Today I randomly opened Detour on the Eternal Road to page 97. With eyes closed, I pointed to the page. The word closest to my finger is “Bearings.” This is our prompt today.
Today, I opened Eternal Road – The final stop randomly to page 167. With eyes closed, I pointed to the page. The word closest to my finger is “horses.” That is our prompt today.
Sometimes the coffee machinel ikes to prolong the wrecker ball hitting a metal building sound in my brain due to caffeine withdrawal. My guess is that it is jealous of not being able to walk around. When this happens, a subtle reminder of who is the boss gets things back on track. This morning, a message appeared on the touchscreen.
An immediate thump on the top resolved the problem, and two streams of life-restoring elixir began to flow. The first sip quelled the noise in my head. The second (As seems to be the custom now) is accompanied by the cacaphony of Westminster chimes, Tempest, and Twiggy throwing up their warning barrage. A quick toss of a Wagyu steak into the soundproof room and a door slam brought a kind of hush all over the world. A glance at the security monitor revealed the idiot pushing the doorbell. It was none other than Tiny, the WWF champion, with an envelope and a clipboard. Mrs. Howell didn’t raise a fool, so the security shut-down process began.
The B-2 bomber squadron and the F-35 escort must be called off. One call does it. The tank corps and gunboats are told to stand by. The Apache helicopters are rerouted. The electric shock fence is turned off. The drawbridge over the quicksand is lowered. The robot attack dogs are returned to their charging station. The laser-guided machine guns on the roof are set to caution. The nest filled with rattlesnakes is put away. The bucket filled with 1000 marbles is locked down. The tear gas canisters shut off. The electrified welcome mat set to off. The fall-away sidewalk into the pit filled with spikes is locked. The hornet’s nest closed. The water cannons are set to safety. Bear traps are set to off. Peregrine Falcons perched on the roof above front door fed. The vat of boiling oil set to warm. The front door is open.
No time is wasted in signing the clipboard and passing it back with a $20 attached. A smile curled on Tiny’s lip, and it was hard to tell if he was pleased or simply passing gas. Not waiting to find out, the front door quickly came between Tiny and me. The envelope contains a message from Linda Hill. It reads:
Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “sometimes.” Start your post with the word “sometimes.” Have fun!
A piece of sourdough toast with peanut butter and grape jelly will go well with coffee this morning. The machine gives out a full mug with no complaint, and the toaster follows suit. The first sip of coffee stops the pile-driver effect in my brain from being triggered by dangerously low caffeine levels. Of course, the second sip is accompanied by the crashing sound of a full tray of dishes on a tile floor, which is the combination of the Westminster doorbell and the two four-legged warning barks of Twiggy and Tempeste. A toss of a big bone into the soundproof room and a door slam brings back precious peace.
A glance at the security monitor tells me I am graced with a visit from Roger Rabbit. He has an envelope and a clipboard, so conversation is fruitless. With a sigh, the security shutdown process begins.
The B-2 bomber squadron and the F-35 escort must be called off. One call does it. The tank corps and gunboats are told to stand by. The Apache helicopters are rerouted. The electric shock fence is turned off. The drawbridge over the quicksand is lowered. The robot attack dogs returned to their charging station. The laser-guided machine guns on the roof are set to caution. The nest filled with rattlesnakes put away. The bucket filled with 1000 marbles is locked down. The tear gas canisters shut off. The electrified welcome mat set to off. The fall-away sidewalk into the pit filled with spikes is locked. The hornet’s nest closed. The water cannons are set to safety. Bear traps are set to off. Peregrine Falcons perched on the roof above front door fed. The vat of boiling oil set to warm. The front door is opened.
Roger hands me the envelope and the clipboard. Keeping the envelope and returning the clipboard with a fiver attached. ” Control what you can and let go of the rest,” is my other tip. The envelope has a message from Linda Hill. It reads: Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “jelly.” Use it any way you’d like. Enjoy!
Today I randomly opened The Last Drive to page 145 and, with my eyes closed, pointed to the page. The word nearest my finger is “system.” That is our prompt today.
“You have to go through the system. No one just gets out.”
“But I don’t understand the system.”
“Ignorance is no excuse. If you do the crime, you need to do the time.”
“But that’s just it. I didn’t do anything.”
“If I’ve heard that once, I’ve heard it a thousand times.”
“So you’re not going to let me go?”
“Nope. Only the judge can do that.”
“I want my lawyer.”
“Of course you do. Until your lawyer gets here, you’ll stay put.”
“Can you and I make a deal?”
“Oh, so now you want to bribe your way out?”
“Call it a gift.”
“You have nothing I want. I would just sit down and behave myself before more charges are added.”
“What charges are on me now?”
“Let’s see. Destruction of property, assault with intent to harm, public indecency, trespassing, running loose without a license, and avoiding arrest.”
“It’s not my fault.”
“And why is that?”
“My owner left the gate open.”
“So that gave you permission to tear up the newspaper, bite the animal control officer, poop in the neighbor’s yard, run uncontrolled through the neighborhood, and dodge the animal control officer.”
Imagine my pique when I approach the coffee machine and see these words on the touchscreen. Of course, the action taken was as any red-blooded person would take. The touchscreen was cleared, and the two coffee buttons engaged. The coffee machine growled to life and delivered the elixir that would put to rest the hammer-meets-anvil sound in my head, indicating a dangerously low level of caffeine. The first sip does just that. The second, as we have come to expect, is accompanied by what sounds like the crashing crescendo of a Yamaha grand piano hitting the Grand Canyon floor. It is the Westminster chime of the doorbell and the baying of Igor’s hounds by Twiggy and Tempeste at the peak of their Barking Back to St Louis duet.
