Overheard Conversations

These Are some More Transcripts of story bits taken from my same Diary. Just thought I'd get them out there.


Overheard Conversations

“you know, you could probably hide on my dad’s couch right now, and the visitor’s won’t see you.” Said J, “They wouldn’t mind, and even if they did, you could share with them your grudges. You have a lovely set of grudges”
“Yeah, and I haven’t seen them yet either.” Said Kimberly, gingerly fanning out before her an array of obsidian beads.
“Okay you guys…” There were colonies of industrial era refridgerators marching jubilantly across my field of vision. “I don’t play those cards until I really know it’s gonna pay off. I wit until I really need it.” “Thruough no fault of your own, of course.”
“Through no fault of anybodies.”
Geral was on Geraldine, leaning across her to scribble a polynomial he’d been trying to remember in an attempt to rekindle his lost love affair with algebra. Geraldine raised her knee and stomached him.
“Oww” He said, fumbling the pencil “Fuck.”

“… Totalitarian dictators in the newly fragmented east were prescribing children mandatory yoga lessons, making them knit their own hats, and shit. Millions of kids made to do these things, and through no fault of their own.”
Disgusting
That’s so sick
“…But no reason for war, not that the broke-dicks in the whitehouse aren’t going to stop saber rattling over it.!”
“Oh, come on, with that. All roads lead to Rome.”
“So take a plane. Jesus.”

A king and a three of clubs, and a red five all went into the pile.
The tip of Geraldine’s tongue emerged from under her beak and swept across her lips like the ching of a typewriter sliding over.
Monster children have been the hot topic around the water cooler ever since the new season of ‘Young Circus Freaks’ hit the airwaves opposite ‘I am Not an Animal!’. Two shows of similar subject matter but with startlingly different ideological approaches to the manner in which deformities ought to be exploited by the self obsessed media types who put shit like this together.
The two reality shows play back-to-back on Thursdays at nine. On the Hannity Network poetic interstitials and soft piano music bedded over sunsets interrupt a compassionate gawking at ‘Penis-Nose-Girl’s’ shockingly phallic proboscis, whereas, on the shameless-to-a-virtues TTA network, balding camera ops with gel in their hair zoom in and out of Penis-nose-girl’s veiny facial deformity under the caption ‘HOW”S IT HANGING?” in tabloid Helvetica.

Overheard Conversations II
Jaqueline: My biggest fear is never having the opportunity to make it with a war journalist.

Shelly: They’re malnourished, yes, but passionate and sneaky. Get in, get the money shot, and get out before the tanks get too close. It’s over no sooner than it begins, and you’re left lying there feeling empty and violated. And the next day, there it is, splashed all over the eighteenth page of the New York Times in all it’s grotesque intimacy. You get a few phone calls from Matt Damon and George Clooney, then, after a few weeks, the whole thing blows over, and the local warlordstake the relief money, and you’re back to lying spread eagle on the tarmac with peanut butter smeared on your crotch

Jaqueline: That’s too bad… Growing up I had quite the Crush on Robert Fisk.

Shelly: Fisk was different. I had the man alone for three weeks in Karbala during the Russian bombing raids of the counter-Soviet intifada of 1989. I had him alone, and he was very sweet to me. He’s in Fallujah now, and surrounded by so many Arab Bimbos you’d need a team of locally hired interpreters and a convoy of Blackwater agents just to blow him a kiss. They ain’t what they used to be.