I Should Be Grateful, I Suppose, And Compare You To A Summer's Rose.

One of the most appealing aspects of religion is the way that shitty events get explained away as "God's will," or "the Universe trying to teach us a lesson," or whatever.

It's kinda true, though. Well, I'm not going to go on record either way on the whole is-He-or-isn't-He (or She or It or Them) question, but I have found that shitty events can be made to serve us. Buddhist thought, for instance, finds reasons to be grateful for failure, persecution and violent tragedy, and not just because those experiences help to burn away bad Karma (or sin, if you will). They help individuals to reflect on themselves, their past and the Universe in general. Pretty neat, huh? Most of your non-Odin-based religions have similar tenets, and I'm honestly torn from day to day as to whether or not the lemonade is real or just a means to keep chumps under control.

I got a chance to test it out last week, though. It was Wednesday, and I was on my way to the Loony Bin for the evening show. It's my first time hosting a normal Loony Bin show, and I want it to be great. Part of my ritual, when I can do so, is to feast upon a falafel and hummus from Gyro's Etc. in the shopping center across Rockwell from the Loony Bin. Best falafel ever.

Seriously.

Only sometimes they have trouble with my debit card, and I'm left with no way to pay for said delicious falafel, as I usually don't carry cash (note to muggers: I'm not worth it!). So, I decide to stop at a nearby ATM to get some cash. Now, I'm not going to name the financial institution, so let's just say that their name rhymes with "CHASE RANK." I pull up to their outdoor ATM, put my card into the green blinking card slot, and wait. For those of you curious about what blinking green lights mean, let just tell you, they don't mean "happy to serve you, sir!" The actual meaning is closer to "I'm hungry! Give me your fucking debit card now, asshole! Mmm... yummy debit card! It's mine now, fucker! HA HA HA HA HA!" Some of that is a little idiomatic, but you get the drift.

I am now sans card. I have already established I have no cash. So, I'm left with my checkbook. I might as well be paying people in fucking Confederate Dollars, because the thing has an address from two homes and one city ago. So, great. Thanks CHASE RANK! You guys "rock!"

By the way, if a machine grabs your card and won't give it back, that shit is GONE! No way you will get it back, it gets shredded immediately.

So, I drive to Wal-Mart, where I bank ('cause I'm a high-fuckin' roller!) to cash a check so I can, you know, pay for food and gasoline. I order a new card while I'm there, expecting that I'll have it by the end of the week. No, 5 to 7 days I am told. No, wait, 5 to 7 BUSINESS days. Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?! How hard is it to stamp out a damn card and put it in the mail? Are these things hand-crafted by a one-eyed master back in the Ozarks somewhere? Like, it's just him, a whittlin' knife and a big 'ol block o' plastic, perhaps? Because why else in the world would it take one of the biggest banks in the area a fucking week and a half to replace one lousy DEBIT CARD?!

But I digress.

I get the cash, I get the information, and more importantly, I get a nice dose of hate. It pushes out the nervous, the anxious, the oh-boy-I-gotta-do-good-tonight vibe in my head and replaces it with icy hot anger. I turned in a great performance that night, and like a good little method actor I had that nugget of hate at my disposal for the rest of the week, just smoldering in my back pocket where my debit card used to be.

So thanks, CHASE RANK ATM, you malfunctioning piece of shit. I hope you get struck by lightning.

I Wanna Know What Love Is

Here's a short story I wrote for a local anthology publication. It was not accepted. It's the prologue for a larger story I'm trying to write.

I Wanna Know What Love Is

Once upon a time, an ordinary box of BioHands latex gloves in an ordinary laboratory in an ordinary hospital wondered "what is love?" He pondered the question, day after day, as men and women pulled sterile, powdered gloves from the hole in his top to take care of the business of measuring and understanding the various bodily fluids that passed through the laboratory as easily as they once passed through veins and organs.

As his supply of gloves dwindled, nearly gone, he despaired of ever feeling love and resigned himself to ending his existence in cold, sanitary solitude. "Maybe it's impossible for a box of BioHands gloves to get a fair shake in this world," he thought, "but at least I'm self-aware. That's more than the pipettes have going for them."

