Arthur stopped in his tracks and slowly tilted his head back, forcing a stream of businessmen to move hastily out of his way. A surprise met him on his daily routine. Everyday Arthur would walk around his city, usually in the morning, scrupulously monitoring every sidewalk, building, bus stop, light pole, garage door, chain like fence and store front for new advertisements.
In a mysteriously collective and synchronized fashion, the city always updated its empty spaces with new ads during the wee hours of every Monday morning. Arthur usually memorized all the advertisements by Sunday night when it was time for a fresh installment. He did this by dividing the streets into a grid pattern and scouting each sector, depending—with some pride—solely on his philosophy of disciplined attentiveness. No matter what emotion the ad roused in him at first glance, he would digest every image with patience and meditate for great lengths of time on every phrase.
What surprised Arthur was that—on a Sunday afternoon—after a full week to realize every billboard, he somehow missed one. Arthur felt a strange urge to locate the ad’s shadow and place himself in the center of it before allowing himself to look at it. After scanning the cement, Arthur found the rectangular area; it framed the exit of an underground transit station almost perfectly. It was a bright day with only a few smudges of gray overcast in the sky, yet Arthur distinctively felt the chill from the billboard’s shadow on the backs of his hands and in his nostrils as he inhaled air through his nose.
Arthur felt secure in the shade, as if the barely noticeable box shape was a force field blocking out all the unpredictable organic figures of pedestrians that scurried past him. He was happy in spite of his self-imposed isolation. A chubby kid wearing a propped up A’s baseball hat mimicked Arthur’s intent stare to the great satisfaction of a group of teenagers who stood nearby.
Arthur didn’t notice the people around him. He was too pleased to see that the billboard used his favorite style of advertising: the rhetorical question.
“Are you connected?” After studying many different types of ads, Arthur learned how to avoid looking at the brand name before first contemplating the message of the ad in his mind. He believed a person should take feely whatever message the ad was offering before seeing who wants you to take it. That was the only method for an impartial participant in the dialogue as a whole.
“I am connected to you,” Arthur responded in his mind to the father in the ad who stood slightly ahead of his family with an outstretched arm, offering the viewer his own cell phone.
This message reaffirmed Arthur’s belief in the cultural brilliance of advertising culture; it was always forcing the observer to question personal assumptions about happiness and the ignorance that allows for a false sense of everyday satisfaction. The white noise from people walking straight past the ad without taking the time to observe it made Arthur feel sad. “Are they connected?” Arthur wondered about the crowd.
Arthur’s train of thought came to a halt when he blurted out the word “PISS.” It was as if his mind was warning him beforehand of the smell he was about to realize. He looked down and discovered that he had been standing in a pool of stagnant urine.
somebody had an idea
to force monkeys across the surface
of windy places
where land mines sleep underground
but
it would have been too cruel
* * * * *
A Killer Whale, procured by Marine World from the Indian Ocean,
had the best of lives.
“Martia,” the tank manager named her.
Thousands of pounds of dead fish were fed to her.
The fish even had special vitamins mashed into them.
Everything was taken care for Martia.
Nobody could say for sure why she bit Craig, her trainer.
The good life over, they had no choice but to let her go her own way.
* * * * *
Dogs wear sweaters. Hats. Mittens. Shoes. Sweater vests. Sunglasses. Backpacks. Bibs. Training bras. Fanny packs. Handkerchiefs. Beanies. Watches. Socks. Jean shorts. Swim trunks.
Trust me. I saw a commercial where one ordered some shit online.
I saw that mister.
(Home time coming.)
I’m watching you. Yes. You.
(Happiness the cigarettes.)
Quiet! Excuse me? Quietly.
(Undo shoes and socks.)
If you could live any place
as any person
within the time of your choice—
(Pray. Remember pray?)
All I’m saying is please be careful.
Look, please, alright?
(Begin abstract: trillion, potential, spaces.)
How about shhhhh? Too tired today.
(Fortify. Structure. Repeat Strength Words.)
Now, I want you working together in groups.
(Loneliness exempt people: how?)
When we are all listening
we can all—
No, not yet. I’ll explain.
Please wait I said I’d explain.
(Play the game like record players.)
Would you like to purchase these brand new left-overs?
