The Future Rocks

    It was going to be a day like any other day. What reason did I have to expect otherwise? It began simply enough with my morning routine, the end of which found me heading out the door. Once a month I paid a visit to my Dad, and today was the day.

   I casually strolled the three blocks to my Dads’ place, and as I walked up the steps of the half-way house, I could hear his voice raised in argument with another man as they slung accusations at each other over who “did it.“ Stepping inside, I saw immediately the source of the dispute; two tea cups smashed on the floor. When my dad saw me he handed me some money and told me to head over to the grocery store.

    “Get us one of those precooked chickens and some Wagon Wheels.” he said.

    As it turns out, they don’t seem to make Wagon Wheels anymore. So I got a bag of Pirate cookies instead.  I wound up wishing these had also been discontinued, because when my Dad saw my alternate selection, he was none to pleased.

    “Pirate.” he said with ill concealed contempt. We ate our chicken and our cookies in silence. I stared at the floor where one tea cup shards once lay. Finally, my Dad spoke again.

    “Son, there’s no easy way to tell you this. Your Grandfather is dead.”

    My grandfather, Jamie S. Luxton the first,  had been incredibly old and incredibly racist. He once bought one of those Canadian Indian residential schools, altering the course curriculum so that it provided the steady stream of well trained servants that his household required. This incident is not taught in schools but neither is it the most obscure bit of Canadian history. In fact, my grandfather is sometimes celebrated for his efforts to remove the draconian system of corporal punishment that was so endemic to these schools. While that may seem a principled and progressive stance for a man in 1915, the often forgotten part is that he only did this to impose a system of capital punishment in its’ place. Interestingly, the change had no measurable effect on attendee mortality. Anyway, after only three years, Prime Minister Borden and his government decided that the schools were not eligible for private ownership,. Control was restored back to the church, who paid a sum to my grandfather quite smaller than what he’d originally paid them.

    “I never met my grandfather, and I’m glad I didn’t, because he was a horrible man. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest.” I said.

    “I know, that’s what makes it so difficult. It feel like I’m supposed to think that this is important, but I can‘t think of a reason to care, either. Maybe you’ll find this interesting. He left you something.”

    He slid a plain looking brown box across the table top at me. It wasn’t fastened or secured in any manner, so I opened it immediately. Inside was a smooth grey stone, like a thick and cloudy piece of glass. Accompanying  the stone was a folded piece of paper, on which was written:

   
    Grandson,

    I present to you this piece of Ulexite.  Ulexite (if you are not familiar) is sometimes referred to today as TV Rock. It is a mineral whose structure makes it sort of a naturally occurring optic fiber. In a properly cut specimen, this stone will project an image of anything behind it, via it’s fibrous structure, to the front layer of the stone.  Do not mistake this characteristic for translucency, for while the results may sounds similar, the mechanics involved are anything but.  This may not seem all that remarkable today, but in ancient times, even the most ordinary sample of Ulexite was considered to be anything other than unremarkable.

    Centuries ago, Alcatio Amarez, an alchemist of no small infamy, came into possession of this chunk of Ulexite. Being a man possessed of much esoteric knowledge, this rock and it’s amazing properties were too mundane to be of any interest to him. So he ensorcelled the thing so that it could see the future. To this thing he gave the name Ulextone. That is what the legends tell us. If this is truly what occurred, the stone does not say. It tells the future, not the past.

    All one must do is have a specific situation in mind while looking into the stone, and it will show you the inevitable outcome. Share this secret with no one. Use it well, for it is a powerful tool that may serve you well. I know I wish I had possession of it when I bought that school. If I had known in advance how that would turn out, I would have never bothered.

    Grandfather.

   
    I left my father at the half way house with rote promises to return in a months time. I held the palm sized stone in my hand as I walked, wondering if my grandfathers’ claims about its’ powers could be true. I quickened my pace, eager to get home and test it for myself. I turned down the alley that led to the back off my apartment building. I had walked this way countless times, and never before had the alley seem so cluttered and foreboding. Doorways were lost in shadow, and telephone wires crisscrossed overhead, like a spiders’ web. I dismissed my apprehension by telling myself it was the fastest way home. It would only take thirty seconds to reach my buildings door.