The toss of a bone into the soundproof room and a slam of the door brought Oh Happy Day back to life. A peek at the security monitor confirms that someone on the porch is none other than Pepé Le Pew. Hoping to be able to talk him out of a personal interaction, for obvious reasons, I ask if the envelope he is holding can be left. He assures me that a signature is needed. With a sigh, the security shut down is begun.
The B-2 bomber squadron and the F-35 escort must be called off. One call does it. The tank corps and gunboats are told to stand by. The Apache helicopters are rerouted. The electric shock fence is turned off. The drawbridge over the quicksand is lowered. The robot attack dogs returned to their charging station. The laser-guided machine guns on the roof are set to caution. The nest filled with rattlesnakes put away. The bucket filled with 1000 marbles is locked down. The tear gas canisters shut off. The electrified welcome mat set to off. The fall-away sidewalk into the pit filled with spikes is locked. The hornet’s nest closed. The water cannons are set to safety. Bear traps are set to off. Peregrine Falcons perched on the roof above the front door were fed. The vat of boiling oil set to warm. The front door is opened.
With a clothespin on my nose, the clipboard is signed and returned. A ten-dollar bill is clipped to the board, and the life tip is passed to Pepé. “Don’t play rugby in a cowfield.” The door is shut, and the envelope is opened. Inside is a note from Lnda Hill. It reads: Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “peak/peek/pique.” Use one, use all three (for bonus points), use them any way you’d like. Enjoy!
Today, I opened Eternal Road – The final stop randomly to page 143 and, with eyes closed, pointed to the page. The word closest to my finger is “direct.” This is our prompt today.
The coffee machine has a strange message on the touchscreen this morning. It reads: Do not miss the latte macchiato. Since part of me is at least one cat life, the cappuccino macchiato button is touched on the screen. Then nothing happens, but a sign pops up that reads 14 seconds of milk. It is followed by total silence. Then a burst of steam and foam begins. Another moment of silence, then, strong espresso flows into the foam. The first sip brings a rush of flavor and the quiet that comes when the machine shop sound of a low-caffeine warning finally stops.
The second sip (okay, say it with me) brings the cacaphony of the Westminster chimes of the doorbell and the eardrum rupture octaves of Twiggy and Tempeste trying their best to bark the visitor to St. Louis. A new bacon-flavored pair of nylon bones tossed into the soundproof room, followed by a door slam, sends the hounds of Baskerville into a cone of silence.
Checking the monitor, it appears that Deputy Dog is on the porch with a clipboard and an envelope. Knowing that conversation is useless, the security shutdown process begins.
The B-2 bomber squadron and the F-35 escort must be called off. One call does it. The tank corps and gunboats are told to stand by. The Apache helicopters are rerouted. The electric shock fence is turned off. The drawbridge over the quicksand is lowered. The robot attack dogs returned to their charging station. The laser-guided machine guns on the roof are set to caution. The nest filled with rattlesnakes was put away. The bucket filled with 1000 marbles is locked down. The tear gas canisters shut off. The electrified welcome mat set to off. The fall-away sidewalk into the pit filled with spikes is locked. The hornet’s nest closed. The water cannons are set to safety. Bear traps are set to off. Peregrine Falcons perched on the roof above front door fed. The vat of boiling oil set to warm. The front door is opened.
The envelope and clipboard are passed to me. After signing, the clipboard is returned with a five-dollar bill under the clip. “Sir, there is no need to tip,” says Deputy Dog. Silently giving a small curse to those who suggested a tip, a word of advice is cast to the dog. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
Stepping back into the house, the envelope is opened, and inside is a message from Linda Hill. It reads “Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “miss.” Use it any way you’d like. Have fun!”
Today I randomly opened Eternal Road – The final stop to page 131. With eyes closed, I pointed to the page. The word closest to my finger is “compliment.” That is our prompt today.
The coffee machine has a “welcome guest” message scrolling on the touch screen. With a low-caffeine warning klaxon horn blaring in my head, it is difficult to understand the meaning. Lucky for me, a touch of the two-coffee button starts the flow of the antidote, which could be a fatal deprivation situation. We all know what happens on the first sip and predictably the iron hammer beating on the inside of my skull feeling began to diminish. As usual, the second sip is accompanied by the Westminster chime and Igor’s baying hound cacophony that follows the idiotic ringing of the doorbell. A knuckle bone is thrown into the soundproof room, followed by a door slam. The silence speaks.
A glance at the security monitor shows someone in a Donald Duck costume holding an envelope and a clipboard. “Just leave it,” was said through the electronics. “Need signature,” came back in a duck’s voice. With a sigh, the security shut-down process began.
The B-2 bomber squadron and the F-35 escort must be called off. One call does it. The tank corps and gunboats are told to stand by. The Apache helicopters are rerouted. The electric shock fence is turned off. The drawbridge over the quicksand is lowered. The robot attack dogs returned to their charging station. The laser-guided machine guns on the roof are set to caution. The nest filled with rattlesnakes put away. The bucket filled with 1000 marbles is locked down. The tear gas canisters shut off. The electrified welcome mat set to off. The fall-away sidewalk into the pit filled with spikes is locked. The hornet’s nest closed. The water cannons are set to safety. Bear traps are set to off. Peregrine Falcons perched on the roof above front door fed. The vat of boiling oil set to warm. The front door is opened.
The clipboard and envelope are passed to me, and then the clipboard is returned with a signature. The person holds out a gloved hand in a classic tip request posture. Feeling sorry for the guy who has to wear a duck costume, I tip him a fiver. He smiles and leaves. The envelope contains a message from Linda Hill. It reads: Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “guest.” Use it any way you’d like. Enjoy!
