Milton Glazdonberry Eats a Pancake

 

This Story Brought to You by Death Grip 4, In Theaters Now!

It was a snowy morning in The Land of Glazdonberry. And the king of Glazdonberry, named Milton Glazdonberry of course, was awakening to another day of royal luxury. Clothed in the finest robes you can buy at Aéropostale and Abercrombie & Fitch, the king began his day.

King Milton started this day out with some calisthenics. Thanks to Wii Fit, King Milton was able to get a healthy amount of exercise and have fun at the same time. (This game is Rated E for everyone with money.) “WOW!!” The king exclaimed. “This game is so fun. I think everyone in my kingdom should go out and buy it right now.” King Milton was a wise king.

The following paragraph is sponsored in part by Cover Girl Cosmetics. Even your ugly ass can be beautiful!!

Next King Milton Glazdonberry decided to have a pancake. So he had his gourmet chef cook up some fine pancakes using New Hope Mills Pancake Mix. They tasted delicious. The magically fluffy flavor rolled off the king’s tongue like the way a 2009 Hummer H3 would roll down a battle field.

When Milton got done eating the pancake, he sat down to watch Death Grip 4. A totally wicked awesome movie. It had lots of explosions and even showed some artificial brests. All these things were things that Milton enjoyed. Then Milton lived happily ever after.

This happy ending brought to you by: New Hope Mills Pancake Mix.

The End

ORiely’s Underpants

Hiya! Long time no see. Just thought I would put something up about my shitty-quality song competing in Masters of Song Fu. To give it a listen, and do some voting, just click here.

On Writer’s Block

In case you haven’t noticed, I haven’t posted a fucking thing to this blog since August. Although it seems that I have forgotten the whole thing, I have been thinking about it constantly. It’s just that I am suffering from near-fatal Writer’s Block. I feel like shit. Seeya when I’m able to pull my head out of my ass and write something worth posting. Sorry!

Choke Is Coming

The movie adaptation of Chuck Palahniuk’s CHOKE is actually almost here. I’m so excited!!!!!!!!!!

Book Review: Hold Tight by Harlan Coben

As the inaugural piece in what I hope to be a regular feature here at Derrek J.  Thompson’s World of Words, I quickly worked my way through Harlan Coben’s Hold Tight.  This very modern mystery consists of two parallel but distinctly separate plots.  One involving: a crazed love-sick murderer; a little girl with a mustache who plans on blowing her teacher’s brains out; and a rape-baby in need of a kidney.  The other plot involves: low-grade computer surveillance; a teen who’s best friend has just committed suicide, (these days this seems to be quite a popular story that has been told in my favorite movie, The Chumscrubber, and probably in my soon-to-reappear serial Waiting to Die); the ever-popular pharm party; and even a toothless prostitute.  Admittedly, these are just flashy plot elements taken from the book and put here to catch your attention, but everything’s in there somewhere.

The first plot, which I like to refer to as The Case of the Teacher’s Sextape, starts out as a simple joke.  Joe Lewiston, a fifth-grade teacher, made a crack about one of his female student’s small spot of facial hair.  The student in question, Yasmin Novak, was thereafter the subject of so much ridicule that it apparently distroyed her life.  Yasmin’s distant mom, Marianne, seduced poor Joe and videotaped their intercourse.  She then proceeded to dangle this over his head to make him suffer for his trivial comment.  Eventually, Joe got tired of this crap and sicked his crazed brother-in-law Nash on Marianne and anyone else who knows about or possesses the sextape.  But as you probably can expect, things go awry.

The second plot in this novel, the one talked about in the book jacket, is the one I like to refer to as The Case of the Golfing Goldfish.  I should note that golfing or goldfish cannot be found anywhere in this novel, I just like the sound of it.  Anyways, the second plot involves the Baye family.  Tia and Mike Baye, well-to-do and well-meaning suburban parents, install a stealthy monitor thingy on their son Adam’s computer.  Soon they find that Adam is having some mysterious Im conversations with the unknown Ceejay8115.  When Adam runs away from home, Mike and Tia use these Im conversations and the Gps on Adam’s phone to atempt to track him down.  I really don’t want to give anything away here, so I’ll just say that things get pretty exciting from there-on-out.

In the opening paragraph to this review, I refered to the book as “very modern.” This is one of the most obvious features of the book.  Throughout the novel, Coben name-drops several real technological and cultural trends.  Right now, this makes the book seem current and more relevant to our world.  But ten or even five years from now, the book will seem extremely outdated for the same reason.  Also, because of it’s attempt to seem tech-savvy and such, the writing can sometimes be a bit tedious. 

