August 29, 2005

Andy: Looking Back

"I left it on," she says. "I know it."

"What? Left what on?" He keeps watching the road.

"The lamp, on the end table."

"It'll be fine," he says. "Keep away burglars."

"What if the cat knocks it over?"

"Dumb cat. No surprise."

"What if it lands on the magazines by the table?"

He shakes his head, "Don’t worry."

"And they catch fire?"

"Hope your cat knows how to open the front door."

She looks in the side mirror, back toward home, the house she knows is, at this moment, in terrible danger, and wonders why she married this man.

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August 22, 2005

Andy: Forgive Us Our Sins

I'd never seen a shooting. A single shot to the head and a man's life was gone forever.

He lay on the gurney, clothes in blood-drenched tatters from the medics' efforts; his arms splayed to the side; some kind of martyr on a fallen cross.

They rolled him into the ambulance and drove away without sirens. There would be no wailing for tonight's dead. Perhaps his mother or father would tomorrow.

"Nothing good to see here," said a man to his girlfriend. "Let’s go."

She giggled.

No, I don't know why anyone would want to die for us humans either.

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August 15, 2005

Andy: Be Not Faithless, but Believing

When he was a young boy, his stepfather delighted in demonstrating for him many optical illusions. He started with simple line drawings, eventually constructing intricate designs from scrap wood.

His favorite, though, involved a hollowed-out fig tree limb. Raising the wooden tube to his right eye, he would focus on something distant, perhaps a neighbor's goat. He would bring his free hand in front of his left eye and marvel at the illusory hole in his palm, through which the goat was visible. A miracle!

He went out to the fig tree. "Tonight," he thought, "I’ll show you, doubting Thomas."

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August 14, 2005

Andy: The Oracle

Merlin opened the chest, reached in, and, after a few moments, withdrew a piece of parchment. He placed the square of rough-hewn edges before his King.

Arthur, eyebrow cocked and fingers drumming, watched Merlin crease the paper many times in an intricate pattern. Merlin held his work aloft on the thumb and forefinger of each hand.

"Ask what ye wish, Arthur," said Merlin.

"Who shall be my queen?" he replied.

"One, two, three, four." Merlin opened a single fold, read what lay beneath, and smiled. "Siobhan of Locksley."

Such sad magic would fail many a young girl in centuries hence.

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August 12, 2005

Andy: The Lusciously Naughty Lips of Les Nessman

OK, I can't even really write about that.

Instead I'll direct you here for your oogy, icky lip fix.

Shudder.

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August 10, 2005

Andy: By the Gazebo

Man, she had pipes, huh?

Do you remember that Fourth of July, we were all at the park and the band played the national anthem, she just broke into it, every word, sang all the notes, even the hard ones? And when everyone else heard her, they just let their own voices drift down to nothing until it was just her and that brass band? And how we looked at her, got all embarrassed, kids you know, but inside we felt proud at the same time?

I want to remember Mom like that, not like now, this fucking long goodbye.

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August 07, 2005

Andy: The Coming Silence

No one trusted the government when they told us what was happening. No one believed the scientists, bespectacled bores on every channel with a graph of this, a chart of that, all of them pointing to the same outcome. No one took notice when they hung that clock in Times Square, ticking down to zero, because those things are just approximations.

Usually.

But on October 8, walking through Times Square, I looked up and saw the countdown make the slow roll from 1 to zero.

"Shit," I said.

And that was the last word ever spoken aloud. Shit. Eloquent, eh?

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August 01, 2005

Andy: Forever

Brilliant light, a burning kick to the chest, and I stumble backwards. My legs collapse under me, heels locked in mud, and I hit the water, sinking into the shallows as crimson streaks twist and swirl across my face.

Through the white glow of headlights rippling across the water above me, I see her kneel, her hands clasped in prayer. Another flash. Muffled thunder.

She crashes facedown, settles on top of me, her black hair spiders around her face, her eyes grow vacant, distant.

