Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

BUZZY: And we’re back. For those of you just joining us, this is PlanTalk on MPR, Mississippi Public Radio. MPR: 51st of 50 states in per-capita public broadcasting funding when you count Puerto Rico, DC, or Guam. I’m your host, Horace “Buzzy” Dickens, and you may recall that we’d just received a call when we were forced to do a station break in order to curry favor with our very few advertisers.

JACOB: Am I on?

BUZZY: Yessir, as you can probably tell from the absolutely epic levels of radio feedback we’re getting. You’re on the air with PlanTalk, and I will go ahead and ask you to turn off any radio you have in the background out of respect for our listeners’ eardrums. They have to listen to my voice already; the least we can do is not torture them with any other sounds that are higher on the pain scale.

JACOB: Hi, Buzzy, my name is Jacob Washington, and I have a question about my plants. I’m having a devil of a time getting the goddamn things to grow, and it’s making me real goddamn frustrated.

BUZZY: Hi there Jacob. Don’t be alarmed by that sound; that was the click of dozens, perhaps hundreds of pearls being clutched in unison by our listeners at your language. But it does give me an insight as to what your problem might be.

JACOB: Oh, sorry. It just slipped out.

BUZZY: Perhaps someday soon we’ll be able to afford a tape delay to bleep you, but today is not that day and tomorrow ain’t looking good either. Let me ask you, though, Mr. Washington: do you swear at your plants?

JACOB: I beg your pardon?

BUZZY: Your plants. You mentioned having trouble getting them to grow. Does that frustration find an outlet in cussing?

JACOB: Well, yes. I get pretty frustrated, so I do swear a little.

BUZZY: Do you call them names? Opine on their recent ancestry from common garden weeds, be that real or imagined? Bring up the cuss bus, fully loaded mind you, and open the door shouting ‘end of the line?’

JACOB: Yeah, I guess.

BUZZY: Well, you see, there’s your problem, son. Your average perennial or annual is not going to be suited, temperamentally or otherwise, to the bevy of sailor-talk that your average Mississippian is capable of unloading. For as anyone who has ever lived here can tell you, our famous civility and hospitality is but a thin rind over a gooey center of pure cussedness.

JACOB: Really? Wow. So do I need to tell them that they’re good plants, pretty plants, stuff like that?

BUZZY: Well, are they?

JACOB: No, sir. They are the ugliest things on the goddamned earth, and when they’re not too busy dying they grow thick and ugly in all the wrong places.

BUZZY: Well then, Mr. Washington, to tell them that they are good plants would be a falsehood. The Good Book is pretty clear about the utterance of falsehoods, ain’t it? And, more to the point, plants are smarter than most folks give them credit for. They’ll know you’re lying.

JACOB: What do I do then?

BUZZY: What you need, Mr. Washington, is some shade-loving plants. It seems to be a given, if you don’t mind me extrapolating, that you’re going to heap verbal abuse on anything and everything in your garden. So why not buy some plants that will take the shade you’re throwing, as the kids say, and soaks it up? Why, with the proper shade-loving plants, you could cuss yourself a secret garden where love may one day grow.

JACOB: Oh, that would be nice. What kind of plants?

BUZZY: Well, kudzu is the obvious choice, growing fat as it does off the misery of humans, livestock, and its fellow plants. But it’s not for novice gardeners, so I’d suggest instead some fudgewort, greater effweed, and–if you can find it–some old-growth savanna acaciawood.

JACOB: So, are you making all that up, or…?

BUZZY: I’m afraid it’s time for another station break. You’re listening to PlanTalk on MPR.

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“You are English?” the farmer said.

“No,” Rhys Chwith said. “I am Welsh.”

“Ah,” Jean said. “So why are you here?”

“Because the King of England took my land and marched her men out to fight in his war with the King of France.”