<blockquote><p>He got back to the computer and clicked the icon.  He’d book-marked the GPS site.  A cookie had saved the sign-on name, but he needed to enter the password.  He did.</p></blockquote>

At the beginning of the book, the author notes that some of the product names have been changed. For those of you who would like to look at a piece of software similar to the software in this novel, Smart Keystroke Recorder seems to be the site for you. I haven’t really looked at much, but it appears to be exactly the same. Anyway I’m not sure how I feel about the book’s treatment of goths and emos.  On one hand, I agree with most the things the book has to say about the movements.  But on the other hand, a voice in my head cries “judgmental” while I read the passages describing and discussing emos.  I can’t explain why, so I’m not going to go into it.  I will only say that these goth and emo references will also serve to make the book seem outdated very soon.

I will say that this book packs a lot in the plot department.  Unlike most authors, Coben knows exactly when to switch from one plot to another.  The book is writen in the 3rd person, which allows the spotlight to shine on many major and minor characters throughout the novel.  This is one of my favorite things about the book.  I have never felt for so many characters in one book.

Coben will often rewind a sceen and write it from a different character’s Pov.  Sometimes this can be very interesting, sometimes it can be iritating.  It all depends on which sceen Coben wants you to experience again.  Most times, the repeat will shed light on questions you were left with after reading the sceen for the first time.  This narrative structure makes for a unique reading experience.

All in all, Hold Tight by Harlan Coben is an interesting book with developed characters and an action-packed storyline.  Although the detailed descriptions of simple tasks may be a bit annoying, the book’s unique and fast-moving narrative more than makes up for it.  This book is a much better choice than most other novels coming out around this time.  Go ahead and read it if you want.  It will do a decent job of occupying your pathetic little mind.

Book Stats Time to Read: A weekend camping would polish this book off nicely.

Author’s Website: Harlan Coben First Sentence: Marianne nursed her third shot of Cuervo, marveling at her endless capacity to destroy any good in her pathetic life, when the man next to her shouted, “Listen up, sweetcakes: Creationism and evolution are totally compatible.”

On Life

There are some things in life that just stop happening after a while. Like that feeling you get, as the sun comes up on Christmas morning. You stare down at the packages under the tree, knowing that everything you could ever want is inside those boxes. You wait impatiently for parents to sleepily rise and tell you it is time. You wait while they drink their coffee and get the camera. And finally, you begin to unwrap the gifts. Sometimes your disappointed, most times your not.

In my experience, nothing will ever be as important as those childhood gifts. Nothing will ever be as mysterious and grand. Nothing will ever be as allusive. Nothing will ever be as wonderful and magnificent as those Christmas’s of years past. Life becomes mundane and transparent as the mind matures.

I used to love Christmas. Then one year, I realized that the great Santa Clause was a delusion. Christmas lost some of it’s magic, but it still retained the anticipation and wonder. Then one year, I realized that those great toys were just cheaply manufactured material possessions from a sweatshop somewhere in China or Thailand. Christmas lost the anticipation, but there was still a little magic left. Then one year I realized that God was probably a delusion and promptly became disenchanted with everything I held dear. Such is life!

I remember my first time riding a big roller-coaster. It was such a new and thrilling experience. I was excited, curious and a little scared. Nothing will ever be that new again. No matter how many coasters you ride, nothing will feel as individual and unique to you. Nothing \will make you more human. Nothing will be as unpredictable, as that first ride. Such is life!

You know that old saying: “tis better to give than to receive?” Forget it! Give as much money to bill collectors as you want, but it will never feel quite as good as receiving that first real paycheck. It seems that throughout are youth, we receive so much. And then suddenly, we’re expected to give back. What if I’m not ready? What if I don’t have anything to give? I didn’t ask for this. Such is life!

Life is like one of those aggressive beggars who forcefully washes your windshield while your sitting at a traffic light. He gives you what at first appears to be a small favor, until he tries to hit you up for some cash. At this point you realize that you better pay up because he looks pissed. And besides, the light’s about to turn green. So you fork over the little you have in payment for something you didn’t ask for. Something, now that you think about it, that you didn’t even particularly want. Such is life!

Good News and Bad News

The Bad News:

Waiting to Die, my serial story, is going on a brief hiatus. You can expect it to return sometime in early September. The reasons for this can not be disclosed at this time, but I will tell you that it involves a major publicity stunt that should atract many more readers to the site. I promise, the book will be back.