We have:
Punctual muscle slip-ons,
A, “Please, I don’t want to die-et” audio tape,
Several pairs of celebrity hairs,
The furniture of Peaceful Dreams,
Subconscious wrecking balls,
Toothpastes used by the lonely and oh so outta luck,
Fat-Free Brain Blisters,
Anorexic Lady Bug wagons,
Baffling electronic grade-gap boosters,
Plastic trees,
And Pixel Paradise weekday getaways.
PLEASE DO NOT RETURN
Joey: Short and sturdy man in his late twenties. Quietly confident and highly aggressive.
Ted: Independent, intelligent and calm 14-year-old freshman in high school.
Mikey: Impressionable, loud and spunky 14-yeard-old freshman in high school.
Joey stands in a locker room, mixing a large bucket of yellow paint with a stick. There are mannequin heads wearing afro wigs on a table next to him.
Ted walks into the room and watches Joey.
Joey picks up a can of yellow spray paint and starts shaking it up.
Joey: Ted, my man! What’s up kid?
(Short Pause. Ted watches Joey intently)
You guessed it already, haven’t you?
(Short pause)
No? Well, if you have it’s okay to be a little spooked. I guarantee that fear in your gut will make you run faster. Keep you from getting caught…It’s been about twelve years since I did what you’re about to do. Things get easier over time. Considering what I went through. I’ll spare you the story, but it was brutal. Nothing like the picnic you’re about to take.
(Joey starts spray painting the wigs yellow)
Where the hell is Mikey? Oh well. I’m not worried about him. Kid’s got more spirit than any freshmen I’ve ever had try out.
(Joey shoots a mean look at Ted)
I’m not gonna tell you what happened to me, ok? You look scared as shit. If you just follow my instructions, word-for-word, with total obedience, there’s a chance you’ll be sipping beers with the rest of the team later tonight. Now, let’s put this on you.
(Joey steps forward and tries to put the wig on Ted. Ted takes a step away from him.)
Ted: Hey! Don’t you think we should wait for Mikey?
Joey: Excuse me?
Ted: I think, you know, we’re in this thing together, right?
Joey: What are you saying, kid? There’s no beatings here. Just put the wig on your—
Ted: Wait! I talked to my brother about this, and he said they all did it at the same time. As a group.
(Beat)
(Joey remembers with a proud look)
Joey: Your brother. Now there’s a fine athlete. That boy was one of our school’s all-time greatest running backs. You gotta lot to live up to, Ted. How’s he doin now, anyways? I haven’t heard much of him.
Mikey: That’s the thing, he’s—
(Mikey bursts through the door, grinning)
Mikey: Hey coach!
Joey: Mikey! Hey kiddo!
Mikey: So what’s up? Are we ready to go?
(Mikey starts to take off his shirt)
Joey: We’re ready, except your teammate here keeps on stalling the process. It’s like he’s thinking about quitting before the first game.
(Mikey pulls off his shirt)
Mikey: Come on Ted, it’ll be fun!
Joey: I don’t think fun is the right word, but there’s no way out of this. It’s the way we do things.
Ted: Mikey told me this was a team meeting. I want to be on the team, but—
Mikey: That’s right. It’s a team meeting except we’re not all the way on the team yet. After this, we’re in.
Ted: Yeah, I wanna play for the team too. But do you even know what we have to do? Do you know how many kids have—
Mikey: Try talking to your elders some time. I talked to the sophomores and they said they had to streak through the mall butt-naked last year. We get to wear thongs, Ted. And the yellow paint shows our support for the school. We’re The Suns!
Ted: Please tell me you’re joking. I have talked to my elders, they told me all about—
Mikey: We’re the only two freshmen who were picked! We’re lucky. This is a good thing. Stop thinking and take off your pants!
Joey: Hold on a sec, Mikey. You have half of the equation. Your attitude is dead-on, but there’ s something you’re missing.
(Puts the wig on Mikey)
What you’re lacking—and you need to hear this Ted—is the importance of tradition. You boys are about to be a part of history. You’re links in a chain. Without you guys the past would be meaningless and the future would be squat.
(Pulls the wig violently onto Mikey’s head)
Mikey: I don’t get it coach.
