Two Dollars

I had the strangest dream last night.

I dreamed that someone had stolen my van, but they didn’t drive away in it, instead they waited outside the house until other cars drove by, and then rammed into the passing cars. I watched helplessly as cars were broadsided, rear ended, and smashed head on. I didn’t care much about my van, I was certain that now would be a great time to trade it in for another car. I was only angry, angry at the madman who was driving it.

Eventually he got tired of his game, or the van finally died on him, whichever. When he got out and went back to his own car, I confronted him. He told me that he was the paper boy. He was angry at my family because we weren’t acting more like the family he created in “The Sims” video game. There you have it, violence caused by video games. Forget Grand Theft Auto, the solvent that would destroy the bonds of society would, in fact, be The Sims. He told me that if we hadn’t raised our “need meter” and earned 100 more “simoleans” by the end of the week, he would do it again, and he’d be watching us.

The dream ended shortly thereafter. There was a stretch where I was trying to continue on with my life, after salvaging my car, and the paperboy kept following me.

I woke up in a cold sweat. I should probably cut back on the Mexican food.

Today was a strange day, work wise. I had all these little projects that only lasted fifteen minutes at a time. Looking back on my time sheet, I only spent more than 45 minutes on two things, and one of them was lunch.

When I got home, my dad had already managed to install new wheels on the lawnmower. The lawnmower, much like my car, had come down with a bad case of wheels-falling-off. This had happened about a week ago, and my dad had gotten two new rear wheels. I helped him to install the wheels, which is, I’m sure, why they fell off again when I went to mow the lawn yesterday. I was certain the problem with the wheels was that the hole in the lawnmower was not big enough to fit the spacers on the axle. I told my dad this. He didn’t believe me. My dad, god knows I love him, refuses to be wrong about some things. Most of the things he refuses to be wrong about involve home and garden care. To his credit, he’s usually right. But when he’s wrong, well, he tends to go into denial. I tried a few times to explain my “crazy” theory, but in the end I just kept my mouth shut, hoping that he’d give up or the problem would magically fix itself. He bought the proper hardware today, so I was back to mowing the lawn, which brings me so much joy…. Not!

People don’t use “...Not!” much anymore. I think it went out with “Well… duh!”

And another thing. I use this Clearasil “Ice Wash,” on my face. When I first starting using it, I felt the cool rush of clean on my skin. It really felt cold as ice. It was a groovy feeling. But I realized tonight, I don’t feel it anymore. The cool rush has gone. I accidentally dropped some on my foot, and felt cool rush there. Apparently my face has built up an immunity to the cool rush. I’m a little concerned about this.

Wow… isn’t life exciting?

I hurt my finger pretty bad at the doctor’s office on Friday. It’s still a little sore.

I had arrived for my appointment a half-hour early. My new insurance, which, thankfully, covers more than just acts of god and freak kangaroo related injuries (which is more than I can say about my last insurance), had finally kicked in. I was certain there would be paperwork, mountains of paperwork. I imagined I’d be sitting in the waiting room for half an hour, filling out invasive forms on a clipboard with one of those triangular pens that the drug companies give away.

Much to my surprise, the entire process is now streamlined. They simply scanned my insurance card, and we were done. Thanks to modern technology, patients can now spend more time waiting for the doctor. So now I was a half-hour early for an appointment that the doctor would be a half-hour late for. I read one entire issue of Entertainment Weekly and half of one issue of People.

I found Entertainment Weekly to be mildly entertaining, offering brief snippets on Hollywood, music, and even literature. On the other hand, you cannot fathom the immensity of the fuck I did not give about the crap they publish in People.

You want to read an issue of People? Let me sum up the a year’s worth of “news.” J. Lo, divorced, married, divorced, married, divorced. Paris Hilton, wrote a book from the “point of view” of her dog. Readers are convinced that the dog actually wrote it. Tom Cruise and Johnny Depp, still so “dreamy,” after all these years. Jessica Simpson’s nipples, releasing their own album this fall.

