Brad Rose

Neat and Tight

Just finished my morning head banging exercises and I feel like a new man. I love heavy metal music, even if I’m unable to recall the song titles. Remember, it’s not forgetting, if it’s merely amnesia. Yesterday, I wore my elevator shoes to the top of the Empire State Building. How are you going to see New York without leaving the altitude of your comfort zone? Of course, over the years, I’ve learned to leave well enough alone, especially when heights are involved, although almost everything has an electrical charge, especially in a thunderstorm. You’ve just got to adjust your mental frequency until it becomes almost music. Like they say, everybody wants something beautiful, even if it’s at King Kong heights. As for me, I like to keep everything tidily packaged wherever I go. You know, tied up, neat and tight, like a pair of zip tied hands or a brand-new, shrink-wrapped stun gun. Just because people don’t look you in the eye, doesn’t mean they aren’t watching you.

Free Parking

Last week the steering committee threw me out of the tiny house movement because my pajamas are extra-large. I guess their campaign needed some red meat to get out the vote. Those heathens. What’s your favorite buzzword?  Hah! Me too. I love palindromes. After all, you’ve got to start somewhere. I spent all last summer looking for the astronomical coordinates of heaven, but the local constabulary said I have insufficient deniable plausibility to join the modern clergy, at least until all my molecules have been replaced and my blood’s been diluted to wafer thin. Until then, I guess I’ll just have to live with the empty feeling I get when the picture windows blankly stare back at me. In fact, the minute I get back to headquarters, I’m going to raise some red flags and run as fast as I can for the closest emergency exit. God has ensured that Hell has plenty of free parking. Maybe, it’s as convenient as online shopping, but I hear it costs a bundle.

Full Color

Some people are opposed to nuclear weapons. I’m opposed to atoms. Of course, I’m not the man I used to be, but despite these ice pick headaches and my le dolce vita demeanor, I’ve been fine tuning my easy listening skills and lip synching to my emotional soundtrack. I wish the government would repeal that seatbelt law and let the chips fall where they may. You’ve got do die of something. Say, I don’t know about you, but lately I’ve had to keep careful track of my bones. You’d think they were all playing on the same team, you know, working together, but oh no, it’s every femur for itself. Speaking of apocalyptic alien invasions, I can’t wait until they corral a few of those little googly-eyed critters and line them up before a military firing squad. That’ll give them a genuine humanoid experience. By the way, do you think aliens dream like we do? No, not in black and white. I mean, in full color. If they know what’s good for them, they’d better.

Yelp Review

Peripatetic as a Potemkin village, it’s another day, another place, so I’m learning to pace myself. A simulacrum is better than the original, because, let’s face it, the journey is the destination, although it may result in a hefty fine, or up to 5 years imprisonment. Meanwhile, at Bastard Jack’s Pristine Dance Academy, where the pirouetting hippos were recently voted #1 with a bullet, I caught the showbiz bug, and have been bubble dancing and twirling tassels ever since. Christine says that’s probably due to my quaffing one too many draughts of the circus-themed elixir of love, but look who’s talking. She can barely peel a Georgia peach while balancing a beach ball on her button nose. Of course, there’s no accounting for taste. For example, Hollywood and Miami. In fact, most places don’t look like themselves. Portable inhabitants, crowd-sourced smiles, and lip-synched applause tracks, the universe is constantly hurtling toward an indeterminate somewhere.  Don’t worry. I’ll leave a Yelp review.

Protagonists

Like a yachtsman without a yacht, most of the time I don’t know what I’m thinking. Of course, you never catch a wolf dancing the foxtrot, but why search for solutions when they’re the main cause of problems? Last weekend, as I was barnstorming my way across the agricultural sector, my game theory refused to have fun. I support eco-friendly technology, but what happens when there are no discs left in the discotheque? Flattery may be the highest form of sorcery, so whenever possible, I favor no-frills humblebragging, at least until I work up enough nerve to turn myself in. In my sleep I’m brave as a jitney driver on a hero’s journey. By the empty river, my eyes grow cold as an assassin’s stare, my thoughts of revenge burn genius bright. Milton’s Beelzebub is second in command to the Big Bad Boss, but which of the three little pigs do you most admire? And what about the wolf?