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Now available for preorder:
The San Francisco Panorama.
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- - - - [Be sure to read Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7.] - - - - Dear Coach Sean, If you wanted to send a more convoluted note.... well, duh, it couldn't be done. Guess the apple doesn't roll very far down the lawn. Needless to say, the summer is slipping away like an oyster from the hands of an elderly fisherman on a pier. He doesn't really need the oyster for sustenance (sort of like how I don't need your caresses) because his wife is adept at making hot stew. But hot stew can be boring. So, the oyster slips back into the sea, right underneath the pier, and it is all shadowy out, and the fisherman, he can't see for shit. And it (the oyster) is gone. The fisherman can't bend over to get a better look due to the fact that his hips are made of one-hundred-percent fiberglass. And a turtle has eaten it (the oyster). Then the turtle goes to sun himself on a rock, and you better believe that turtle is feeling good right about then. Somewhere light banjo music plays. So, anyway Sean. I busied myself with community theater this summer, and that is why I was at the library. I had to keep going forward in my life. Like a shark. I was doing some research for my part as the wife of Railroad Tommy in "The Greatest Donkey That Ever Plowed," which begins its run at the Laura Nyro Theatre in mid-August. The Kiwanis have spared no expense in making sure our community receives top-notch singing, dancing and other theatrical activities, including acting. What can I tell you? That none of the men in the play compare to you? I'm done crying myself to sleep. These men are witty, Sean. These men might just act impulsively. These men might cook up a little hatched egg, known also as a scheme, to spend some dangerous alone time with me. One of them might offer me a ride home one night. Might say, "How about a lime Mr. Misty Kiss at the DQ?" And I will coyly respond with a "Hmm, I suppose." Next thing you know, the mini van is parked on a secluded road, and our tongues are fighting each other in the coliseum of our joined mouths. And I am wriggling out of my panties with the help of, oh, I don't know, Mr. Neil Baker. The orthodontist? Who plays Railroad Tommy, my in-the-play husband? Neil Baker who can act, as well as straighten teeth, and who knows when a woman desperately wishes he would stop talking and take his penis out of his trousers already. Neil Baker, who is not one to cower at the sight of a pre-married female in some wedding ring another (shlubby excuse for a) gentleman purchased. Neil Baker, who is an aficionado of tournament speedboat racing and has $35,198.43 in the bank as of 7/31, and that's just his checking account. Good God. Are you listening to me, Sean? Are you hearing me? Neil Baker is a man who knows when to show up at pump six. Write me. When I am rehearsing my lines, I'll try to fit you in. I may need the motivation. Ta-ta, The Mrs.
OTHER McSWEENEY'S STORIES:
Detroit and Being Run Over By James Wagner Surely Some Revelation By Stephany Aulenback The Fragmented Case Files Of Brock Showalter, Fundamentalist Christian Detective By Brian N. Pacula Multiple Choice By Michelle Crouch Snakehead Recipes By Ben Greenman |
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