Chapter Title Here
The woman that hired me to do the spreadsheet is not in my creative writing class. She was in a physics class of mine about a year ago, but I don't think she remembers me.
She was much better than me at doing spreadsheets in physics class.
I've never read any of her poems.
What we in the business of writing novels call a "filler chapter"
"Explosions are shattering the hull of the spacestation. If we do one thing, it needs to be drawing the fire away from the station and onto ourselves."
"Dave, them is capital ships! We ain't never gonna survive a direct attack on them, let alone all them fighters on the ships."
"Dammit Luke, just attack the damn capital ships! The most important thing right now is saving what's left of the space station. If they take the Nomis—"
"Shit! If they take the Nomis, this war is over! You hear me, Luke?! If the Nomis falls, the Terrans have won the war. Are you ready for that?"
"Then move into attack position and draw the capital fire away from our space station. Biil, Jack, move into position behind Luke and I and cover us from any fire you see coming from fighters. We're headed toward the shield generators on that big white ship. If we can take those out, then the Nomis can take the ships out by herself. Let's go."
They four fighters, dwarfed by the space around them, move toward the largest of the capital ships.
Unfaltered by the explosions and flashes of light around them, they move closer and closer. The capital ship, named Nautilus, has noticed their presence and begun firing upon them. These shots are easy to dodge, the Nautilus is still focusing its attention on the Nomis space station.
This is good for Dave, Luke, Bill and Jack. This is not so good for the colonials.
"Bill, Jack. Break apart and see if you can draw some of the fire away from Luke and I."
Bill and Jack each go after individual fighters but slowly maneuver toward the capital ship. Dave and Luke head toward the shield generators.
Before they get too close, the gunners on the Nautilus realize what's going on and begin focusing on the two fighters darting around their hull.
This is good for the colonials. This is not so good for Dave and Luke.
Still though, they are in small, agile fighters and capital warships are not exactly designed for close combat.
Dave is hit!
"Luke, my number four engine is out. You're gonna have to take out the shield generators. I'll divert some of the fire."
"Sounds good. Stay fresh."
Dave had been in the lead position and the gunners continue to focus on him. Luke keeps heading toward the shield generators. Suddenly, he's upon them, and just as suddenly, the gunners notice where he is and begin firing.
His number one and number four engines are out.
He cockpit explodes in a ball of flame. His inertia carries his wreckage directly into the generators which are destroyed instantly.
"Nomis come in, this is squadron seven. Nautilus shield generators are offline. Commence attack."
The Nomis fires all of her weapons as Dave, Bill and Jack veer away from the Nautilus.
The colonies are safe for another day.
His number four engine is still out
Dave coasts into landing bay number nine on the Nomis and climbs out of his cockpit after landing.
"My number four engine was giving me some trouble. It was hit."
"Hit by what?"
"I dunno. A blast."
"Of... I don't know. Light?"
"Dave, I don't mean any disrespect, but light ain't gonna do anything to an ion engine."
"I don't know what I got hit by. Fix it."
"I can't do that if I don't know what it got hit by."
"I don't know what it got hit by."
"I can't fix it if I don't know what it got hit by."
"It got hit by a blast."
"A blast of what?"
"Whatever spaceship blasts are made of."
"That would be plasma, Dave."
"Yes! Plasma! I was hit by a blast of plasma!"
"You sure Dave? It don't look like a plasma blast."
"Alright, if you say so."
"I say so."
Dave walks off, gets into his bus, and heads toward Maria.
Spelunking against Richard
"Let's go spelunking," said Richard.
"Spelunking?" I replied.
"You know, cave-diving."
"I know what spelunking is. Where are we going to go spelunking?"
"There aren't any caves here."
"Damn. Where can we go spelunking?"
"Chancellor Hemingway's wife's vagina!" said Joe.
"Shut the fuck up, Joe." I said that.
"No no no, man, he's got a good idea goin', I think."
"Shut up, Richard."
"Seriously, dude, why can't we?"
"Because, man, it's the chancellor's wife's vagina."
"No, I mean why can't we go spelunking?"
"Because you're a plant talking about vaginas. I am going to do everything in my power to keep you from going spelunking."
"Not unhooking you from the ceiling."
Why sex is better than hard candy
There are many subtle reasons why sex is better than hard candy.