The Good News:

This doesn’t mean the site will be silent all summer. In the interim, you can expect: more Philosophy posts, more Flash Fiction Friday and possibly book reviews. Please keep checking the site for new content. I promise there will be some.



Waiting to Die: Chapter 4

The Story So Far:

Ricky is worried about his friend Jules, who practices self-mutilation. After a nightmare that can’t be easily summarized, Ricky decided he would try to help Jules. For more information, read the previous chapters.

The next morning at breakfast, Ricky sat at the messy kitchen table with his tired head in his hands. A piece of toast on a paper towel sat in front of him. The room was full of the noise and chaos that comes with a family getting ready for school and work. Ben fought with little Mary, who was accusing him of eating all the cereal. Ricky’s parents argued about something or other in the paper. Two dogs slurped noisily at their bowls of water.

“Ricky?” Ricky noticed that his father was no longer looking at his paper.

“Yeah dad?”

“How is school going?”

Ricky started feeling nervous. “Uh, fine. I guess. I really don’t know. Why?”

“Just wondering. So, no problems?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hmm. That’s weird. How can you not know?”

“I just don’t I guess.”

“Well, I think you need to pay more attention to your schoolwork. Don’t you think so?”

Ricky was getting a little frustrated with this pointless back and forth. “You know what dad, actually everything’s fine. I’ve even been doing better lately.”

“Well that’s great!” Ricky’s father looked at his wife sitting next to him. “Did you hear that dear?”

“Sure did Bill. You know Ricky, I was talking with Marsha at the supermarket the other day and she told me about this great tutoring program. She heard about it from her cousin Brenda who’s son had a learning disability. Anyways, I think you might want to look into it.”

“Good bye.” Ricky grabbed the remains of the toast, got up and walked out of the room. Ricky dashed up the stairs to his room and grabbed his keys, wallet and other various school shit. He quietly walked out the back door to avoid his parents. Today, Ricky didn’t feel like playing interrogation games. It seemed that he had way too much on his plate already.

On his way to school, Ricky saw a frog dashing across the road in his headlights. He felt a pinch of sick glee as he squished the creature under his tires. He had a sudden urge to stop and examine the remains, but traffic was moving much too quickly for that sort of thing. Besides, the fact that he even wanted to stop was starting to scare him. He had never thought of himself as that type of person. But lately, he had been discovering a lot of things about himself.

Jules was absent from school that day. Ricky asked teachers, office staff and fellow students about Jules. No one had a clue where she was. Some of the people he asked didn’t even know who she was. Ricky never realized how much of an outcast Jules was. It was surprising to learn that outside of her small circle of friends, Jules was practically invisible.

At a round table somewhere in the middle of the lunchroom, sat a small group of misfits. The seat to Ricky’s left was occupied by Winston Bogs. Besides from having the stupidest name ever, Winston was born with an almost unbearable speech impediment. He had major trouble with his D’s, R’s and S’s. He was prone to occasional outbursts of seemingly random anger. When he got mad, it was almost impossible to take him seriously because of the way he talked. It was hard being Winston’s best friend. But Ricky bore that cross unashamedly. Ricky and Winston had been through thick and thin together.

The youngest at the table, Ron Franklin sat next to Winston. Ron was short and scrawny, which had made him a constant target for bullying in elementary school. These days, everyone just ignored Ron completely. Ignoring him was easy, he was very quiet. Ricky could only recall twenty or so words Ron had ever spoken without prompting. About a year ago, Winston and Ricky had been talking about something or other when words came out of Ron’s mouth from out of nowhere. “My mom got arrested you guys. Apparently, she pulled a knife on her boyfriend or some shit. I don’t know. I’m ok though.” To this day everyone was too shocked to ask.

At the moment, the rest of the seats at the table were empty. Especially the seat to Ricky’s right, where Jules usually sat.

“Wuh ith Juleth?” Winston asked.

“Hell if I know.” Ricky replied. “I’ve been trying to find out all day but no one seems to know.”

“Wunt you and huh gonna hang out latht night?”

“Yeah, we did. Oh, that reminds me. Can I ask your advice about something?” Ricky was planning to ask Winston what he should do about Julie’s cutting, but the second the word advice slipped from his lips he realized he really didn’t want to talk about it. Winston was a good friend and all, but he could never be serious when the situation called for it.

“You got uh pregnant, idn’t you.” Winston laughed.

“Just never mind man.” Ricky turned away from Winston and looked down at his tray. “You know, what if I had knocked her up dude? How would you have felt then. Huh?”

“I wuh have felt gateful I’m not you man.” Winston began to laugh so hard he choked on a noodle. “Fuckin gateful.”

