A.G.E's Joint

Van Winkle strolls off stage left. As he does, the strains of "The Barber of Seville" fill the room. The short, stout man creeps in to the room. Traces of white shaving cream drip off his balding brow on to his yellow hunting jacket. A leather razor hangs from his belt, speckled with red liquid matching the trapper hat. "Be vewy, vewy quiet. I'm hunting Mortals." With a quick turn he firers. Marty ducks as the indigo cloud hangs over his seat. Picking himself up, Marty shakes his hand. "Hi Sandy! You can relax. No Mortals here." "Owh, good. That wascal Bugs had me singing ' Summertime ' again. I hate that song. Livin' ain't easy. I'm gonna bwast him good one day." He puts down the gun. "Hewwwooh. My name is Sandy." He waves his hand across his face. The hunting clothes are replaced by a loose fitting green t-shirt with violet pajamas. The gun is now a White Russian and the cartoon voice ...

"Okay, everyone. Let's get settled again." Marty takes a sip from his cup. "I have to give you folks credit on your stamina through all this. Usually at this point, everyone is kvetching like an Israelite in the desert." A gleam comes across his eye. "Of course, I'm a Demon and my lips are sealed . And that gets us to the next presentation. A slightly disheveled man in a battered hat holding a jack o'lantern enters and stretches. "Yaaawwwnnn" He pulls out a melted clock , brushes the horse manure off it and looks intently at the dripping face . "Oh, crap. Am I late again? Marty gives him the stink eye. "Yes, Rip, you are." The old man makes an obscene gesture. "You said I had twenty years to rest and I took it." With a wave, a small dragon replaces the pumpkin. The old man tosses it toward the back of the room. There is a thud and scream. No one turns around to see the result. The smell is en...

Dan and Marty come back from the restroom. The dagger gleams just below Marty's collar. He reaches back and pulls it out as Dan taps the microphone. "Ahem...O.K. everyone, Ides of March is over. Put down the yellow snocones and let's get down to business." A high definition digital billboard slinks in place behind him. The image of a broken disco ball scatters light around the room, while the entwined skeletons of Andrea True and Easy-E lip-sync a gangster rap version of "More! More! More!". Holographic visions of steel rings and costumed bracelets dance in the air. The audience begins to nod in time with the noise, while grasping at the invisible bling. Draper smiles at the reaction. Suddenly, he shuts everything off, bringing moans of complaint from the students. With a serious look on his face, he faces the audience. "Glad to see even in death, it works." A pause and a grin. "I evoked the Greed response in almost every one of you....

Before we continue our series, a word from our sponsor. In this, the beginning of our eleventh season of Blogophilia, I need to take a moment to introduce myself the newer readers. My internet name is Another Government Employee and I have been infesting the internet for roughly 15 years and have been a part of Blogophilia since the beginning of season 2. As the name implies, I was a bureaucratic drone for about 25 years when I caused an allergic reaction to the government organism. I was expelled and now spend my time consulting on benefits issues and exploring my imagination. The name itself originated on the old Neal Boortz radio program website, where I was an occasional contributor. There was already one guy called Government Employee, so I became another. You may find older posts with the tagline “6th house on the right, off 9-27, PDK Atlanta. Often my exchanges on the Boortz site involved aviation, and I really do live next to the airport and often post pictures from there...

Marty Mammon enters the room and taps on the podium. The silence is immediate. "Hello again, everyone. I have a treat for you. Let me introduce you to your next instructor, Rachel Jezebel." A slender cheerleader bounds into the room. She is dressed in the traditional DQ red uniform of a red jacket and skirt over a white, wide collared blouse, which makes her look suspiciously like a flight attendant. The voice fills every crevice of the room. "Hello, everyone. My name is Rachel and I will be your guide to the wonderful world of... LUST!! " With a tug, the uniform comes off, leaving her in a Baywatch style one piece. All of her assets are outlined for all to see. The room is silent "What? No whistles? I must be slipping.” She smiles. “Oh, wait. The program is disabled. Demons can't care." With a wave, the stewardess suit reappears. Snake like, she scans the young trainees. "I use this demonstration for a couple of purposes. The ob...

Since it’s been a while since I wrote a Devil’s Quill piece, it will help if you read this first. http://anothergovernmentemployee.blogspot.com/2016/03/new-employee-orientation-blogophila-39.html ********************************************************************************** [Back in the conference room outside Dallas, Tx. Marty is nattily dressed in a red blazer with a gold open collared shirt. He steps up to podium and looks out at the junior demons. A wicked grin spreads across his face] Good Day, Everyone. Please settle down. [With a quick clearing of the throat, a puff of smoke quickly surrounds his head.] If you don't remember, my name is Marty Mammon and I have been assigned as the lead instructor for your Devil's Quill training. Every have their manuals? Good. Can't be a good Demon Troll without the play book. [A projection screen slides down behind him. With a clicker, he begins a PowerPoint show] Over the next several sessions, we will demonstrat...

“Chris....CHRIS! Breathe!” The words echoed along the sides of my head. Colors turned from green to brown to black. Blacker than any night I had ever encountered. Breath ebbed and flowed involuntarily. Pale lavender edges formed at the edges only to be replaced with the out of focus slits from before. Daylight? Something damp drug across my face. Slowly, the Blue man came into focus with a worried expression. The image shattered as the van door open and slam shut, as if a pebble had been tossed into a pond. A couple of muffled voices whispered something about what are you doing here. Suddenly, the girl from the band appeared in the center of the slit, the mass of pink lace partially covered with a red flannel shirt. Putting a purple tipped hand on his Dave’s shoulder, she whispered in his ear. “He’s cute when he’s passed out. Maybe if I play Princess Charming, Cinderella here will wake up.” Myke sat with a worried expression in a chair next to the window. I couldn’t hear Da...