….And The Seed is Planted

Mahdakis got off the bed and walked towards the small refrigerator to get himself another beer. As he did, he spotted a record in Nicki’s box of personal items. It was a F.A.G.G. Metal album by the biggest F.A.G.G. Metal band in the world, Penis Poison. This album would be their Opus Magnum and, much to the chagrin of Mahdakis, one of the bestselling albums of the decade. It was called, ‘Look What the Cat Did on the Rug’. He examined it further, “Man, these dudes look just like chicks. In fact, I’d probably have sex with the bass player.”

Nicki laughed, “It’s a great album. You know half those songs, too.”

“I do?” He looked at the unfamiliar titles.

“You should. They’re on the radio all the time.”

“Oh.” he put the album back, “I don’t listen to that thing.”

“Well you should. You are a musician after all.” Nicki chuckled and grabbed a beer out of the fridge. “Not all F.A.G.G. Metal is bad ya know. Those guys are really quite good and put on a great live show.”

“So what?”

“So what. Listen to you. Why don’t you try something before you shit all over it?”

“Whatever.” Mahdakis browsed over her personal items again.“What are these?” He picked up a pile of notebooks.

“Don’t touch those! Please put those down,” she said, buttoning up her blouse, her tits flopping all about as she did.

“Sorry. Are they personal?”

“Are they personal? That’s my box of personal items. What do you think? Everything in there is personal, stupid.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up, and leave those alone.”

“Okay. Sorry.” he said, moving away from the box.

“I’m sorry. It’s not really that big a deal; it’s just a little project I thought I might start someday, but it’s incomplete and wouldn’t make sense to anyone. So, I don’t want anyone to see it until I’m done……whenever that is.”

“What kind of project is it?”

“I write, baby. Those are my journals….sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“They’re stories….about us.”

“You and me?”

“You, me, Tony, Floyd, Rad…everyone we know…even Jez is in there.”

“Like a documentary chronicling our moves?”

“Sort of, but not really because some of the stories are real but involve people who were never a part of that story, and some stories I made up but include real people in them. Either way, all of the stories go nowhere and are just meant as a chuckle.”

“So there’s no plot; the stories reflect the truth of our real lives.”

“Ha! I guess so.”

“What if you make a plot by demonstrating in these stories how our lives have no meaning to their existence?”

“Huh?”

“The plot to the story then becomes that there is no plot to the story.”

“That’s genius!”

“I have my moments…but why is someone going to want to read these stories?”

“I don’t know…to laugh…feel better about themselves?”

“Nice. Maybe you should thread these stories together and make a real book out of them.”

“I don’t know if I have the patience for that. Besides, do you have any idea how hard it is to write a novel?”

“Not a clue; I don’t even read now that school’s out. But putting a book together can’t be that difficult. It’s just paper and stuff.”

“Ha-ha-ha…Ha-ha-ha-ha! You’re an idiot you know that?”

“I could do it.”

“Yeah right; I’d like to see you try.”

“Fine,” Mahdakis said, lighting another cigar indifferently. “You know, one problem is that few of our friends read; whether it be because they can’t or because they haven’t got the attention span.”

“I know.”

“So who’s the target audience?”

“I don’t know!” she said, feeling berated by his relentless questioning. “It’s just something fun that I like doing. I probably won’t ever release them. Fuckin’ aye. Leave it alone. Let’s move on.”

“Fine.” But he couldn’t leave well enough alone, and said, “So why bother starting something if you have doubts about following through?”

“Hey asshole, you have your dreams, I have mine. Is that okay with you?”

“Okay.” Mahdakis gave her project consideration. “What will you call it? The book or the short stories? You have a name for it yet?”

“I don’t know.” Nicki paused and shook her head dubiously. Her face flushed. “The Burnouts…..or some shit like that.”

“The Burnouts? What the fuck kind of dumbass name is that?”

“It’s just preliminary, fuck-head! God, why are you being such a dick?”

“Because it’s a stupid title that implies the author is most likely just as stupid, which must mean that the story or stories are ten times as stupid.”

“So? It’s about burnouts; it’s supposed to be stupid.”