    As always, I arrived at my buildings’ door without incident. It was only when I opened the door that I found my way blocked by a man dressed in black. He moved towards me in a menacing fashion. I stepped backwards into the middle of the alley, only to find two more men closing in around me. All were native, and all wore the same long, dark coats as the first man. I wondered briefly if they were members of Code Red, the native mafia that controlled the drug trade and other criminal enterprises in the city.  Then there was no time left for wondering, and there was no where left to go.

    “Good afternoon.” called out a voice. I turned to see a fifth man, stepping from the shadowed doorway behind me. He wore the same sort of black coat as the others, but this was over a loose fitting, rose coloured suit, with a tie as yellow as his slicked back hair. He took a long drag from a long cigarette.

    “I understand you have taken possession of a rare and valuable artifact. We are here to convince you to part with it.”

    “Look, I don’t know where you get your information from, but you have it all wrong. You got the wrong guy. I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.”

    Tossing the cigarette aside, he smirked slightly. “Nor do you have a clue about who you are dealing with. I can promise you we have made no mistake. I also promise we are prepared to be very persuasive. I think you will find what I offer in exchange to be of great value.”

    “Oh yeah? What’s that?” I said. Considering that I thought these guys were just going to steal it from me, an exchange of some kind seemed worth entertaining.

    “Your life.”

    As if on cue, the others drew submachine guns from beneath their long coats. I glanced up and down the alley, and at all the windows, for any sign of any help at all. There was no one. I was on my own.

    As I looked around, I started to take notice of all the things around me, and a plan began to form. A garbage can within reach of my right hand. I could swing it at the guy behind me, knocking him out. Then knock over this stack of boxes on to the guy on my left. We’d both end up on the ground but he’d be stunned. I could grab his gun and use it send the other two scurrying for cover, at the very least. Then its up on top of the dumpster, big leap to the fire escape, and crash through the first window. Inside, I would set off the fire alarm. This will drive off the bad guys, who probably don’t want to be seen.

    I felt the cold tip of a gun barrel press against the back of my ear. This was it. Go time. My plan was desperate and risky, but what other choice did I have? I looked down at the stone concealed in my hand, and my grandfathers’ instructions suddenly came to me.

    “Can I really pull this off?” I thought, as I stared into the stone.

    The stone showed me a vision of my lifeless, bullet-riddled corpse.

    “All yours.” I said, holding out the stone towards the rose suited man.

    “Good choice. This better not be some kind of trick.”

    “Nope.” I said. He took the stone out of my hand, examined it briefly, and smiled.

    “A pleasure doing business with you.” The blonde man said.

    The thug behind me pushed me into that stack of boxes, and I fell to the ground. I lay there, stunned for a moment. When I sat up, they had all vanished without a trace.

    I stood and dusted myself off, my mind racing. The stone had worked! It was real! I’d had it, and it was mine, and I lost it, all in the space of an hour. But being alive wasn’t so bad, as far as consolation prizes go, and realising this, I didn’t miss the stone so much.

    As the events of the day flashed through my mind, my hands went through my pockets, looking for my keys so I could go inside. They were gone. They must have fallen out of my pocket when I fell on the ground. I searched and searched, but never found them. I went to the front to have the landlord let me in, but he wasn’t there. Now I couldn’t get in until he came home, and there was no telling when that would be. I could have really used a future seeing stone right then.

   

Pie Eating Cougar Killed

    Residents of the small town of Big Lent can breath a little easier today, following an early morning announcement. The brazen cougar that has been terrorize locals and eating their pies will terrorize and eat no more, having been tracked and killed by local authorities.

    “I think my pie was the first to go,” says Gloria Baker. “I had just left it cooling on the windowsill. A delicious pear pie.”

