#frommyjournal

I was planning on writing something today, but writer’s block has reared its ugly head. So instead, I thought I’d bring you another piece from the bowels of my computer. 

Although I wrote the following poem three years ago, it still very accurately captures how my head is feeling today (it’s just been one of those weeks). I hope you like it.

A Headache (an amateur piece of poetry by Joe Boettcher) 

In my head there are

lumps and boulders that

can’t seem to put two

and two together.

Forty days and forty

nights I’ve waited

for at least a pigeon

to pop in and say,

“Hi.”

But, instead, I am stuck

here in the white walled

room with a brick in my

lap and a zebra in my

ear saying, “Take your pill.”

Neville sat on his front porch and listened to silence. He wondered if he would ever find love and what would happen if he didn't. He figured things would be pretty crappy if he didn't, so he decided to try his luck at a local dive bar. 

But the dive bar was full of unattractive people. So Neville sat at the bar with his head in his hands. He was now absolutely positive he would never find love because he knew he could never love an unattractive person. 

Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he looked up to discover a woman wearing a pink dress. She was not unattractive. She was actually rather attractive.

"Hello," said the rather attractive pink dressed woman. "Would you like to dance with me?"

"I would not be opposed to dancing with you," said Neville. "I just have to be sure that you would also not be opposed to potentially marrying me sometime in the distant future if our relationship goes well."

"If our relationship goes well, then I would surely consider marrying you sometime in the distant future," said pink dress with a smile.

"Great," said Neville. "Now we shall dance." And he hoisted her up onto his shoulder and carried her out onto the dance floor. 

"I am surprised this dive bar has a dance floor," he remarked offhandedly. "Yes," said the woman from over his shoulder. "In my vast experience with dive bars I have never come across one that featured a dance floor."

"It concerns me that you have vast experience with dive bars, I'm not going to lie," said Neville as he set her down on the ground.

"Oh, don't worry, I was joking," said the woman, smoothing out her pink dress. "This is actually the first time I've ever been to a dive bar."

"This is my first time too. We have so much in common. These commonalities should only serve to improve our chances of one day getting married," said Neville hopefully.

The two potential lovers then began to slow dance. 

"This dance would be better if there were some music playing," said the woman.

"You're absolutely right," said Neville. "I think the DJ's over there. It looks like he's passed out. I shall go wake him up and pay him twenty dollars to play our song."

"But we don't have a song yet," said pink dress.

"Oh right." Neville thought for a moment and then said, "Say, what's your name?"

"My name's Cecilia," she said as she brushed a strand of her curly brown hair from her face.

"My mother's name is Cecilia," said Neville. "I hope that doesn't bother you."

"I'm glad you told me this now," Cecilia said, and she began to leave before Neville grabbed her arm.

"Wait! Please don't go," he said. "I can get my mom to change her name if that makes you feel better."

"You'd do that for me?" said Cecilia, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

"Absolutely, given the fact that you say our relationship might go somewhere," said Neville.

"You're the sweetest man I've ever met," Cecilia said. She jumped into Neville's arms and put her arms around his neck.

"How many men have you met?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe about six." 

"Six?"

"Yep."

"Seems like a small sample size."

"It's big enough for me." Cecilia kissed him on the cheek and made him blush.

"You seem like the perfect girl for me," said Neville.

"Why? Is it because I have such low expectations about men?"

"You know me too well, baby," Neville said with a smile.

Neville swayed for a few minutes, rocking Cecilia back and forth a few times before she said, "Weren't you going to get the DJ to play our song?"

"But we don't have a song, remember?"

"But my name's Cecilia. Doesn't that give you any song ideas?"

"None that I can think of," said Neville. "Can you think of anything?"

Cecilia gave him a stern look and said, "I've got the perfect song in mind, but I'm not telling you because I want you to come up with the song on your own. If you don't come up with the song I'm thinking of, then I think it's the universe's way of telling us that we shouldn't be together."

Neville began to sweat as his mind raced. He couldn't think of any song about a girl named Cecilia. But he desperately wanted to be with this pink dressed girl, so he kept on thinking. 

Meanwhile, Cecilia had climbed down from his arms and was standing there tapping her foot impatiently. Every now and then she would glance around the bar, looking for other potential dance partners, ones who might know of the song she had in mind. 