“Ah, we are the same, then,” said Jean. “We serve the Duc d’Anjou, but the King of France makes us fight for him. In my great-great-grandsire’s time, the King of England did the same when he claimed these lands. Half the men in the village are gone to fight as we speak.”

“Half mine as well,” said Rhys. “All those who could shoot a bow, anyhow.”

“So you are from the English army, then? I had heard it was destroyed at Pontvallain. A very great victory, or so they say.”

“I woke up the night after the battle ended,” Rhys said. He indicated his staff. “This is an unstrung English longbow, you see.”

“Ah! Very clever. You might be mistaken for a simple traveler then, no?”

“That’s my hope,” Rhys said. “I’m trying to make my way to Vaas Abbey, where my kinsmen have a garrison. Do you know the way?”

“It is not far, but do you think you can make it? Not every person you meet will be as easygoing as I am, especially if they’re under arms.”

Rhys shrugged. “I have a shortsword, a bow, and fifteen arrows. What could possibly stand in my way?”

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When your dog hears a mew
And she takes off with you
That’s a workout

When a scent’s on the wind
And your dog plunges in
That’s a workout

Another dog in her view
Marks the boundary with poo
That’s a workout

When a stranger walks by
Dog gets murder in her eyes
That’s a workout

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The cyclops had grown its hair long, long, impossibly long, braided into a thick rope that it had wound around itself as both garment and rope, thick chestnut framing its one great watery blue eye.

“There’s no way the Sage of Spolcyc can help me if this is all he is,” said Ponomnocit. “You can’t even tell how far away something it.”

“It does not matter how far away it is,” the cyclops said in a serene voice. “If it is coming, it will come. If it is not, it will remain.”

“Then tell me what I can do to change the future,” Ponomnocit said, “if you’re the one cyclops that’s also a philosopher, that should be easy, yeah?”

“You are changing the future now,” came the reply. “Every action you take ripples into the future in ways that even the wisest cannot see.”

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John Mody bought the simple bollock dagger from a high street merchant not long after his first payday as a town guard. He took great pride wearing it openly around town, even when off-duty, seeing himself as the sort to draw steel for righteousness even though the worst foes he’d ever faced had been ragged deserters and half-starved brigands.

Though the bollock dagger got its nickname from the handle appearing rather like a very familiar part of male anatomy, John always thought that the hilt looked more like a woman with a widow’s peak, her hair piled high on her head to form the handle. Once he’d had it for a year, he paid a friend of his who’d once apprenticed as a metalsmith to etch a lady’s face on either side, one smiling and one frowning.

Well-pleased by the look, John Mody took to calling his sidearm Mary O’Red or Dag Mary, and after spending his pay at the common house he would more often than not have her out for carving meat, cutting bread, or idle tavern games and boasts. If John couldn’t recall which way he’d put Dag Mary in her scabbard, he’d draw her as a simple scrying tool: the face that showed (which he touched up once a year or as needed) would be his fortune for the night. Despite her given name, Mary O’Red was stained more from wine and rare meat than blood, and her owner’s great feats were knife-throwing contests rather than chivalric battles.

On his last night on this earth, John Mody was roused by the town’s hue and cry to repel an attack. He never learned who the attackers were, nor would he have much cared about the kingly matters that brought civil conflict to his shire. But when the town guard had formed up and been shattered by a light cavalry charge, John was left with nothing but Mary when his spear, which had no particular name, was shattered under charging hooves. With chaos around him, John used his only skill, and the only possession he really gave a toss about, to defend his home. When he drew her, he was comforted to see that she was smiling side up.

Mary sailed true, lodging in the exposed neck of one of the riders. He would die in the saddle, and his death broke the attack, as the nominal commander of the marauding force was little more than a figurehead. John Mody was laid low during the retreat, trampled like so many others, and died during the night. But the town was saved, if its guard was somewhat decimated in the saving.