    Gloria reported the missing dessert to local police. “There’s not much we can do in a situation like that.” says Sheriff Bobby Dick. “No witnesses, no evidence, nothing. We examined the crime scene and all we could determine was that a pie definitely was not present. We couldn’t even be sure there had ever been a pie, that’s how just plain gone it was. Gloria tells some tall tales sometimes, so you can‘t be too sure. Everyone knows there‘s no such thing as a pear pie.”

    “It’s no secret that this is a pie loving town. I wouldn’t be telling you that this is a pie loving town if it was a secret. And the fact is that once every six months or so, for more years than I can remember, a pie goes missing without a trace. We think that one of the logging truckers that pass through here is probably responsible. If anything had really happened, then it was probably that.”

    Within the week, eight other pies had also disappeared. Clearly, this was not the work of any truck driver passing through. Rumors began to fly, and consternation gripped the town. It wasn’t until one afternoon that Beatrice Gardener was tending the vegetables in her backyard that the true culprit was discovered. A massive cougar, lounging under the hedges not twenty feet away, enjoying the fruits of another ill-gotten gain.

    “It must have taken somebody‘s cherry pie. It’s jaws were stained red. It looked like blood. It was terrifying. What if it mistook my cat, or my grandson, for a pie? They wouldn’t stand a chance.” says Beatrice. “Then it looked right at me, but it wasn’t. It was looking right past me. It was looking at the grape pie in my window. I said ‘No way, go away’ and beat my shovel of the ground as fast and hard as I could. It just lay there, like I wasn’t even there, until it walked away.”

    “I was skeptical about what I was hearing at the time.” says conservation officer Preston King. “What occurs sometimes is that a smaller individual will be driven out of it’s natural hunting grounds by stronger cats, and these ones will invade civilized areas to prey on cats and dogs mostly. A cougar is not a pie eating animal. But any situation where you have a big predatory animal in close contact with humans is a serious situation, and has to be dealt with immediately.”

    Even knowing the conservation officer was on the case wasn’t enough to put some townsfolk’s minds at easy.

    “We were on our way to our friends' anniversary party. Of course I’d baked a couple of pies. A peach one and an orange one.” says Angela Placek. “ We’d heard the stories about the missing pies. Before I’d go to the car, my boyfriend went ahead of me with a flashlight, just to make sure it was safe. But when we got to the car, A spotlight goes on, aimed right at us. It was Preston King, at the end of our driveway. He was just sitting there in his truck, with that beard. Then after a long time he says ‘Cougar alert around here, folks. Keep your eye on the pie.’ and drives off. I didn’t even know he was a conservation officer. I thought he was just a crazy bushman. I don’t know if I would have been more scared if I’d seen the cougar there instead of Preston King.”

    Even with King working overtime, the big cat remained elusive, and weeks went by with pies continuing to vanish at an alarming rate. King finally caught up with the cougar at the Gas’N’Go. Acting quickly, he fired two shot into the beast, ending it’s reign of terror.

    “It really seemed to be going after the Hostess fruit pies, right next to the beef jerky.” says King. “I had my doubts about that from the very beginning but, when you have two peculiar phenomenon occurring simultaneously, I’m of a mind to think causation, not correlation.”

    Although life can now return to normal, memories linger. The effects the cougar has had on the community will still be felt for quite some time.

    “Pies cool on windowsills. That’s how it’s done.” says Gloria. “This used to be the kind of town where you could do that. Now? I don’t know anymore.”

Open Mike

I stood alone. Beside me was a glass of water, sitting on a stool. Behind me was a fake brick wall. In front of me, sitting ever so quietly and staring ever so intently, were no less than two hundred persons. The lights were hot and bright, and I could see their shapes, but not their faces. Probably a lot like a meeting of the Illuminati.

    “So how’s everybody doing tonight?” I said for the second time.

    “Not Bad. Except for the echo in here.” One guy says, and he got a good laugh from the others at his table.

    “Yeah!“ Said another guy. He didn’t get a laugh at all. By the time the night was over, Yeah Guy and I would have something in common.

    I’d never done this before, but I could already tell this audience wasn’t going to be gentle with me. The only one of them out of the whole lot who might be on my side was the waitress, Alka. She was from Poland originally, but had been working at this bar for as long as I’d been coming here. It was she who had told me about their open mike comedy nights, and convinced Mike the bartender to let me have a try. She is also the only woman who I’ve had sex with twice, and even that was just because she also works as an escort. In my defence, I paid for it only one of those times.

