Another Day, Another Writing Exercise
The "Ants go Marching" song no longer haunts me - I took the chance. :-) Dunno how I did, though. I was 'me', so I hope I caught it.
New writing exercise: action. In this writing exercise, to keep the "Watcher at the Gates" at bay this time, I give myself permission to use cliché and stupid plots.
A 'prologue' cutscene from the mindset of a James-Bond/Indiana Jones-type.
"My story? You ... want to know how it's going? You'd think people would appreciate good deeds these days. I've masked my face and body in earthtones ... yeah, like playin' make-up. I've taken numerous vaccines and now look like a fuckin' druggie with so many red dots on my arms ... I've continually trained for hours on end, and studied a language and society I'd never heard of just two months ago! I've been given the 'Gentleman's handbooks' on Survival, Emergency, and 'Suicide made Easy'. I've been given just enough resources to enter this god-forsaken country unnoticed, reach my contacts, make my way among sixty-fuckin'-thousand people, through seven god-forsaken rocks of green and black separated by waters infested with creatures that can swim up your dick and lay eggs, so I can can reach the main island and capitol city, to baby-sit a crazed madman - a dictator and sicko of the highest order, and then wait ... not one week, not two weeks, but a month! JUST so that in his greatest moment of triumph over the world ( and no sooner) I get to ... open his mind ... not by much, mind you, but I have it on good authority that 22 millimeters will do wonders for a nasty disposition! Generous as I am, with my "free your mind" attitude, I then expanded the minds of his generals, commanders, and puppeteers, too! Their minds were expanded all over that bastard's palace.
So, do I get a parade? Do I get flowers? No.
I want me a drink, and 60,000 people want me dead. Go figure.
How's that for justice? It might've had something to do with their belief of his relation to some god, but that's a story for another day ...
So, you know - I just killed the religious figurehead of sixty-thousand men, women, and children. Sixty-thousand. I could tell you "how it's going," but more interesting would be how I got out of this god-forsaken mess. And you know, Davids, that's a story you'll never hear UNLESS YOU GET OFF YOUR ASS AND GET OVER HERE! WHERE'S MY FUCKING TRANSPORT OFF THIS ROCK?! YOU THINK I CAN ENJOY THE ATMOSPHERE WHEN I LEFT BREADCRUMBS FOR THOUSANDS OF MURDEROUS HANZELS AND GRETTELS ?! I SAID A.M. ! A.M. ! I HAD YOU REPEAT THE DAMN LETTERS! I'M OFF RISKING MY LIFE AND I'VE GOT A FUCKING ADHD POSTERCHILD AS MY LIFELINE?! WHERE'S THE JUSTICE?!"
Hmm, well that turned out well. How about the rest of the story? Let's do that from a different perspective! Whose? Take a wild guess!
... At that point, I turned off my radio. I could see that Agent '0055 was having his little prissy-fit, and I'd be damned if I was about to let him get the upper-hand and boss me around! No, sir. It was all his fault, of course - he knows those 12-hour clocks confuse me. And besides, his use of the Lord's name in vain was simply out of line. After that, I calmly ate my lunch, sauntered to my spiffy noise-cancelling hydrojet, left the naval base at 14:00h, saved him from certain doom at 18:00h, and we got back just in time to watch his favorite episode of "The Family Guy." I'd like to think he mellowed out somewhat after that. It's all about showing these bullies at work who's boss.