"I love you," she mouths through a cloud of blood and bubbles.

And I believe her.

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July 27, 2005

Andy: Dreamgirl

In the dream, I am riding the wind, or I am the wind. It’s hard to tell, as is so much in dreams, but it feels real.

I descend from the sky; drift over thick forest; cross the junction of Highway 93 and White Church Road.

I move over the grasses and shrubs, and spill into the clearing. The leaves on the ground swirl and tumble at my touch. The loose soil gives and slips away. The exposed bones begin to bleach in the sun, white icons of my crime.

I know they will find her now.

It feels real.

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July 25, 2005

Andy: My QVC Sense is Tingling

Amy Tanaka always knew she was different from the other kids, but she did her best to fit in, wearing the right clothes and liking the right music and talking shit about the teachers. Her parents sent her to the boarding school when she was twelve, hoping she would find guidance and purpose.

The years passed and graduation arrived, the others going off to exciting adventures, using their mutant powers to save the world or conquer evil at every turn. Sure, they had the glory and the riches, but could they sense the best price in town at five miles?

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July 24, 2005

Andy: Red Dawn It Ain't

They gathered in the dark, amid broken seats, tattered curtains, and the well-worn wood of an abandoned theatre in what was a vibrant arts district before the new regime took power.

They sat close on stage and spoke in whispers, dared to utter words that were unwelcome in the open light of day. Words like "freedom" and "democracy." Forgotten phrases such as "of the people," "by the people," and "for the people."

Each syllable echoed across the shadowed expanse of empty rows, a chorused call to arms for a revolution in its infancy.

This was their marketplace of perilous ideas.

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July 23, 2005

Andy: Recipe for Crime

He passed a note over the counter, looked around to ensure no one noticed, and held out a large sack. The man read the note and, seeing the bulge in the thief’s pocket, began to fill the bag.

From behind, the thief heard running and rotated 180 degrees; his inertia carried him through the full 360. The cop tackled him, plowing them through rows of hot buffet items.

As he was led away, a reporter asked Michael Moore if it was worth it.

From his pocket he pulled out a half-chewed drumstick and dug in. His full-mouthed answer was unintelligible.

(based on the cards of The Tower, The Hermit, and Fortitude, whose themes include disgrace, roguery, and action)

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July 22, 2005

Andy: The Ark of the Flatulent

"Build a boat. Sail the sea. See the world," he said. Always a tinker, I agreed. Calling in favors, I borrowed some tools and we got to work.

The boat soon took shape. Each night, we slept onboard, as the forecast always called for rain.

The downpour overpowered the cries outside for mercy and deliverance. As the waters rose, the voices fell silent in a cacophony of bubbling notes, and when the rain ended we were left with only the hush of the sea.

We slept well.

Until the elephants developed gastric distress.

Forty days? I'd settle for forty winks.

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July 18, 2005

Andy: Reflections

Many times I have read that when facing death your life moves before you, thousands of frames, your days unfurled from the reel of existence.

It is not true.

As I lay here, staring into the sun, my blood pooling beneath my back, my mind goes only to the memory of my tenth birthday. To my family gathered behind our home. To my relatives who came from other cities. To the many games we played.

Such joy I felt when the burqa-clad doll would burst, spilling forth its delightful candies and Koran verses.

Allahu akbar.

I go to my reward.

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July 17, 2005

Andy: Once Again, Nothin'

...and that might make me less of a man, but it doesn't make me Les Nessman. Although the hog fetish might.

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July 16, 2005

Andy: Eyes

Years ago, soon after it started, he wore the dark glasses to keep strangers from learning too much, polarized window-dressing for his soul.

He never intended to hurt the children, just watch them. Maybe observe them from a bench or under a tree in the park, always within sight of the playground, where they ran and jumped, bodies lithe and nimble. It brought joy, but in time he wanted - needed - more.

