A.G.E's Joint

Funny thing about Google searches. You start down one path and you find yourself in a world you never expected. Seems as though Turtle Boy may have been on to something. In the last several months, several writers had disappeared, one after another. One of the more puzzling was a guy named Dave, writing dispatches from the Snowy Badlands. Most people found his folksy humor endearing and his audience looked forward to his stuff every week. One day, Dave’s empty Stetson was found on the grounds of the Arboretum outside St. Paul, with no indications on where he went. No witnesses or evidence was left behind. His car was still at his residence along with all of his belongings. A missing person’s report went into the round file, since he was (supposedly) an adult and there was no indication of foul play. A rumor he was feeding loons in Lake Woebegone circulated, but no one really believed that. Nothing had come up until I stumbled on a cryptic message from the Northwoods indicating t

"Hey, Heidy and Howdy. It's Harry Handy, your randy dandy late night DJ here on WOFT, old fart's radio, 101.1 on your internet dial. A big shout out to tonight's sponsor, the domestic litigation firm of Slappey and Sadd. If he gets slappy, we'll make him sad...and on that note, more sappy holday tunes..." I clicked off the radio. Can't Christmas be over already? Every song played is super fast tempo, even "Jingle Bells." Like the stores want you to move faster, buy faster and think less. Yeah. Think less sounds about right. The older I grow, the wiser Ebeneezer sounds. Shoot, even Santa's downsized to one Reindeer and he's an undocumented Caribou chased out by the oil fields. How long have I been staring at this screen? 1:45 AM? Facebook is such a time suck. I never did get to those searches on Turtle Boy. But it was fun to find the ex's page. Looks pretty much like I expected her to, kind of pudgy and sad. Just as paranoid as

All I could was shake my head as I drove out of the parking lot. That was the craziest circus I had ever seen. Was Grim insane? The meeting really wasn't going well, but still. Makes me wonder if he isn't the Terror I had to admit the carny show was top notch. The disappearing globe was good enough to fool Penn and Teller. So, where did the Mary's and their lambs go? Gypsy Joleene is in on it, for sure. But, How? And more importantaly, why? Let me think... Six months the email came. Some nitwit wanting to tell about writers disappearing. One with nationwide significance. It sounded kind of fishy and I was about to blow him off, when the boss said they needed something for Sweeps Week. I decided I'd go ahead and hear him out. Didn't know where it would lead, but all I had was time to waste. And I'm not one to turn down a free lunch. We met at one those weird Asian places out on the Four Lane- something Hot Pot. He showed up dressed as Michaelangelo and

The light was a blur around the edges of the darkness. Growing brighter it became stabbing pain in Jerry’s eye. Lifiting his head, he unsuccessfully tried to shake off the buzz. “Jesus. Where am I?”  He looked around. It looked like a bakery freezer. Blank boxes stacked here and there. A few package wrappers discarded on the floor. Jerry rolled over and realized his legs had been bound to a table. But who ever left him here kept his hands free. Strange. The room was colder than his ex-wife's shoulder. Jerry pulled his parka tighter against him, trying to warm up. At least there was a thermos of coffee on the table, if he could reach it. He struggled to his knees and grabbed it. He took a long sip. It was cold, but did take a bit of the thirst off. Now, if he could beat this hangover. He was still trying to figure out how he got here. A message had arrived on the secured account assigning him to a project. It was vague on details, but they all were. Go to a Russian nightclub in

Boring. All these screens were just boring. Image after image of size 2, enhanced cleavage and L'Oreal LB01. These girls either use the same stylist or they have zero imagination. I guess what they say about the entertainment industry is true. It is the most conformist place out there. Damn, they even dress alike. Evening news or talk show, every one toes the line on the look, super thin and super shiny. The sets have a corporate look to them. Disgusted, I click off the video and pour another cup of mud. It didn't used to be that way. The Sixties had the California Sunshine, Dacron suits, and long hair. The Seventies were more earth tone, but you could tell Merv from Mike from Dick and Tom. There was variety. Now it is just a homogenized mass with one man, two f lavor of the month women and a set from anywhere. A mono-cultured orchard giving tasteless fruit. Outside the window, a Crab apple tree is blooming way too early . Shoot, it still the end of February an