Joey: Think: this school opened in 1952! 55 years there have been young men bleeding for this team. Giving it all without a thought of themselves. The Suns…you know what that means? It’s a symbol. It symbolizes the fact that we rise again, everyday, like a cycle that’s gotta continue!
Ted: You asked about my brother, coach.
Joey: Why do you want to join this team? Huh?
Ted: After he graduated high school…he really didn’t do much. He started having trouble sleeping. The whole downstairs is his now since he doesn’t like to leave the house.
Mikey: Are you listening Ted? They need us to keep the tradition!
Ted: I don’t know why it happened, but he still talks about the things he went through when he played football. Not only the pressure to win games…the things he had to do to get on the team.
Joey: Shut your mouth Ted! You wanna know what happened to me?
Ted: I’m here for my own reasons.
Joey: They beat me with pillowcases full of oranges! I had to wear a mask over my head. Then, when I was done, they made me do laps around the field till I couldn’t stand. Does that sound bad compared to running through a fucking mall? Do you have any respect?
Mikey: We’re gonna be a part of the whole.
Ted: I may want to play football…but I really love journalism.
Joey: What are you saying?
Ted: This has been going on, screwing up kids for too long. My brother is permanently messed up. I’m telling you that I’m here to do a story.
Joey: Oh you son of a—
Ted: If it’s the whole school’s tradition, why can’t people know about it?
(Joey lunges towards Ted. Ted grabs the bucket of paint and throws it at Joey’s stomach. Joey falls to the ground.)
Joey: Get him Mikey!
(Ted runs out of the class room. Mikey watches him leave, looks at Joey on the ground and doesn’t move.)
When he woke up in the morning there was an ad wrapped around his neck above his pajama shirt’s collar. The ad looked like the smooth material of a necktie and when he looked up or turned his head to the side the brand’s name would flash in sleek blue letters below his chin.
He went to the bathroom, took off his socks and noticed two ads on the bottoms of his feet. The ads had pictures of magnified green germs, sharp teeth poking through their slimy skins, warning him of the embarrassing dangers of foot odor. Sitting on the toilet, holding his calf in his hands, he looked at his feet and read about the psychological findings of doctors who confined one man with stinky feet in the midst of a small family of people with fresh-smelling feet, thanks to the help of the product being advertised, and how the smelly man was quickly ostracized, left alone in the bathroom much like he was at the moment.
Having checked the rest of his body and finding only one more ad on his stomach for a health food store, the man slipped into his suit and left his apartment. The first person he saw once outside his building was a man who lived down the hall from him whose name he did not know. The man was sweating, looking down at the sidewalk as if ashamed. A rectangular ad had been stretched over his mouth. Scrolling across the miniature screen, the ad read, “I didn’t brush my teeth last night. Why? Because my toothpaste ran out. After work, I’ll be sure to pick up some Toothpaste brand Toothpaste so this won’t happen again!”
Elliot: Please, I’m asking you—please—can I have it?
Adrian: …Nah.
Eliot: Wait. Just hang on a second. I don’t mean “have”. I just need to borrow it for tonight only.
Adrian: Said no.
Elliot: What if I give you my word that I will have it back to you by tomorrow before you even wake up?
Adrian: Fuck that.
Elliot: Please, Adrian. I’m asking you to let me borrow it for one evening and I swear I’ll have it back before noon tomorrow…and…um…
Adrian: What. I’m listening.
Elliot: I’ll think about buying you beer. Ok, can I grab it now?
Adrian: Jesus fucking Christ. You’re the definition of a hypocrite. You know that, right?
Elliot: Just give me the DVD!
Adrian: Pathetic. Ass hole. I’m 16 and I’m smarter than you…or at least I have more pride.
Elliot: I’m doing this to help people like you!
Adrian: Yes. Help. Borrow a Sex Pistols documentary and save the world.
Elliot: I need you to forget about the image you’ve created for yourself and do me a tiny favor. (Under his breath) Shit.
Adrian: Shit? Yes. That’s definitely what you have always been. At least I can say I’m conscious of my decision to be shit.
Elliot: How often—seriously, can you even remember—do I ask you for anything?
Adrian: It’s not so much your groveling that bugs me—actually, it’s as entertaining as it is rare. What gets me is you think you have so much power. You and Dad would make good celebrity life coaches…No, better yet: pet therapists. You guys have already fucked up enough human beings.