And Mary O’Red, otherwise known as Dag Mary? She rode away with the dead lieutenant, and was pulled from his body the next day. The cavalryman who did the deed wiped the clotted blood away, smirked at the face he saw–angry, frowning–before dropping her on the pile of damaged weapons that were for the crucible, to be melted down and recast.

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Successful Applicants Will:
-Have and enthusiastic and high energy at all times

-Keep the entertainment level high

-Wave at cars and pedestrians passing by outside of the establishment

-Preserve the secret identity of the mascot, without which it has no power

–NEVER deviate from the mascot’s established mannerisms, thoughts, philosophy, and soul

-Administer a stable of 5-7 other costumed mascots

-Coordinate costume maintenance and signage on a daily basis for said stable

-Help clean soiled costumes (vacuum, wipe down, re-sew, etc.)

-Track down costumes and mascots that have gone “on walkabout”

–NEVER cross 24th St or Avenue E in costume or allow others to do so

-If necessary, ensure others in costumed mascot stable do not cross 24th St or Avenue E

No experience needed.

To apply, present proof of social security card and ID to Nephi Insurance Agency Inc.

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“The system is very sensitive,” said Shril. “You must know the sound of each letter in the English alphabet.”

“I do,” replied Arkis. “What d’you think I’m flapping my lips with right now?”

“No, no,” Shril said. “The sound of each letter in the English alphabet as it was. It’s expecting the English of people who’ve been dead centuries.”

Arkis looked over at Birc, who was standing in front of the machine, speaking:

“D00d, h0w d0 j00 0p3n teh dor, bruh?” Birc intoned, reverently.

“Such a beautiful old tongue,” Shril said. “More like singing than anything.”

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“Joseph and Jasmine Tomme,” Hannah said, lighting a cigarette. “Heard of them?”

“They’re related to the Tommes from New York, right? The ones in the tabloids?”

“Second cousins once removed. The side of the family that cares more about money than fame,” said Hannah. “Lots of cash, lots of influence, but they’re pretty sheltered. Babes in the wood, really, aside from the one thing we’re hiring you for.”

“Babysitting?”

“Murder.” A long drag from the cigarette. “They like to kill people. It’s like a game to them. It’s our job to keep them from doing it without cramping their style. That’s the brief from the New York Tommes, and it’s why the pay is five times scale.”

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Same story told again
Small against large
Large against huge
All bigger than us
Sand grains beneath
But given an eon
Sand wears mountains
Peaks fallen low
Fated to tumble
As the sand grains
They once spurned

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Thank you for ordering online with MetroMart! Please confirm the following substitutions:

2x Frozen Eggo™ Waffles: Out of stock
Substitution: 1 box MetroSmart™ pancake mix, dried

5x Stouffer™ Mac and Cheese: Out of stock
Substitution: 1x box MetroSmart™ Cheese Noodles & Sauce

1x DiGiorno™ Pepperoni Pizza: Out of stock
Substitution: 1x Subway™ Pizza Sub™ left behind by an inattentive customer

1x Totino™ Pizza Rolls: Out of stock
Substitution: 1x leftover calzone from Mario’s from the MetroMart Associate Break Room refrigerator

2x Ore-Ida™ Frozen French Fries: Out of stock
Substitution: 5x russet potatoes with extra eyes, 1x MetroMart Essentials™ potato peeler

1x Double Stuf Oreo™ Cookies: Out of stock
Substitution: 1x Larry Cohen’s Infinite Stuff™ Cookies

1x Lay’s™ Classic Potato Chips: Out of stock
Substitution: 5x packets, MetroSmart™ Mashed Potato Mix (just add water!)

10x Campbell™ Tomato Soup: Out of stock
Substitution: 1x bottle MetroSmart™ Ketchup, 1x bottle distilled water

1x pint Ben & Jerry™ Cookie Batter ice cream: Out of stock
Substitution: 1x pint MetroSmart™ Biscuit Batter Core ice cream

horrible substitutions a la Kroger

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