He still wears his glasses, but now they hide his scars, mounds of mottled skin where his eyes were, where they offended him, before he found God.

(the word "eyes" from McSweeney's Enchanted Chamber of Astonishing Stories by Anais Nin)

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July 15, 2005

Andy: To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

You know the dream. The one where you show up to school or some public place sporting only your unmentionables, the one where no one notices but you.

Bruce has the dream. There he stands, wearing a pair of CK briefs, while the world passes him by, oblivious to his shame.

You may think it strange that mannequins dream, but Bruce does, and he'll be the first to tell you that the underwear dream is nothing compared to the falling-off-the-display one, what with his lack of arms. He can’t even flail.

At least he wakes up before hitting the tile.

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July 13, 2005

Andy: Reunion

Each year, Alice and Monroe’s families gathered at the lake for a long July Fourth holiday, and each year, Alice and Monroe renewed their friendship, one halted for the past twelve months by twelve hundred miles.

Now, they would not be more than twelve feet apart. They played games in the lakehouse, ate cheeseburgers and Ruffles at the faded picnic table, and tangled in the shallow waters by the shore.

Alice stood. Monroe saw that her soaked shirt no longer draped like his own. She crossed her arms, stared down. He looked away, red-faced, and waded back to the shore.

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July 12, 2005

Andy: A Perfect World

"You know, I’ve played the violin my whole life," I overhear him say. "I think the thing I miss most, even more than food, is my music."

He talks to himself. After a week or two, everyone who moves here does. There's little point in conversation when there is never a raised voice, never an argument.

He crosses the patio of gold bricks and retreats into his mansion, as magnificent as all around it.

Everyone here yearns for the beautiful imperfections of the life they left behind, the curse of all eternity without subtleties in tones or tastes or tempers.

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June 28, 2005

Andy: The Speed of Thought

It isn't that my words are scrambled so much as it’s that my brain races, leaps from one idea to the next and then to another, each one connected by a tenuous thread of free association sensible only to me, redlined thoughts and images and concepts and beliefs, a flurry of synaptic synergy between breaths such that, as one sentence sounds, another one, unrelated in the eyes of the person across from me, is on its way to my mouth, and I wish it would stop but I think butterflies are pretty and that Molly Ringwald, where is she now?

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June 27, 2005

Andy: The Doggone Girl Is Mine

Look, I don’t even know the crazy bitch.

I was out on the town, round Marietta and 16th, and I see her standing there, tight brown curls, tighter red dress. She sees me. There’s some kind of chemistry between us, right? So we go to my place, have a drink, and then I hit it good. So we’re done, she leaves, and I think, hey, all right, strangers in the night and all that. But, no, today she comes by saying the kids are mine!

Want my advice? Don’t ass-sniff a poodle all tarted up in red; that butt’s trouble.

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June 26, 2005

Andy: Just Shut Up, Celine

Hobbling under the wan moonlight, he moves between grassy reeds and down an embankment, until he stands at the edge of the ocean. After removing his coat, he drops his cane, limps into the black waves, and falls to his knees in genuflection. He murmurs rote words, the wind carrying them out across the water. He cups his hands, fills them with cold surf, and anoints himself. Amen.

He knows he has few years left, that he will see her soon, but each April 15th he returns to the sea and mourns his love lost on the unsinkable floating city.

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June 24, 2005

Andy: Les Nessman Reporting on "What Comes Around"

Sometimes when your code of ethics breaks down, karma has a strange way of doing the same to the bones in your face.

Ouch!

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June 23, 2005

Andy: My Aim is True

"How are you?" she asked.

"Been better."

"The doctor says it was an inch to the left of your heart."

"The guy had shitty aim," he said.

"Lucky."

"How about you? Everything okay?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure. We can talk later."

"Talk about what later?"

"Nothing. Don’t worry about it."

"No, what is it? Tell me."

"It can wait. Until you’re better."

"Look, Emily, talk to me."

"I need to go."

