Freak Show

by pjmcbride


Rom said he finally told family friend D. about the blog. I said I was surprised he hadn’t already done so, and he said that he  wasn’t sure I would want him to. OK, EVERYONE, FEEL FREE TO TELL YOUR FRIENDS, OK? I’m not just doing this for my health. Or maybe I am. N-E-Way, Writers Like Having Readers is something you can pretty much bet on. (Speaking of which, I keep hearing rumors that some people actually get paid to write, although I believe that practice was actually discontinued in the mid-80’s.) If I was (were? accursed subjunctive, stop troubling me!) just doing this for myself, I’d keep a diary. I’ve tried doing that a couple times, but gave it up because I always wrote as if I had an audience. So there you go.


I am, I admit, actually trepidated at the thought of someone coming in at this late date, and not being able to figure out what the hell I’m talking about (something of a problem at the best of times). I think all of my readers know me personally, and that is a small circle indeed. So others might wonder, “What are these phone calls and radio station of which you speak?” or not know who Nick is and why you should call the police if you find him digging through your garbage. All the advice I can give you is, you’ll just have to keep rooting through the archives to get some idea of the context. From my admittedly-limited experience, this blog appears to be unique, but I’m not sure it’s unique in a good way.

Not much of a user’s guide, was it?


–Because someone is taking a picture of your license plate, and you admit it’s because you’re parked in a handicapped spot to which you’re not entitled.


“Be Manlier,” next to a razor to remove men’s body hair. Pssst, guys–it’s the same razor as the women’s Venus, in a different color–a presumably-manly shade of acid green. But more to the point, since when is removing body hair manly?

DELUSIONS OF GRANDEUR, PT. 2: (gritting my teeth and resisting the impulse to go back and substitute Roman numerals for these II sections)…

Kind of like the practice of deciding what you’d name your baby if you had one (yeah, I’ve done that, too) (wait, that’s not a universal human experience?), I’ve decided what I’d name my fantasy rock band. We would be called the Spricketeers, and Rom would have a kick-ass representation of a spider cricket on his bass drum. Sure, we can’t play any musical instruments (I gave up the flute back in the mists of antiquity), but why let that stop us? And sure, we’re “of a certain age,” but that would be a unique gimmick! Most bands have to wait a long time to get this old! But, now that I think of it, the Gerasene Demoniacs would be a good name for a band, too. (Rom says I have the personality of an egotistical lead singer, and he must be right, since I’m already picking names without the rest of the band’s input.)