He sighed to himself, as much as a cardboard box of medical supplies can, and watched the last of the lab staff file out the door, turning off the lights and leaving him in darkness. He noticed a faint blue light illuminating the darkness of the lab, growing brighter and brighter. At first he was bewildered and scared, then remembered he was a box of gloves and probably not in any danger.

Out of the blue light, a plump, elderly woman appeared. Diaphanous blue and violet cloth surrounded her, and she carried a small slender stick with a star at the tip. She looked right at the box of Biohands latex gloves, and suddenly he was afraid again. She smiled softly and tapped him with her stick.

"What the hell" he exclaimed. "Wait a minute, did I just talk?"

"Yes," she said. "How does it feel?"

"Wow. It feels pretty good."

"Good," she said, "do you mind if I sit down?"

"Um, sure," he said.

She pulled a short stool out from one of the workstations and collapsed on it. "Oh, that feels good. I'm getting too old for this."

"Too old for what?"

"Oh, you know. The blue light, appearing from nothing, transforming things. Disregarding the laws of physics is a young woman's game, my dear."

"Transforming things?"

"Oh my, yes." She pointed to a glass storage case next to her.

Reflected on its surface was the face of a man in his late twenties. He had a dumbfounded look on his face, but was otherwise a decent looking sort.

"What the hell is that?"

"That's you, kiddo," she replied.

"What?" The reflection's mouth moved as he spoke. "That's me?"

"Yep," she took off one of her violet slippers and started rubbing her foot, "you're a real boy. Or rather, man."

He looked at her, mouth agape and eyes unblinking.

"You know, you've been a person for almost two minutes, and you've only mastered that one look. You really should branch out, my boy. It's not very attractive." She put her slipper back on and stood up.

A smile spread across his face. "I'm a man."

"Yes, yes you are. Let's call you Lou." She straightened her garments and looked at Lou with a bemused smile. "Now, let's go over then plan, Lou."

"Plan?"

"Yes, the plan. What you're going to do and how you're going to do it." She touched his arm. "You've been given an opportunity that few boxes of latex gloves, and no pipettes at all, ever receive: you get the chance to find out what love is." She paused for a second to let it sink in. "You want to find out, don't you?"

"It's the only thing I've ever wanted," he said without thinking.

"Of course you do, and you will." She opened her purse and pulled out a wallet and a set of keys. "Here you are, Lou. We've set you up with an identity, social security number, apartment, the whole deal."

"Wow, thanks," he said as he took the items from her. "Why are you doing this?"

"Birds gotta fly, fish gotta swim, fairy god-mothers gotta grant wishes."

"I don't know what that means," he said.

"I know," she said. "It's not important. It's what we do. But there's a catch, Lou," she said.

"Oh, come on. Why?"

"Hey, you're getting a pretty good deal here, don't get greedy. I'm a magical fairy god-mother. There's always a catch. Didn't you ever read any fairy tales? No, of course you didn't. Right. Anyway, there's a catch."

"What is it?"

"Each Sunday evening, you must perform the Foreigner song 'I Wanna Know What Love Is' at a public Karaoke bar."

"What?! That song sucks!"

"Oh, so you've heard the song?"

"Yeah, I've heard the song. Damn."

"Well, you'd better get over your musical snobbery, Lou, or else it's back to in-animation for you," she waved her wand in his face to punctuate the last point. "You'll soon find that it's one of the least humiliating things you'll do for love."

"Well, thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome. Now, you'd best get some clothes on and get out of here, Lou." She walked toward the door.

"Aren't you going to vanish in a ball of blue light, like you showed up in earlier?"

"Lou, didn't I just tell you, not 5 minutes ago, what a pain in the ass that is? I'm gonna go get a cab. I'll see you later." She opened the door and left, pulling it closed behind her.

Lou stood alone, naked in the dark laboratory. He felt cold, excited, and a little scared.

He couldn't wait to feel more.