“You should feel, gateful, she’s not pregnant or I’d kick your ass.” Ricky spooned some cheap pasta down his gullet and retreated back inside his mind.

At first Ricky thought of all his worries. Jules, his grades, his parents and his emotions rotated in a circle of pointless panic. But then his mind drifted into less troublesome thoughts. He thought of Ben, his face covered in cereal. He thought of his pet dogs, tromping obnoxiously around the house. Then, he thought of the stupid talking trash can and laughed to himself.

“Hey Winston!” Ricky gestured for Winston’s attention, summoning him from his own bowl of awful spaghetti. “Last night, when me and Jules were eating burgers, I saw a fucking talking trash can.

“The trath can talkt and fuckt? Wow!” Winston’s mouth opened in mock amazement. “No way man!”

“You know what I mean Winston.” Ricky felt a little disappointed that Winston wasn’t interested.

“That can hath been thuh for awhile man.”

“Really?” Ricky thought Winston was bluffing. Surely he would have noticed the can on one of his many trips into the familiar world of fast food.

“Yeah man. The uhpuh, uhp…” Winston’s face bore a look of embarrassment. “The fixin guy fixed it lath week.”

Ricky laughed at Winston for a moment and then felt ashamed. But he didn’t feel guilty for long. Winston was being a dick and he had to realize that the way he talked was quite funny.



A Few Words For Independence Day

Lately, it seems like everybody thinks Independence Day is about fireworks and Twilight Zone marathons. Independence Day is about freedom. However, most people, like politicians, have lost freedom somewhere in that gigantic pile of morals and fear I like to call bullshit. Just recently, Max Hardcore, a porn peddler in California, was put on trial for his videos. On a less porn-related note; Sirius and Xm had to get several government permissions before they could begin to merge their privately owned satellite radio companies. The sad thing is, no one bats an eye at this sort of thing. I guess we’re too busy watching American Idol. Or Twilight Zone.

Unlike most free-thinkers, I do not blame the government for their horrible oppression. Politicians are like vampires. Once you become one, you feed off the tax dollars of others. You also acquire some sort of hypnotic power. You can’t stop ruining this country, even if you want to. (Ron Paul is somehow immune to the politician’s powerful bite. But he’s the only one.) Therefore, I don’t blame the politicians for doing what they naturally do. Instead, I blame you.

Don’t walk away from me Mr., ahh ahh ah. Look at me. Look at me! There. Now listen. I’m not saying you do it on purpose, because I’m sure you don’t. But the sad truth of it is, it is completely your fault for tolerating this sort of insanity.

By putting up with the slow dismantling of our freedom, you enable the politicians. By accepting what they say as the truth without looking into the matter yourself, you give credence to their lies. You don’t make them true, but you do make them easier for other people to believe. By voting Democrat or Republican, you are willingly handing over your rights to a rich, manipulative prick. Now don’t get me wrong, if you don’t vote they’ll take your rights anyway. But at least you can say you weren’t stupid enough to consent to it.

This piece was originally going to be longer, but I’m ready to watch some Twilight Zone. However, first I would like to say a few words to the people who will call me anti-American after reading this short post. I am not anti-American. I love America. I miss America. I want America back, rather than this impostor of a country. But hey, at least it’s not as bad as China. Yet.



Waiting to Die: Chapter 3

The Story So Far:

            Ricky and Jules were fooling around at Julie’s house when Ricky noticed that Jules looked like she had been cutting herself.  Ricky, who is suicidal himself, confronted Jules about the scars on her arms and she made him leave.  For more information, please read the previous chapters. 

 

            That night Ricky dreamed of Jules.  In the dream, she stood before him.  Blood gushed from her arms and chest.  She held a bloody French Fry in each hand.  But as Ricky looked closer, he realized they weren’t French Fries.  They were, in fact, razors.

 

            “Ricky, where is your life?” Dream-Jules asked a manic smile on her face.  “Right here! That’s right, Ricky.  Right here.  I am your life.”

 

            Dream-Ricky glared at Dream-Jules.  “Quit fucking doing this to me you psycho bitch.” Dream-Ricky began to scream louder and louder.  The volume of his voice shattering glass on mountaintops.  His head pounding, Dream-Ricky screamed and screamed.  He screamed for Jules.  He screamed for his parents.  He screamed for his grades, for his thoughts, for his friends, for his sanity.  But most of all, Dream-Ricky screamed for his life.  It was then that Real-Ricky realized that he was screaming too.