Sweat poured down Neville's back as he thought through the entire discography of Celine Dion as fast as he could. He had already been through the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, KISS, Def Leopard, Willie Nelson, Michael Jackson, and Madonna, and had come up with absolutely nothing. 

Finally, he broke down and asked for a hint.

"Here's a hint," said Cecilia, still tapping her foot. "If you don't come up with the answer in the next minute, I'm going to go hit on that guy." She pointed to a fat sailor sitting on the other side of the bar eating a steak. 

"But I'm more attractive than he is," said Neville.

"You should know that I don't care about outward appearance," Cecilia said. "All I care about is whether or not my mate knows his Simon and Garfunkle songs."

"Who are Simon and Garfunkle?" asked Neville.

Cecilia's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. "You don't know who Simon and Garfunkle are?" she asked.

"Um, no," replied Neville, his voice soft and wavering. 

"Well then, you just lost me," said Cecilia. And she slapped him in the face and stormed off toward the man eating the steak. 

"Wait!" Neville cried. "Cecilia, you're breaking my heart!"

But Cecilia did not turn around.

That night, Neville listened to the song and had an epiphany.

WARNING: The following script was unearthed from the bowels of my computer and contains unfinished material that will remain unfinished because it’s just too dumb to continue. Nevertheless, I think it’s kind of funny and I have a friend who might get a kick out of it. I also feel too tired today to write a new Word A Day piece like I usually do on Wednesdays. So instead, here’s a little taste of what the bowels of my computer look like. You have been warned:

THE LAST OF THE RONS - A Film Starring Nicolas Cage (probably)

SCENE 1

FADE IN:

OPEN on a desolate nuclear wasteland. Unconscious in the middle of a crater lays RON JACKSON (Nic Cage), a former lawyer and part time Hooter’s waitress (on the weekends). He awakes and sits up abruptly, looking around frantically.

RON: Honey? Kids? What’s going on? Where’d you go? (He rubs his forehead and grunts. He looks around at the desolate wasteland) Uh oh.

RON (Voiceover): In that moment I knew nothing would ever be the same. (Pause for dramatic effect) My name is Ron Jackson and I am the last of the Rons.

RON: (Looks up at the sky and raises his hands above his head) ROOOOOOOOONNNN!!!!!!

PAN OUT away from Ron and fade to black.

ROLL TITLE CREDITS.

END SCENE.

SCENE 2

FADE IN:

EXT. Lovely Suburban Neighborhood (Possibly 1950’s style)—Morning

CHEVRON: One Week Earlier

A PAPERBOY is out on his route. We follow him as he throws paper after paper at identical house after identical house. An OLD WOMAN comes out of one of the houses to pick up her paper.

OLD WOMAN: Thanks for the paper, Ron!

PAPERBOY: You’re welcome, Miss Ron!

OLD WOMAN: (To herself) Such a good little Ron.

The paperboy continues on his route until he stops in front of one of the houses and leaves his bike on the sidewalk. He sighs as he walks up to the front door and rings the doorbell. As he waits, he hears a huge commotion coming from inside the house. It sounds like heavy machinery and human screaming. There’s also some maniacal laughter. This does not shock the paperboy; he just sighs and rolls his eyes. He has obviously been to this house before. After a moment the door opens to reveal a very sweaty and dirty Ron Jackson. He is wearing a pink apron with “Kiss the Ron” written on it, yellow dishwashing gloves, and ski goggles.

RON: What the Ron do you want?

PAPERBOY: (Monotone, as if reading from a script) Hello Mr. Jackson. I know you don’t like it when the paper is thrown at your door, so I am delivering it to you in person.

RON: Ah, very good. But you forgot the last part.

PAPERBOY: (mumbles) Because you’re worth it.

RON: What the Ron was that?

PAPERBOY: (slightly louder) Because you’re worth it.

RON: And?

PAPERBOY: And because you have a bomb.

RON: And?

PAPERBOY: Um, I thought that was it.

RON: Really? I could have sworn I included a part about me being incredibly handsome. Well from now on, include that.

PAPERBOY: (Takes out a notepad and pen) How do you want me to phrase that sir?

RON: How about, “You are the most sexually virile Ron in all of Ronville.”

PAPERBOY: (writes it down begrudgingly and then puts the pad away) Here’s your paper, most sexually virile Ron in all of Ronville.

RON: (Taking the paper) Be gone with thee, knave.

Ron slams the door in the paperboy’s face and the paperboy stomps away.

END SCENE

So there you have it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.