    I tried to look for her, because in that moment I would have liked for nothing more than a reassuring glance or even a thumbs up. I would have paid money for some moral support like that. But I couldn’t see her. All I could sort of see was some movement that kind of suggested where she might be. So I did the best I could.

    At least my routine was well rehearsed. My first joke would have gone like this:

    “Anyone out there who is really stupid? No? So it’s just me then?  Because this morning I was already half way to work before I remembered I am unemployed, and a virgin.”

    Pretty good, right? Sounds professional. It’s the key to all of it. I learned it on the internet. You see, the most essential ingredients to comedy are conflict and stupidity. But not when it happens to you. Your own troubles don’t make you laugh. What people will do is laugh at other people’s conflicts and stupidity. It’s cathartic, at least if they are given an excuse to do it. I was inviting them to do so, and that would free them from their reservations. Liquor helps, also. So I should have had my bases covered both ways. The point is: under controlled circumstances, the more absurd you are, the more people are supposed to like you.

    Anyway, I began, as you will no doubt be unsurprised to learn, by saying:

    “Anyone out there who is really stupid?”

    I paused briefly, as though waiting for a response. But before I could continue, One Guy chimes in with:

    “Nope. Just you.”

    This was basically the same follow up as what I had intended to make and, as I anticipated, this got a big laugh.  The whole situation should have still been salvageable, if only I’d been allowed to continue. I was not.

    “Yeah, guy!” said Yeah Guy. Again no one laughed, but many saw it as a signal to shout out their own opinions. They were not kind and they did not stop. I didn’t even finish the joke. I couldn’t have even remembered it, not that I could have made myself heard over the shouting. There was only one thing left for me to do. I walked off of that stage. Jeers and heckles rang in my ears.

    Backstage, I quivered in a chair. The nights’ other comedian, one Bologna J. Infections, which I assume was his stage name, stood nearby.

    “Well, that didn’t go so well.” I said.

    “Are you kidding? I killed out there.” Said Bologna.

    “Not you.” I said.

    “Oh, right. Okay. I didn’t hear your act, but I bet you killed out there!”

    “No, that’s kind of the exact opposite of what I did. If anyone from that audience gets their hands on me, I may yet be killed, but I myself did not do any killing.”

    This admission seemed to perplex Infections. He stared at the floor with his thumb on his lips, as though engaged in deep thought, for quite some time. Suddenly his eyes popped open and, with a single motion, he snapped his fingers and pointed at me. He had deduced that tonight had been my first time.

    “Oh, Man! I feel for ya, buddy. It can be brutal, lemme tell ya.”

    “Yeah? You bombed your first time, too?”

    “What, me? No, I killed. But I’ve seen it happen to lots of other guys. Let me do you a favour and give you some advice. Okay, the most important thing is to have confidence. Start with you best joke. Use your second best joke last. Don‘t get scared and start rushing through your set. And if you do get nervous, go with the oldest trick in the book. Imagine everybody‘s in their underwear. You know, unless your performing at an elementary school. That‘s the wrong time for that.”

    “I don‘t know if I can do any of that. It‘s sounds easy, but when I was up there, I just froze.”

    “Okay. You could always quit. Alotta guys who should quit, don‘t. Maybe it’s their pride, or because it’s their dream. But all they do is make it hard for the guys who are good to get the gigs.  This isn’t for everybody. No shame in knowing your own strengths.”

    Alka stopped by just then. She gave me a hug. She said how sorry she was about how the show went, and how the audience were just a bunch of jerks, and how three fistfights had since broken out. She’d also brought me a bottle of Spirytus Rektyfikowany, the national pastime of Poland. “96% volume“ the label declared in big letters.

    “What’s that supposed to mean? It’s 4% empty?” said Bologna, and we all laughed at that. This guy was good. Good enough to know my chances in this profession. I took a swig and decided to take his advice. Time to know my own strengths.