Anyway, I was finally called in. The nurse rushed me into the examination room and took my blood pressure. Then she left. And I was waiting again. And waiting. There were no magazines in there. I was forced to seek amusement in thumb wrestling myself.

Eventually I stood up started poking around at the various novelties around the room. I pressed the model of the lower spine against my back, just to see if it was to scale. I inflated and deflated the blood pressure sleeve twice. I began poking around in the drawers. Open backed gowns, rubber gloves, tongue depressors. At that moment, there was a knock and the door was opened. I slammed the drawer full of tongue depressors closed, and in doing so smashed my finger. I let out a grunt, but managed to hide my pain when the doctor peeked his head in.

“I’ll be right with you.” He said.

I gave him a smile and nod, and then sat back down, nursing my finger. I decided not to explore anymore, I had been taught a lesson.

Dear Alumni,

We hope you have had time to enjoy your summer.

As you know, the new school year is starting. New and returning students are excited about the opportunities and experiences of the coming year. It wasn’t very long ago that you yourself were a student, eager to learn and get involved in your University.

Fortunately, you still have the opportunity to get involved. That’s right, you can continue to give to the school that has given you so much.

We may not have paid for your books. We may have overcharged you for housing. We may have made you take classes that had nothing to do with your major. We may have charged you for course credits you didn’t take. We may have tried to make you stay an extra year for no good reason. We may not have been any help in finding you an internship. And we even charged you that “Resident Activity Fee,” that actually went towards our new automated coffee machine. But we provided you with an “Education.” It’s time to repay the favor.

In all due honesty, we lost your tuition money. Well, we didn’t loose it, we know where it went. We spent it all on cheap whores and blow. But the point is, all the money you gave us, the money for which took out loans that you’ll be paying off for the next ten years, is used up. It’s gone. The account is in overdraft.

Now we realize it’s only been two years, but by our estimates, you now have a job in the <insert course of study here> field and are pulling in a six figure salary. This assumption is based on student surveys, population polls, and wild speculation.

So if it wouldn’t be too inconvenient, please take some time out from running your multi-million dollar company and boinking your supermodel wife and make a donation to our simple little “Alumni Fund.”

Thank you.

Sincerely,
College University

P.S. Pass this letter on to five friends by midnight or you will have seven years bad luck! It’s true!

This evening we’re going to be driving down to Connecticut to visit Jen.

This afternoon my mother walked into my room and handed me an ABBA cd. I gave her a quizzical look.

“Take the wrapping off that for me, please.” She said. “We can listen to it on the way down!”

This is going to be a long fucking drive.

Somewhere along the line it was assumed that all the bologna slices in the house were mine. These crazy people that live here keep asking for my permission to have some bologna.

I’m not angry or anything, I’m almost a little flattered. But, did I miss a meeting? When was I appointed the keeper of the bologna? I don’t run around tagging each slice before releasing it into the wild. You can take as much bologna as you want, whenever you want. I won’t show up with handcuffs and my badge from the Department of Ambiguous Meat Products if you want to have a sandwich. Go ahead, knock yourself out.

P.S. bologna bologna bologna bologna bologna bologna bologna bologna bologna

Excerpt from Jon’s Neighbors’ Dog’s Day Planner

5:30AM Wake up

6:00AM Bark

6:30AM Eat

7:00AM Go walkies, Bark

7:30AM See next door guy leave for work, bark at him.

9:00AM Bark, raise pitch

10:00AM Find something interesting in the back yard. Bark at it.

12:00PM Sit in window, bark at passing cars.

2:00PM Bark

3:00PM Leave doo doo on neighbor’s lawn. Bark at it.

5:30PM See next door guy come home from work. Run up to him. Jump on him. Spaz out. Bark.

6:30PM Eat

7:00PM Go Walkies, Bark

8:00PM Sky going dark. Barking might make it light again.

9:00PM Not working, sky still dark. Bark louder.

