Wednesday, May 11, 2016

#A-TO-Z-CHALLENGE LETTER “L” - LITTER (WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM S.I.F.O.T.S.)


#A-TO-Z-CHALLENGE LETTER “L” - LITTER (WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM S.I.F.O.T.S.)

Well, here it is May 9, 2016 and I am still writing #A-to-Z Challenge stuff. For a variety of reasons. First off, in my haste to get all my garbage packed and run off to WPB, I managed to drop my T-40 laptop and break the hard-drive. I can fix that, but I couldn't blog, because my better 2/3 has some weird Apple setup that doesn't allow for any computing. It's merely for entertaining and we watched about a zillion horrible movies (MST3K, anyone) and some other horrible shit and made fun of all of it. We also saw several very good movies, including the two movies about jazz legends Chet Barker and Miles Davis. We swam every day, and he cooked every meal, just about. It was heaven. He's in Germany now, playing jazz with the famous Choral Composer John Rutter and having a great time, drinking some weird beer that tastes good, but smells like baby oil. Pass. I'll see him soon, before the symphony season starts up; then he gets to haul around that giant bull fiddle. Ha ha.

I had hoped to come home and catch up, but, alas, I had no internet. Verizon sold its Florida accounts to Frontier with no warning and Frontier completely boogered everything up. On day 15 of no internet, I got pissed, canceled and went over to Bright House, who gave me a killer deal, with speeds of 100/100, which is awesome. I'll get into the whole night mare later, but in an agreement with Alex Cavanaugh, I am going to continue with the #A-to-Z Challenge, because it was such fun. I expect NOT to be given credit for a finish, but I've had so damn much fun with this, I wanted to do it!

Anyway, today's letter is “L” for Litter and being in a hurry, I have invited a “guest post” by myself from an old blog I used to keep called S.I.F.O.T.S, or Shit I Found On The Sidewalks. Once I had all of this tremendous stuff I and several others from the homeless shelter had collected, the question was, what to do with it? My answer? Make shit up. So, I did. No one else was interested in the crappy Interstate shot glass, or the tiny Tonka cranes and trucks, or plastic horses, so I made up stories. Before we get to that, I do have to show you the lovely Mary Kay placard that Alex and I found on the sidewalk, not very long ago. I'm not at all sure what it means, but it's probably not good.



This kind of crap is found on and around Nebraska Avenue all the time. It could be a Santeria spell, or someone got bored. Whatever, it'll haunt you in your dreams!


AND NOW, FOR ONE OF EITHER THE MOST INSANE THINGS I EVER DID, OR THE CLEVEREST, I'M NOT SURE WHAT...

ACT the FIRST


It's a damned shame about "Bertie's Used Cars" on Floribraska Avenue. This was all that was left behind, these battered logos and a purple knee. Even the building was stolen. 


Thus, begins our saga, "SIFOTS Urban Renewal Project"



Theodore and Junior were heading up the project. Guess you can tell who Junior is...


The construction project to widen and improve the sidewalk began on schedule. It continued apace; SIFOTS urban renewal was becoming a reality, although the equipment was miniaturized briefly, because the picture editor is an idiot.




Theodore moved several ounces of SIFOTS, while Junior took a break. The SIFOTS urban renewal project was still moving along with breath-taking rapidity.



                 


                                                                                                                                 Here's Junior, slacking. It's his 15th break in the last 2 hours.





The SIFOTS urban renewal project came to an abrupt end, when Theodore crushed Junior with his backhoe, in a fit of nonchalance for no apparent reason; not uncommon here. Theodore is in jail awaiting arraignment for Feckless Homicide. The wake for Junior will be held at Happy Acres. Bring your own weapons.




ACT the LAST

At the end of our last episode, as you will recall, Theodore killed Junior in a fit of indifference.

"The SIFOTS urban renewal project came to an abrupt end, when Theodore crushed Junior with his backhoe. Theodore is in jail awaiting arraignment for Feckless Homicide. The wake for Junior will be held at Happy Acres. Bring your own weapons."

