to the leader makes that possible. The control panel makes the shutdown of the security system process simpler. The boiling oil vats are put on standby, the turret mortars disengaged, the Trebuchet on safety, the concertina wire rolled, the Claymore mines reset, the tower Gatling guns on safety, the moat net dropped, the alligators fed, the IEDs and shoulder-held rockets put away. The Proton torpedoes switched off. The locks on the door are thrown. And the door opened.
“What is a Stormtrooper doing delivering packages?”
“A side hustle. Sign here.”
With formalities finished, the stormtrooper jumps on what looks like a motorcycle with no wheels and is gone. The package has a note from Linda Hill and a package of Sweetarts. The note reads: Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “plug.” Use it as a noun, use it as a verb, use it any way you’d like. Have fun!
Today, I opened the second book in the Eternal Road series: The Last Drive randomly to page 119 and pointed with my eyes closed. The word closest to my finger is “departure.” This is our prompt today.
The words on the coffee maker’s touchscreen are a jumble of disassociated letters. It appears as if the machine is having some kind of breakdown. My only thought is to reboot it and see if there is any improvement. The plug is pulled, and an almost imperceptible sigh is released deep inside the black box. Inserting the plug in the outlet brings the machine back to life. The words “Thank you” pop onto the screen briefly before the menu appears normally.
Being reminded of Gilda Radner’s SNL bit about Rosanne Rosanna Danna’s mantra of, “If it’s not one thing, it’s another. It’s always something,” the eight-ounce coffee selection is made. The first sip is heaven and a reminder to call the machine feelings doctor and get an appointment for an examination. The second sip is covered by the Westminster Chime cacophony of the doorbell. A quick toss of a chew toy into the soundproof room and a slam of the door returns the room to silence from the bone-cracking barking of Tempeste and Twiggy.
A look at the porch camera screen confirms that a person looking very much like Mike Tyson is glaring at the camera. “What do you want?” is the message. “Delivery for J. Howell came the answer.” “Just leave it.” A low growl through the speaker convinced me I had better open the door. The security system shutdown process has begun. The SWAT team needs to be put on standby. A quick text to the leader confirms that status. Also, the flight of A-10 Warthogs must be diverted. Another call to the commander puts that worry to rest. The SEAL team needs to be called off, and a call to the leader makes that possible. The control panel makes the shutdown of the security system process simpler. The boiling oil vats are put on standby, the turret mortars disengaged, the Trebuchet on safety, the concertina wire rolled, the Claymore mines reset, the tower Gatling guns on safety, the moat net dropped, the alligators fed, the IEDs and shoulder-held rockets put away. The locks on the door are thrown. And the door opened.
“You, Howell?” “Yes.” “Sign here or I will be forced to squeeze your head like a ripe cantaloupe.”
The letter is from Linda Hill, and after I sign and make a crack about great customer service, the guy turns to leave. “What, no tip?” he says. “Cross only on green,” is my retort. I slam the door and throw the locks. I open the letter, and it reads.
Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “jumble.” Use it any way you’d like. Enjoy!
“Nope. History was a jumble of nothing going on. The only thing reported 100 years ago was a baseball game between the Ku Klux Klan of Kansas and a black semi-pro team.”
“Might have been interesting. Who won?”
“The black team.”
“Put a hole in superiority claims, I guess.”
“For sure.”
“Speaking of superior.”
“Let me guess. Time for VooDoo Rangers. Call Uber.”
With brain pounding and mouth drooling my coffee drink is finally ready. A sip of the life affirming elixir is interrupted by the invasive sound of Westminster chimes signalling some idiot can’t read the sign above the doorbell that reqads in large letters DO NOT RING THE DOORBELL. Twiggy and Tempeste have gone into stage two barking and a Benny bone has to be tossed into the soundproof room. Having tossed the bone and slammed to door behind the decibel bending fur sisters peace once again returns to the manor. Checking the security camera feed there is no one to be seen on the porch. “What do you want?” is my command from the intercom. “Message from Linda Hill,” is the reply. “Just leave it.”
After some sniveling and expressed fear of losing a deliver job the security system shut down process is begun. The SWAT team needs to be put on standby. A quick text to the leader confirms that status. Also, the flight of A-10 Warthogs must be diverted. Another call to the commander puts that worry to rest. The SEAL team needs to be called off and a call to the leader makes that possible. The control panel makes the shutdown of the security system process simpler. The boiling oil vats are put on standby, the turret mortars disengaged, the Trebuchet on safety, the concertina wire rolled, the Claymore mines reset, the tower Gatling guns on safety, the moat net dropped, the alligators fed, the IEDs and shoulder-held rockets put away. The locks on the door are thrown.