 

            Ricky woke up, echoes of his screams still reverberating inside his head.  Sweat poured down his face and his long hair stuck to his forehead.  His mouth felt completely dry and his throat felt soar.  He needed something to drink if he was to salvage any possible sleep out of the rest of the night.  On shaky legs, he got out of bed and headed to the kitchen.  He walked on tiptoes, trying not to wake the rest of his family.

 

            As he walked, Ricky wondered if his cries had woken anyone up.  It would be quite embarrassing.  Luckily, sleeping like a baby ran in the family.  Besides, there were no other bedrooms up in the old attic where he slept.  Nevertheless, someone still might have heard him.

 

            When Ricky entered the kitchen, he was surprised to see that the light was on.  He was even more shocked to see his little brother Ben sitting at the table eating cereal.  His chubby face was covered in chocolate milk, streams of the stuff ran down his chin.  Soggy Cocoa Pebbles littered the table and the surrounding floor.  Ben crunched loudly on the cereal, not even appearing to notice Ricky’s entrance.  It was quite repulsive indeed.

 

            “What are you doing?” Ricky said, laughing softly to himself.

 

            “Eating cereal.” Ben replied with his mouth full, still not looking up from the bowl.

 

            “I know that piggy, but why with chocolate milk? Oh and most of all, why at two in the fucking morning?”

 

            “Mom said that just because you can drive, that doesn’t mean you can curse under her roof!” Ben finally looked up at Ricky, a smug expression on his hobo-dirty face.

 

            “Fuck you!” Ricky watched Ben’s shocked face triumphantly.  “Now, what are you doing again?”

 

            “I watched Nightmare On Elm Street at Dean’s house.  I just can’t get to sleep.”

 

            Ricky felt a real zinger coming on.  “Mom said that even though…”

 

            “I wasn’t under her roof.” Ben looked defiant as he ate another overflowing spoon full of Cocoa Pebbles.  Ricky had to give it to the kid, he was damn smart for his age.  By the time he was sixteen, Ben would be quite slick.  But hopefully, Ben wouldn’t still be so much of a pussy.  “What are you doing up anyway.” Ben said, adding insult to injury.  There was no way Ricky could tell Ben that he had a bad dream without explaining, and Ricky knew Ben definitely did not need to know about his situation.

 

            “I just came down to get a glass of juice.” And with that, Ricky turned away from Ben and began rummage through the fridge.  There wasn’t much but Ricky was able to find a container of orange juice.  It was about empty but there was almost enough for a glass of Oj.  Ricky poured his drink quickly and looked at Ben.  “You need to clean this up.” He said, pointing to the mess Ben had made.

 

            Up in his room, Ricky sat on the edge of his bed, gulping down the juice.  The feel of the acidy liquid, sliding down the back of his throat, calmed Ricky.  Obviously, he still couldn’t get to sleep, but his nerves seemed to be a little less wound up.  Because of this, the drink was gone almost immediately.  Ricky put the glass on his nightstand and swung his legs around onto the bed.  He laid down, on top of his sheets, resting his head on his hands.

 

            Ricky thought of hanging himself, then and there.  No questions asked.  The image of Ben flashed briefly in his minds-eye, but the pressure, sadness, hopelessness and confusion carelessly shoved it aside.  Who was he to tell Jules to stop cutting herself? Who the fuck was he? Ricky punched his pillow in frustration.  As if he didn’t have enough problems of his own, along comes Jules with a whole new helping of shit for him to deal with.

 

            And Ricky knew, he had to deal with it.  Like it or not, Jules was his friend.  Perhaps his only friend.  Ricky didn’t know how he would deal with it, or when he would deal with it, or even if he could deal with it.  But Ricky knew one thing for certain.  It was inevitable.  He had to try.

 

            Ricky wasn’t the type voluntarily take on responsibility.  It just wasn’t in him.  He had big problems of his own.  But there was something different about Jules.  Something special.  Despite all his resistance, something inside him told Ricky that he could and must help Jules.  It was certain.

 

            It was with such thoughts bouncing around in his head that Ricky became sleepy.  The thoughts became softer, quieter and less intense.  Until it seemed that all thoughts dissolved into nothingness.  A miracle had indeed occurred.  Ricky had gone back to sleep.

 

            And when he slept, Jules did not appear before him.  Instead he saw the infamous Freddie Krueger.  Dream-ricky gazed at Freddie’s clawed hands and ugly face.  For a second, he expected Freddie to turn into Jules.  His claws turning into her razors.  After it became apparent that this was not going to happen, Dream-Ricky felt relieved.  And best of all, Real-Ricky felt nothing.