As the door closed behind her, Kevin eyed the plastic knife on his tray, wondering if he could hit one inch to the right.

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June 21, 2005

Andy: Ancient Traditions

No one saw them arrive in the night.

No one saw them creep across the field toward the ruins, pausing outside the circle of the firelight. They watched as the revelers, some draped in white, some only in shadows, sat hand in hand around the flames, their bodies casting a wheel of lithe figures.

No one heard their tittering or saw them pointing or noticed as they took off their clothes and approached the gathering.

However, everyone noticed when the thirteen residents of the Eastbrook Home for Aging Pagans crashed their annual celebration.

Things just weren't the same after that.

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June 20, 2005

Andy: Odd Man Out

They never take notice of him.

When in the city, he walks among them as they all crash together, opposing rivers jumping the sidewalk banks, flooding into crosswalks and stores and taxis. He watches them, looks at their faces, and is met by the blank stares of minds drifting elsewhere, contemplating work to be done and what’s for lunch. They bump into him without apology, mannequins parading on the assembly line. In their world, he is nonexistent.

He doesn't mind, not at all; it makes it easier to kill them.

They don't even notice each other until the evening news.

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June 18, 2005

Andy: What Are The Chances?

He stands resting on his elbows, hands in his hair. He stares down, wipes away the pearls of moisture on his forehead. The world vanishes, leaving only the puzzle that taunts him, week upon week.

He knows millions have failed to decipher the code, knows that his wife just shakes her head every time he tells her about how close he has come.

But, today, he has a good feeling. He's there. It feels right.

He pens his proposed solution.

"Maybe tonight," he says, handing a dollar and the lottery ticket to the cashier, "although probability’s not my strong point."

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June 17, 2005

Andy: Les Nessman, Verses

Minus one because you miss me.

Minus two because you care.

Minus three, you think I'm lazy.

Minus four, 'cause life's not fair.

Minus five because you need me.

Minus six because you're sad.

Minus seven, hey, it's free.

Minus eight, c'mon, it's not so bad.

Minus nine... umm... minus nine...

Oh hell, that's enough for tonight.

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June 16, 2005

Andy: In the Beginning

Wakey, wakey.

Surprised?

I imagine I would be, waking up here, like this... like you.

No, no, don't try to speak. Not yet.

Shhhh.

I know, you probably thought this would never happen. Could never happen. Not to you anyway. Always so careful and cautious. Look both ways, lock the doors, la dee dah.

So pragmatic, indeed.

But, here you are.

Please, no, don't struggle. Hardly worth the effort, what with the drugs.

My rules are ever so simple; I think you'll like them.

The first one is this: I call you my child... and you call me God.

Amen.

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June 15, 2005

Andy: Les is More

You can get all your Les Nessman fixin's over here. Clicky clicky.

I shall return on the morrow.

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June 14, 2005

Andy: Requiem

He awoke, sought to regain the bearings lost in dreams. He turned to the space beside him and caressed the pillow like a widower would the firm cheek of his beloved. He rose to wake his children; it was his ritual, one he was not willing to relinquish. Not yet.

In the wan light and bracing wind of a November morning, he walked to the edge of town, beyond the first stand of trees, to that place spoken of now only in whispers. He dropped to his knees, sobbing, and began digging in the cold, turned soil.

He already knew.

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June 13, 2005

Andy: Paranoia

You think I’m crazy? Sometimes wonder myself.

But I know this, I know I'm not dead and others aren’t so lucky, but me, I'm alive and I plan to stay that way. I don't go outside, no sir; just sit in here with the television on loud to block out what's happening. Sometimes though, sometime I hear the sirens, coming from all over, and I know someone's dying out there. Murders, fires, gangs, drugs, don't matter, it's all part of how the city does its killing. Lure us in, take us out, one by one.

But not me. No sir.