Standing there is a character that looks very much like Daffy Duck. He has a note in one hand and the other looks like he is expecting a tip. Taking the note and offering as a tip to “Watch out for black holes,” the door is slammed. The security system shows the duck sticking his tongue out as he backs down the drive. I reengage the system and open the note. It reads: Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “drink.” Use it as a noun or a verb, use it any way you’d like. Have fun
Today I opened Circumstances of Childhood randomly to page 229. With eyes closed I pointed to the page. My finger fell closest to the word “shower.” That is our prompt.
It is a long walk from the bedroom to the kitchen. Well, let’s say it seems like a long walk when the caffeine-deprived brain is screaming behind the eyeballs for immediate relief. To quiet the banshee inside my head, I choose two cups of that second export from Colombia. A finger touch is all it takes, and the steaming frothy cup is delivered post haste.
The first sip quelled the roaring neurons, and the room color went from pink to white. The realization that my burning eyes were giving the room the pink hue dawned on me just as the doorbell tripped the Westminster chimes. The quiet air was shattered with what sounded like a 747 in dire trouble, only to realize that a knuckle bone would be needed to restore the peace. Said bone was tossed into the soundproof room, followed by the Baskerville hounds and a door slam. Once the chimes finished their routine, the quiet almost made the ears hurt.
Checking the camera, a lone Rooster image holding a sign that reads Message from Linda Hill greets the eye. “Just leave it,” is the instruction through the intercom. “Can’t,” came the reply. “It’s verbal.” “Then say it,” is the response. “Can’t. Need to verify your identity.” A big sigh while moving to disengage the security system. The SWAT team needs to be put on standby. A quick text to the leader confirms that status. Also, the flight of A-10 Warthogs must be diverted. Another call to the commander puts that worry to rest. The control panel makes the shutdown of the security system process simpler. The boiling oil vats are put on standby, the Trebuchet on safety, the concertina wire rolled, the Claymore mines reset, the tower Gattling guns disengaged, the moat net dropped, the alligators fed, the IEDs and shoulder-held rockets put away. The locks on the door are thrown.
The tall thing before me looks very much like Fog Horn Leghorn. He goes on about needing an ID before stating the message. Showing him my driver’s license finally gets him talking. “I say. I say there, John, your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “walk.” Use it any way you’d like. Have fun, I say.” A quick thank you and a ten-dollar tip send the rooster on his way.
A ton of rain last night. The lightning was spectacular, with what could be called friendly thunder. It more or less rolled like some songwriters describe. It brought to mind that time when a heavy downpour and wind took out the tent in the backyard. A quick check confirmed that the tent was still there. The coffee machine rewarded that result with a piping hot, creamy, big cup of cappuccino. The first sip brought the head-cracking sound of the Westminster chimes resulting from some idiot pushing the doorbell with a sign over it not to do that.” Twiggy and Tempest put several scratches in the ceiling as they defy gravity to ward off the intruder that death is imminent. A knuckle bone tossed into the soundproof room saves the crystal from turning to dust. Slamming the door while making a mental note that a skull and crossbones must also be put out by the doorbell.
A glance at the camera playback shows a sign that says, “Special Delivery from Linda Hill.” Screaming through the intercom to just leave it, it is responded to by two words. “Must sign.” Cursing quietly, the security shut-down process begins. The SWAT team needs to be put on standby. A quick text to the leader confirms that status. Also, the flight of A-10 Warthogs must be diverted. Another call to the commander puts that worry to rest. The control panel makes the shutdown of the security system process simpler. The boiling oil vats are put on standby, the Trebuchet on safety, the concertina wire rolled, the Claymore mines reset, the tower Gattling guns disengaged, the moat net dropped, the alligators fed, the IEDs and shoulder-held rockets put away. The locks on the door are thrown.
Standing before me with the sign is the stinkiest delivery person on the planet. This person appears to look and smell very much like Pepe Le Peu. Under his arm is a cat blinking help me in Morse code with her eyelids. Pepe hands me the envelope and a clipboard. Once signed, he and the cat disappear down the road. The envelope is opened and the message is clear Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “that time.” Use it any way you’d like. Enjoy!