10:00PM Go sleepy

In an already stellar display of quality record keeping, my new insurance company has assigned me a geriatric specialist as my primary care doctor.

Imagine my shock when I tried to make an appointment, and the secretary asked me if I was over 65.

“Um… no, should I be.”
“Well, yes, Dr (NAME) is a geriatrician.”
“A what now?”
“A doctor for senior citizens.” (I could tell she wanted to say ‘an old-people doctor’).
“Oh… then I guess I won’t need to make an appointment right now.”

Yea, oops.

Letters from Doom (Final)
July 29, 2104

Dear Mom and Dad,

So, it seems that somebody, and the company won’t name any names, has unleashed the forces of hell in Delta Labs. Now my weekend is completely shot.

Apparently, and I’ve gotten this information secondhand, the teleporters that they were experimenting with crossed over into another dimension. This dimension, let’s call it “Hell,” was all fire and brimstone and filled with a large number of creatures, let’s say “Demons,” who were very concerned with killing all of us. The rest of the details are kind of sketchy, but I’m guessing that we can thank the scientists for forgetting to close the door to hell.

Today I was in the bathroom when the ground shook. At first I thought it was because I had those burritos last night, but it happened again and there was all this screaming and yelling outside.

I cleaned up and went out into the hall. The lights were flickering, people were running around, and, I kid you not, there were flaming skulls flying though the air.

I only had my standard issue pop gun on me, so I ran back to my room to dip into the massive arms stash I had accumulated over the last week. On the way I was confronted by a six eyed demon with long fangs and sharp claws. I emptied a clip into him with my pistol, but he seemed unharmed. I then proceeded to run up to him and beat him to death with my flashlight. Let me tell you, that little flashlight did some damage.

After dispatching the demon and getting to my weapons cache, I proceeded to marine command.

Things have been downhill from there. I’ve run into very few people who haven’t been turned into the living dead. I mostly get radio transmissions from my Lieutenant, who is alive (oh... woo hoo.) and heading to Delta Labs, hoping to somehow stop the invasion.

I’ve taken some injuries in the fighting. Fortunately, first aid kits are strewn about, just like the ammo. Right now I’m feeling fine, but I am covered, head to toe, in bandages and pumped full of enough pain killers to put an ox to sleep.

I have no choice but to keep moving and try to help the Lieutenant. I’m going to show these beasts that they picked the wrong dimension to invade. I’m going to give them hell! Well, I guess they already had hell. I’m going to give them… heaven! No, wait, that doesn’t make sense. I’m going to kill them good! Yea!

Love,
-Jon

Letters From Doom (2)
July 23 2140

Dear Mom and Dad,

Strange things have been happening in Mars lately.

For starters, I think the number of people going completely insane is higher than it should be. I’m no expert on the subject, but roughly one out of every four employees in Mars Colony 2 has gone loony within the last week. I really don’t like those odds. I checked four of my friends, and what do you know, one of them was freaking crazy!

This has led to a severe shortage of proper… crazy people supplies. Makeshift straightjackets have been constructed from sweaters and an industrial stapler. Crazy people have had to bunk up three or four to a cell. I’m even sharing my bunk with some crazy guy who rants about demons and hellfire. They just came in on Monday, strapped him into the top bunk, and told me to watch his bedpan.

With the exception of “Crazy” Bill Johnson, who’s just plain crazy, all the new crazy people seem to have the same delusions as my new roommate. They go on and on about armies of demons and the living dead.There have also been a lot of strange sounds and sightings, especially on the lower levels of Delta Labs. The odd scientist or janitor will come back with stories of growling in the dark, or large creatures creeping through the shadows.

Sounds to me like it’s time for a Martian varmint hunt! I mean, you should see the rats we get up here.

Anyway, aside from the strange noises, monster sightings and, you know, crazy people, things are pretty normal, I guess. I’ve got to change my bunkmate’s bed pan, then I’m on duty until 3am, so good night and have a good week.

-Jon