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June 12, 2005

Andy: In Space, Someone Can Hear You Sing

He fights to reverse direction, but his space galleon is an older model, lacking the power of modern ones. The navigational systems hard crash, unable to lock onto a stationary point as the gravitational field warps into a strip of bubbling anomalies.

His crew has abandoned him, launched themselves in the two emergency pods, drawn away until they were gray pinpoints. Gone.

The titanium figurehead, visible through the forward view-port, forever reaches forward with arms outstretched, as if longing to be reunited with lost friends.

As the ship crosses the event-horizon, the song ceases, and all is silence once more.

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June 11, 2005

Andy: Such a Busy Boy Am I

I got nothin' tonight. Nothin' at all. Nothing but a love that dares not speak its name.

Les Nessman... Les Nessman

Hey, I said don't speak its name!

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June 10, 2005

Andy: Newsroom

"This is breaking news, good stuff," he said.

"But, sir," I said.

"No buts, Johnson, this is big. Huge!"

"Sir, pl—"

"In this business, we've got to be fast. We've got to break hot stories." Editor-in-chief Cantor slapped his desk with both hands. "It won't do us a damn bit of good to look back on this as the one that got away."

"Mr. Cant—"

"Johnson, don’t let it get away!"

So we went to press with a picture of the hostage.

It was a G.I. Joe.

I for one thought the accompanying picture of the terrorist squirrel was suspicious.

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June 09, 2005

Andy: Everytime

It's ugly early when the alarm bell rings. I'd ignore it, sleep in, but there'll be hell to pay if I'm not out the door in five.

Every street's the same, shiny and clean, lined with mansions full of beautiful people. I find the address, walk to the door, and knock with faux good cheer.

It opens and there's this blue-eyed cherub of a kid standing there. He sees the box and bounces on his toes.

"Here are your wings," I say, shoving it into his arms. "Tell that George Bailey to kiss my ass. I'm going back to bed."

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June 08, 2005

Andy: Obligatorium Lessum Nesmannus

Sorry, been a very busy day - with a very busy evening ahead. I'll strive to do better, honestly, because you people are good people and good people are my kind of people.

However, I can't just leave you with nothing: let's sing!

Baby, if you've ever wondered,
Wondered whatever became of me,
I'm living on the air in Cincinnati,
Cincinnati, WKRP.

Got kind of tired packing and unpacking,
Town to town and up and down the dial
Maybe you and me were never meant to be,
But baby think of me once in awhile.

I'm at WKRP in Cincinnati...

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June 07, 2005

Andy: Speed Date 2

All of my time in the shop? Oh no, not all of it. Sometimes meet special clients at home. I have a work area in the basement.

I offer tea and finger sandwiches, small talk. Then it’s down to brass tacks.

As in the shop, I take exacting measurements. Fine tailoring is the mark of a true gentleman, you know.

Not just the measuring, of course, one must be precise when cutting. Sharp scissors and a steady hand, I like to say.

Takes time to clean off the blood, but a good skin suit is worth it. Don’t you think?

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June 06, 2005

Andy: 920

That morning, I walked among the buildings of Oulu University, their acid-trip exteriors sickly in the early snow-glow.

Over the spruce trees, I saw the aurora, swirling green amplitudes of solar wind against a black sky. I stopped the crunch of my boots, and watched, wondering if she could see it too. Perhaps she was awake, looking out her window, and thinking the same thing, missing me across five thousand miles, the two of us connected by the magnetosphere.

Had I known that six months later she would shatter my heart, I might have gotten out of the fucking cold.

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June 05, 2005

Andy: Mmmm, Les Nessman

Mr Carlson: Well, let's hear it.

Les: Well, we were all right here, just as we are now, discussing this new show with Sparky, except you didn't look like yourself, Mr. Carlson. You looked more like a large ... muffin.

Jennifer: Muffin?

Les: Yes, a nice breakfast muffin. And you said that you had an exciting announcement.

Mr Carlson: Well?