Elliot: So what are you saying? I’ve consistently tried to help people. Giving me a documentary about the popularity of punk music can help others too. If you’re a true Nihilist, why should it matter if we discuss the growth in youth apathy? Shouldn’t it not affect you either way? Unless you’re a hypocrite of course.
Adrian: I don’t have to subscribe to some official label. It’s your job to waste energy on judging and classifying people. I’m trash. Yeah. Trash is fine.
Elliot: Alright then Mr. Trash, I’ll just be borrowing this—
Adrian: Hold on Elliot…who are you showing this to?
Elliot: Well it was going to be a group discussion, originally.
Adrian: So who is it?
Elliot: You call me names for caring, but the smallest things set you off. You’re supposed to be trouble-free trash, remember?
Adrian: Fuck that! Who’s seeing this!
Elliot: I’ll tell you once it is in my hands.
Adrian: It will be in your hands once there’s a bottle of Jim Beam in mine.
Elliot: I said beer!
Adrian: What the fuck difference does it make you cowardly, wannabe Christian, hypocrite ass—
Elliot: Justine, alright!
Adrian: Wait a minute…
Elliot: Do you understand what I’m trying to do?
Adrian: This is some bullshit joke to teach me a moral…right?
Elliot: No Adrian. She’s trying to improve her life. She’s been attending our youth group meetings. We’ve been talking about contemporary issues and we need your DVD for a presentation she’s going to make.
Adrian: I can’t believe you guys are doing this to me.
Elliot: Come on, do I even need to say it? I mean, if you’re worried about that. I am the head organizer in the church’s youth league, not to mention she is your age. I mean—I want you to know I realize you guys had something and I respect that. It might not have been meaningful, but you’re my bro and—
Adrian: Leave my room and go fuck yourself with a cactus.
Elliot: I hate to say it, but this is so typical Adrian: responding to my fight against negativity by hurling negativity at me.
Adrian: What are you trying to prove? You want to save someone who I actually cared about and therefore corrupted? All you want is Mom and Dad’s approval to show them you’re the hero. Maybe they’ll kick me out after all.
Elliot: Why can’t you understand that I’m helping people! I’m trying to help the community!
Adrian: You’re going to watch a movie alone with my ex-girlfriend because it’s you’re destiny to be a piece of shit! Why can’t you let me have one thing of my own! Something you won’t molest with your moral bullshit!
Elliot: My intentions are positive and this conversation is over. Now hand me the DVD from your desk or I will talk Dad into shipping you off to bible camp this summer.
Adrian: Fuckin hate you Elliot. Leave her alone!
Elliot: No! She asked for my help! Why do you care? Weren’t you the one who exposed her to marijuana and binge drinking in the first place? She already had to use an inhaler everyday for her asthma and you make her smoke toxins? What do you care about her?
Adrian: I admit we experimented together. I can’t believe I never saw…(beat) you know…
Elliot: What? What is it?
Adrian: You’ve got a small point though.
Elliot: Excuse me?
Adrian: Well, as you know, I have experience with…Nihilism. And I can say that the music and the lifestyle is fun.
Elliot: Right.
Adrian: But you could say it gets old after a while. Don’t get me wrong, I would never go around preaching at people, telling them to be more like me…but it is depressing. I’ll admit that.
Elliot: That’s really great bud.
Adrian: You know what. Fuck it, I mean, forget it. Take the DVD. It’s yours.
Elliot: Thanks! You have no idea how much good this will do.
Adrian: You’re right. There’s no way for me to see how much it helps because I’ve never been to one of you youth meetings. If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to come with you tonight.
Leeland Lee continues working at the Unique Eats café after his wife, Lori, dies. During breakfast and lunch Leeland is always busy with his hands, breading chicken to be deep-fried and wiping the mayonnaise off the counter for the next burger. The customers compliment Leeland’s timely and delicious meals, but his boss, a middle-aged woman from Ohio, begins acting vaguely sour towards him. At first she just mumbles as the day progresses into the afternoon, but eventually she tells Leeland he spends too much time listening to the radio during evenings. Agreeing to focus more on his work, Leeland remembers hearing a news story about how dentists have the highest suicide rate out of any professional occupation.