(This was originally serialized in 2 parts, as I had other material: editor, cup washer, scribbler)



That was last episode, so now we're all in the same page, and on it, too, I might add. It's easier right now to type explanations than it is to backspace. But, I digress.

STAY TUNED FOR THE SHOCKING CONCLUSION OF...

SIFOTS SERIAL EP

It was a beautiful night in SIFOTS-ville. The tiny town was bathed in a soft light, the kind of light one might see when living behind the local family-owned convenience store. Light that is not exactly luminescent, but just lights up the back wall and  SIFOTS-villeSIFOTS-ville is located on and around my front porch: 







I have the typical "Wallace gene" that dis-allows for normal picture-taking of any kind. Lee McAulay told me I should work for Paranormal TV. I think they'd be too scared to hire me. Anyway, it was a beautiful night!




Anyway, the locals are still a-buzz about the Theodore and Junior thing, but they're rapidly being diverted by the house that burned down one block north of SIFOTS-ville and the two accidents that occurred within days of each other at the intersection of Nebraska Avenue and Floribraska Avenue.

Just an aside. What in hell kind of name is "Floribraska?" I find this unimaginative and somehow vaguely plagiarism-like. I'm surprised we don't have a "Michida" Boulevard, "Wisifornia" Street and "Georginois" Lane. People aren't confused enough here in Tampa, I guess. (I wrote this 4 years ago, and you all read my "Floribraska Avenue #AtoZChallenge post for this year, where I'm still wondering.)

So, we are still all a-gog and a-tilt at the passing of Junior, but this seems to be just a portent. There have been ominous signs indeed, that things are changing here in SIFOTS-ville.

Tonight, we've been out looking at the night sky. For once, we can see the actual stars instead of klieg lights from above. The police helicopters have not been hovering with search lights lately, as the felons skip gaily from back yard to back yard, and baying hounds are heard in the distance. Things have been quiet here... Or have they?




                           All is pretty and quiet; peace abounds




              




      Consternation and screaming ensue. Panic and pandemonium, 


  as the sky (and trees?) begin to melt, or the picture-taker has a fit...









Wild horses of doom (singular) begin to run through Sifotsville, skidding on badly painted enamel.







   She bows down to her God, Mr. Ed. He gives her secret instructions.




Okay, so she's a plastic horse and there's only one of her, and there's a scrape in her side; she's still a harbinger of death. A psychopomp, if you will. Come to escort us to that Underworld, where crappy sitcoms go into syndication or $1.00 carload, double-billed, grade-Z horrors; at the "renovated" or "old" drive-in movie theaters go on... forever and we are forced to provide our own riffs and eat healthy food.

"Angelique," as she wishes to be known (we learn this telepathically) decides to stop and play a little croquet. . .




      M'kay; you're doing it wrong, plastic horse. We are no longer so terrified!







She quickly wields her mallet with stunning expertise, shocking all who watch. Her malevolent gaze (ok, it's the same blah stare she's had since she was molded) rakes over us. We just notice that it's daylight. 

Is this magic? Is it a time-warp continuum? Is it because the mallet and ball were just found and brought home by JC today, thereby giving me some shred of hope for anything resembling a plot, albeit a slim one??

               




          The rockets begin to land, bringing forth their deadly cargo!





Forward they come; determined to engulf us in their bright, screaming flamingo pink hues, Hell-bent on conquering Florida, or SIFOTS-ville, or to sell us things, we have no idea!


And More blah.... blah.... blah...


AIYEEEEE!!!!! ARGGGHHH!!! Residents are swallowed by pinkness!


NOOOOOO!!!!!


In the nick of time, the National Guard lands on the curb with their Attack Feline, Herman.
The battle is so ferocious that we cannot bear witness to it. 

Translation: We are lazy and can't come up with anything else epic. What do you expect with no budget, a camera phone, plastic cast-off crap from the street, and no imagination? This isn't Spielberg.




Calm has returned to SIFOTS-ville. Melba and Ruth decide a little fishing with their hairpin poles will help to ease their nerves.

THE END

(Credits Roll)

We don't have any more money in our budget for this episode

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