Les: Well, you sang it. (Singing)

"I'm a big fat muffin that loves to eat,
A big fat muffin that has no feet.
But most of all I'm a big fat muffin that looooves
To explode."

And then you did.

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June 04, 2005

Andy: Sunrise

7:45AM

Mitsuru Akio says goodbye to his wife, steps out of his home. He sees blue sky, and hopes the Monday ahead will soon pass.

8:07AM

Akio approaches his office. He always admires its domed structure, much more elegant than the rigid edifices of the banks nearby.

8:10AM

He sits at his desk, pulls out papers from last week and sorts his work. There is much to do.

8:13AM

He hears a rumbling. "The Emperor’s men," he thinks, "flying to glory." Soon they will pass over.

8:15AM

He raises his hands as the sunrise becomes unbearably bright.

8:16AM...

8:16AM...

8:16AM...

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June 03, 2005

Andy: 9.8

He stands, warmed by the sun, on the edge of a cliff, azure waters rippling below. He breathes in, outstretches his arms, and steadies himself against the buffeting breeze. Breathes out.

He bends his knees, potential energy building across his legs, and releases, launching himself into open air. He leans back, carving an elegant arc as he rotates through space. Falling, accelerating, he transitions to vertical perfection. With the most minor disturbance, he slips beneath the waves. The crowd cheers.

He opens his eyes.

Takes a breath.

Steps from the ledge and into the obituary page for October 30, 1929.

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June 02, 2005

Andy: My Muse, She is Fickle

Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman

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June 01, 2005

Andy: Well, This is Different

Armed guards roll the cryonic chamber onto the raised stage. Locking it into position, they flank each side. The chamber door opens, reveals the interior shrouded in a frigid mist. As the cloud cascades outward, the body of a man in a black suit becomes visible.

The crowd is hushed.

He steps forward, says "Alles klar, Herr Kommissar?"

The crowd cheers. He raises his arms in victory.

Gasps abound as his skin sloughs off, pooling at his feet, followed by organs and muscles. Only skeleton remains.

He is gone, beyond repair, as is all hope of a "Falco: Resurrection" tour.

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May 31, 2005

Andy: Art Imitating Life

Her canvas ready, she fills in, with sedulous care, the minutest details: every splintered shard of wood, each shingle missing, and all the other obligatory detritus of a failed prosperity. She works in four dimensions.

She removes a small knife from her back pocket, opens it, and carves her initials, unnoticeably, in the front post of the general store. She presses her fingers to her lips, then to the post, a benediction and a farewell, and walks away.

She turns back toward the town, and frames the view between her fingers. Yes, she thinks, the tourist board will be pleased.

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May 29, 2005

Andy: Also Untitled, Because It's Late

On the fourteenth floor of the Beijing World Trade Center, Specialist Timmons crouched in the dark. "I'm at the computer," he said. "I need the pass code."

"I'll check with the shop," said Field Agent Bruner.

Bruner radioed Hall who rang Givens who rang Miller who paged Falk.

"Got it?" asked Miller.

"Got it," said Falk. "The moon rises over Bohai Bay."

Miller rang Givens who rang Hall who radioed Bruner who informed Timmons.

Timmons approached the terminal and keyed: "Too soon surprises come what may."

Sitting in prison, he never appreciated the irony of Chinese whispers being his undoing.

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May 28, 2005

Andy: Untitled

"They're in here," said Montana. "I know it."

"We shouldn’t be here," Jimmy said, standing in the closet door.

"Quit being scared. You wanna see, right?"

"Yeah," Jimmy said, "but your grandfather'll be pissed."

"He won't find out," he said, plunging his hands between shirts and pants, parting them like a poly-cotton sea. "I bet they’re in this."

Montana emerged with a gilded box. He moved it to the middle of the closet, opened the lid, and revealed the treasure: six years of Playboy back-issues.

Oh, and the Wrath of God.

His face melting, Montana Jones cried out "Nice tits!"

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May 27, 2005

Andy: Les Nessman, Space Traveler?