Besides stealing individual ketchup packets from the supply room, Leeland spends his lunch breaks hoping that his oldest son will find a way to bring in a decent sum of money. At home, Leeland’s son sleeps on a thin foam mattress in the garage. Occasionally Leeland believes that his son is high on marijuana when he comes in late, eyebrows clenched nervously as he steps off his motorcycle. Leeland never questions him directly and his son never explains how he found his girlfriend in a sleeping bag with another girl who was their mutual friend. While his son lives in the garage he feels his sexual confidence diminishing. He offsets his insecurities by losing himself in motorcycle repair jobs that bring in enough money to pay for Leeland’s electricity bills.
Eventually Leeland and the middle-aged woman start arguing loudly with each other at work until some customers start to complain. Leeland is fired one Saturday afternoon without ceremony. Later that day, as he drives his truck home, he hears on the news that a fire destroyed the roof of a llama ranch in Thermopolis.
Leeland’s oldest son saves up enough money from his repair jobs to open up his own motorcycle shop and steakhouse. After initially shying away from the idea—for unknown reasons—Leeland’s son asks his Dad to be the head chef of the steak house. Leeland accepts the offer and begins working on a menu. All of the entrees he chooses are different cuts of steak, except for his signature “Leeland burger”: a regular hamburger with bacon on top of everything else.
Word came from Billings, Montana that Leeland’s oldest daughter was pregnant with another child and his other son was recovering from the loss of his mother. Although he is quiet and hard to classify, he excels in math and reassures his sister that he is not depressed. Leeland wonders if his boys will all have houses in Unique someday.
Some of the customers who were locals at the café where Leeland first worked as a cook migrate to the steakhouse and repair shop. When people order by just saying “I’ll have a burger” Leeland corrects them calmly by repeating: “one Leeland burger, coming right up.”
Advertisement jingles. Slogans digested and regurgitated at appropriate times. James Maxon spewing the funniest line from last week’s South Park, Simpsons, or Family Guy episode, and if those were all re-runs, a phrase from Dumb and Dumber or There’s Something About Mary.
Quotes shot rapid fire at parties, when everybody’s drunk. James’s parents out of town, everyone crowded in the garage between the twin Hummers. Labels facing out on cans of Coors like some kind of commercial, James thinks.
End of the party and James is worn out from repeating dialogue from television to his girlfriend, Jen. Jen laughs when James pauses for a reaction but is secretly pining over the cheap beer she is drinking. She doesn’t want to ruin the month long progress of her bitter tasting teeth-whitening treatment.
The next day James, hung over in bed, sees a preview for a new show that will be airing on MTV. The show is called “Jack Ass.” Clips from the pilot show a man being electrocuted with a taser gun, another man being hit by a car and another running away from an alligator’s snapping jaws.
After staying up to watch the show and feeling unimpressed, James is surprised to hear nothing but rave reviews from his friends at school the following day. Instead of the usual circle of people shooting quotes at each other, everyone does impressions with their bodies. They imitate the face of the guy who rode his bike into the side of a porta-potty and the moves of the guy who wore a thong, dancing in a department store.
James asks his parents for a video camera. His Mom agrees and they take one of the Hummers to Circuit City. Whistling the tune of a Coke ad, James picks out a camera that looks shinier than the rest and has features he doesn’t even try to comprehend.
Standing at the top of the tall grass hill behind his house, James has Jen turn on his camera for the first time to film him ride down in a small wagon. Flying headlong into a bush, James tumbles through the branches and looks back to see Jen flashing him a thumbs up.
James’ parents go out of town again. They set up the camera stationary to film a beer chugging contest followed by a group vomit session.
Jen finds the Jack Ass theme song on Napster just like James asked her. They edit a short, six-minute video with the song looped twice over James and his friends imitating stunts they saw on T.V.
Instant respect granted at school. For a while, people stop quoting and repeating lines. They gather around James and do impressions of his own stunts, the vexed facial expressions when he forced himself to vomit on his side-yard, the dazed look after he crashed a shopping cart into some shrubs. James watched their mirrored gestures with his arms crossed in front of him, smiling, but not knowing where to go from there.
Amazon wish list…admit it. you want to buy this stuff for me.
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