The first to come to mind, however, is that sex, in the majority of its forms, doesn't hurt your teeth as much, both in the short and long term.
Hard Candy: 0
Personally, I'm rooting for the hard candy.
A Chapter for Lynne
Lynne's got a condo about a mile away from Maria. Her condo, as far as I know, does not have a name. It's across the street from the local Hy-Vee.
She puts up Halloween lights. I had no idea they made such a thing until I went to her place for the first time. Her directions did not include an address, instead, they simply said "Mine is the only one with Halloween lights." I found it very quickly, after going two miles out of my way.
Once there, she told me that if I wanted a beer—I did—they could be found in the garage. I walked into the garage with Matt—he was getting a beer as well—and we were floored. In addition to Halloween lights, Lynne has a full-fledged game room in her garage. Dart board, poker table, mini bar, Neo-Geo arcade machine. Wow. I considered marrying her right then and there.
She was wearing a bra that night.
Tegan Nightshade was there as well that night. She told us of her strategy for writing poetry: get drunk, then type. She advised that it was very possible and in fact very easy for one to get too drunk. In such a case, it so happens that your poems will be incoherent; you may not even remember writing them.
Seemed like good advice, though I can't remember ever following it.
The Life of a Poet
The life of a poet is a pretty easy one, I think. If need be, one can hammer out a poem in just about half and hour and be on with their lives. Watch, I'll do it.
The Handshaking Poem
The Life of a Non-Poet
I have been led to believe that the lives of those that write but do not write poetry are much tougher. Some would claim that it is impossible to hammer out a complete story in half an hour.
This is simply not so.
Some authors are just not trying hard enough, I think. All they have proven is that poets are the harder workers.
For instance, what if I were to write a story about a space battle over the planet of Spreadsheet, where nautili surf the oceans? I could certainly do so in less than half an hour.
Bollocks, I say, to you lazy bums of authors! Bollocks!
Bollocks to your rules, bollocks to your radios, bollocks to your pens and pencils and your blood!
Bollocks to the things you don't think you can do! Bollocks! Bollock to your SOS signal of distress!
Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks, you beatniks! Bollocks, you citizens of the lesser worlds! Bollocks to you garage bands and bollocks to your computers and bollocks to the voices of your computers! Bollocks to bluegrass!
Bollocks to the great machine! Bollocks to the combine! Bollocks to the wires connecting us to the Nurse!
Bollocks to LSD! Bollocks to illegal drugs! Bollocks to the Hell's Angels! Bollocks to the pranksters! Bollocks!
Bollocks to your cacti! Bollocks to the things you claim you can't do without it! Bollocks to the things you do with it!
Bollocks to the brooms! Bollocks to the grooms! Bollocks to Dustin Hoffman!
Bollocks to bollocks, dust to dust.
Bollocks to the lighthouses! Bollocks to their AK-47s! Bollocks, they say! Bollocks to what they say and bollocks to their so-called friends.
Bollocks to marijuana cigarettes! Bollocks to brownies. Bollocks to loose lips!
Bollocks bollocks bollocks.
Bollocks to the sex pistols! Bollocks to the British and bollocks to their language. Bollocks to their Queen!
Bollocks in a way that no bollocks have ever been seen before. Bollocks in an all new direction! Bollocks without flaw!
Bollocks to your rules and bollocks to your enforcers! Bollocks to your social commentary and to your subtle political agenda and bollocks to your political parties and bollocks to your tribal drumming.
Bollocks to your techno! Bollocks to your televisions! Bollocks to the Germans and their red jumpsuits. Bollocks to the Italians and their singing voices.
Bollocks to your novels!
The 20th anniversary of Chapter 1
Dave knows no fear: Special Edition
To Dave, yellow lights mean nothing. They are simply warnings to other drivers to get the hell out of Dave's way. Those that do not heed these warnings will feel the nine tons of metal and flesh that only Dave can control.
Dave is the ultimate superhero. He can fly, he can lift pianos filled with molten lead and he is the best damn arm wrestler I've seen in my life. He fights for truth, justice and the American way using the best possible methods.
Dave is a Lawrence University bus driver.
Dave has fallen in love with a young international supergalactic princess damsel and he will do whatever it takes to win her heart.