Sadly, probably not, as his historic Thanksgiving turkey disaster radio broadcast is nowhere to be found on this.

Besides, even if it had been, any aliens would be too busy gettin' freaky to the nudie line drawings they found on the Pioneer spacecraft to listen to some dumb old record.

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May 26, 2005

Andy: If At First You Don't Succeed

He stepped from the workshop and set down his creation. The others crowded around to see, all clasped hands and raised eyebrows; would it work?

They watched as it unfolded before them. Points of light, like waking eyes, blinked on, filling the inky emptiness. Swirled strands of dust danced, coalesced, and fell into order. Chemicals reacted, became complex; patterns emerged.

It paused.

Trembled.

Collapsed into percolating sludge.

Their disappointment was palpable.

"Next one's a winner," said Gabriel. The angels nodded.

His head fell. He scraped his failure onto the ground, walked to the workshop, and closed the door behind him.

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May 25, 2005

Andy: A New Mourning

He wakes, walks to the living room, looks at the photos on the wall. Morning slips in between the blinds, each beam a spotlight on a framed moment.

A daughter of the dustbowl, doll in her arms.

A son of the city, tweed suit and shorts.

A wedding before the war.

A honeymoon after.

Children grown and grandchildren growing.

An anniversary of rubies and red flowers.

Upstairs, she again cradles a doll, different but with the same name, and lives in a place where the last fifty years never happened and he is a stranger.

He weeps for the dead.

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May 24, 2005

Andy: Behind the Glass

I am awake.

The same day or another one or two weeks have passed. My existence now a strobe light, vestiges of days and nights.

They’re here.

Jenny sits at the foot of the bed, head turned toward the television. I’ve watched her grow in stop-motion memories and I mourn the missing frames.

Nancy is beside me; she smiles when I look at her. Her lips move and move and move. I regret ever wishing she would just shut up.

I lie here broken and useless. Trapped. I beg for freedom or death.

No one hears me.

I am alone.

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May 23, 2005

Andy: Original Recipe

"This is delicious," he said. "Different."

They sat in a culvert under the 19th Street Bridge, escaping the icy air above. A pot of soup hung above a makeshift fire pit that provided warmth.

"That celery and onions I taste?" he asked, sipping from his spoon. "Where on Earth’d you find those?"

She shrugged and smiled.

"And them chunky bits," he said, swirling the soup in his bowl, "carrots?"

She nodded. Smiled again.

"But there’s something else, something new," he said. "C’mon, I have to know."

She wasn’t sure how to tell him she called it cream of pimple soup.

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May 22, 2005

Andy: In Memoriam

Today is my father's birthday.

Or would have been.

I shot him in his sleep six years ago.

He made my life shit. The way he touched me, told me never to tell. The way he made me hate myself and anyone who wanted to get close to me.

Dr. Shelton said remember and I remembered and she asked was I sure and I said yes and she said that's good and I cried.

I know I was wrong.

My father loved me.

Dr. Shelton is trying to get me out. She says it could take years.

I'm sorry, Daddy.

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May 21, 2005

Andy: Curse of the River Valley

The crimson boat drifted to a halt.

Garrett Jameson stepped off and straightened his hat.

Within the Temple of the River Valley, his fiercest foes awaited, wielding weapons of both man and mysticism. Checking his guns and adjusting his bandolier, he recalled the blood challenge of Kai Shan.

Garrett began his walk with fate. Ethereal hands opened the temple doors; the magic here was strong.

He was stronger.

"Have fun at the arcade," said Mrs. Jameson from the red station wagon. "I’ll pick you up at seven."

"Aw, Mom!" Gary said, head down, as he ran into River Valley Mall.

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May 20, 2005

Andy: All's Fair in Love and the Culture War

He sat at his desk and turned on his computer. As it came to life, he gazed out at the mountains and turned words over in his head. They arrived without effort, as if from above:

Dear Dr. Dobson,

I’m a 12-year-old boy named Ben and me and my friends think that letting girls put their mouth down there doesn’t really count. What do Jesus and you think?

Ben

He entered the e-mail address, the subject line "question for doctor Dobson from Ben," and pressed "send."

Dr. James Dobson chuckled, turned off his computer, and went to count his millions.

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May 19, 2005

Andy: Les Nessman Mea Culpa #2

In order to be just like Les, you can get hog futures here and then go read the news here.

I'll be back on my game tomorrow, assuming the docs don't tell me they have to cut, break, or otherwise painfully manipulate the tissue and bones in my face.

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May 18, 2005

Andy: Les Nessman, Mea Culpa

Les Nessman liked to use tape as virtual walls around his desk.

I intended to write 100 words for today’s theme, but life has a habit of getting in the way. Not only did I spend all day in meetings, but the night before I managed to display an inability to navigate steps, missing one but not the pavement below.

So, my 100 words were to be about a weary traveler anticipating a shower, but as he spoke, you, being highly perceptive, would have realized it was not a shower at all, but a gas chamber.

Hey, that’s 100 words!

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May 17, 2005

Andy: More Than a Mouthful

I saw it on the news.

Some crazy ass woman chopped off her husband's dick and drove away with it. Cops caught her crying by the side of the road, but they didn’t find his dick.

I tell you what, my wife ever did a fool thing like that, she'd damn sure be sorry.

So anyway, I hear this scratching at the trailer door, figure it's Sam come back from his walk. Because a dog should be free, like the wolves, see.

He comes in, tail wagging, with a goddamn dick in his mouth.

I knew that dog was queer.

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May 16, 2005

Andy: Speed Date

"Hi."

"Hi."

"So, what's your name?"

"Anna."

"Ah, Anna – a palindrome."

"Excuse me?"

"A palindrome. A word or phrase that reads the same forward and backward."

"Oh."

"See, like this – A man. A plan. A canal: Panama."

"Right. And what’s your name?"

"Madam, I’m Adam."

"Nice to meet you."

"That was another palindrome."

A whistle sounded.

"I think our time is up," she said as she stood. "It was nice to meet you." She walked away without another word.

His second date approached.

"Hi," she said, "I’m Eve."

On his deathbed, Adam would wonder why he was still a virgin.

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May 15, 2005

Andy : The Fall

As the Explorer 2125 ushered itself into an orbit high above Mars, Captain Garrett was fighting for his life.

Commander Stendahl stood above him, grinning, and slicing into Garrett’s flight suit with a razor. With each whisk of his arm, a new wound opened – first fabric, then skin, then blood.

Garrett, struggling with releasing his harness and fighting back, flailed about. “Why?” he asked.

Stendahl pulled his head back and cut clean through his neck. Garrett mouthed the question once more.

He had no reason other than when he read it in a book, he knew it was his destiny.

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May 14, 2005

Andy: Creep

I shove my right arm into the shrinking space between the elevator doors.

“Sorry,” I say.

She nods, looks forward again. My parking lot guess from ten yards was spot on: the front is as good as the back.

The doors close.

She watches the digits. Red hair, spilled against a white blouse stretched tight across her tits. Nice ass, navy skirt, just a shadow of a panty line. I imagine my hands running up her pale legs, raising her skirt, touching….

The doors open.

The stout receptionist from nine steps in; she smells of sweat and rubber chew toys.

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May 13, 2005

Andy : Grave Secret

James stood, remained quiet, and watched the casket sink into its sepulcher carved out of topsoil and clay. In the middle of friends and family, he was alone.

Do you take this woman? He did. Do you take this man? She did. To love and comfort and honor and stand by in sickness and in health, and be faithful so long as you both shall live? Until death do you part?

They did.

Forty-one years and eight days later, Death crept in and upheld its vow, just as Sarah had upheld hers.

James stood, remained quiet, and burned with shame.

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