    I excused myself and stepped aside with Alka. Encouraged by her sympathy, I suggested when she was finished at the bar, maybe she could come back to my place. She shrugged and said that she would, but it would be about an hour and a half before she could go. I told her that was fine. She turned to leave, but before she’d taken a half step, she turned back to me.

    “You know that your not getting paid for your, uh, show, right? That was just a little favour Mike did for you.” she said.

    “Oh, um, right. Yeah, no. Of course.” I said, not having been sure whether there had been any money at stake or not. I guess I thought there would have been a little something for my time and effort.

    “I‘m just making sure you know, just in case that changes anything for you. You know, about later? Do you still want me to come over?” They way she looked at me told me that this was a very serious question. I had to think fast.

    “Sure I do. Oh god, you know what? I just remembered, I’ve got to get to work really early tomorrow. I really should get going right away. “

    “It‘s cool. Some other time.” She said.

    I slipped out the back door, catching a glimpse of Bologna J. Infections getting chatty with Alka as it closed behind me. I wondered if I should really go home, or head over to some other bar. I didn’t really have to get up early. I didn’t even have to go to work. I didn’t even have a job. At least I wasn’t really a virgin.

    I stood there a moment, looking up and down the alley. Not a soul in sight. I realized that somehow, in spite of the disastrous events of the night, the night was really ending much as it had began. I stood alone.

Establishing Shot

    Hello there.

    Since you are here, you're probably wondering about me. Who is this guy? What makes him tick? How can I be more like him? What compelled him to compose this blog? Why do I have so many questions? Isn't it kind of rude of me to be so nosy?

    Dear reader, it’s quite alright, I assure you. I don’t mind the questions at all. I wouldn’t be here if I had any issue with talking about myself. Let’s get started.

    My name is Jamie S. Luxton III and I am just your regular, average, everyday kind of guy. I work in sales. A diabetic cat is the only thing I have left to remember my Grandma by. I have all the same troubles on the dating scene as you. My feet hurt frequently, and I don't really know why, but no, I am not going to the doctor. Yesterday on the bus, a fat slob reeking of farts says to me “Have you ever had a shit that looks like a brain, but floats?”

    Alright, I guess it's confession time. None of that ever happened. Some times I make things up, and I do it exclusively for your own benefit. Because if you don’t want me to embellish my anecdotes with just the merest hint of fantasy, my stories are going to get really monotonous, really fast.

    If you want me to tell my stories... Stories that are the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, then you better be prepared to hear a whole heck of a lot about how I am a world famous palaeontologist who just happens to routinely have sex with the most desirable women in the world.

    For example, I was recently in a remote part of Africa, as part of an effort to thwart a plot by the Hutari tribe to steal the world's only complete Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton. The Hutari tribe is a notorious band of Somali pirates who steal such things in order to sell them on the black market, where they go for big money. Unfortunately, this usually means they disappear into private collections where their scientific value goes undiscovered, possibly forever.

    As if that wasn’t bad enough, the buyer of this particular skeleton was none other than Darby Lockshire, wealthy raconteur and end times enthusiast. He had discovered that placing a perfectly preserved Tyrannosaurus skull upon the shrine in the hidden temple would reignite the local dormant volcano. Its' lava would immolate the villages in the valley, clearing the way for new real estate development. Even the dinosaur guardians of the shrine, who had dwelt within the temple for eons, could not stand alone against Lockshire’s robot army. Only by the timely arrival of my old friend, Captain Rides, and a noble sacrifice by his able manservant, Natooklockclock Levesque, were we able to stop Lockshire's mad plan with seconds to spare.

    Days later, awaiting the plane that would transport the fossil to the museum, I was inspecting the ancient bones and making all sorts of important scientific discoveries, when who should have come along but none other than Angelina Jolie herself. We start talking and, completely out of the blue, she says in an exasperated tone “Brad just doesn’t know how to satisfy me.”

    “Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not Brad.” I said.

    “Oh, really?” she said, playfully feigning surprise. “I suppose that means you know what to do with these.” she said, suddenly very serious, as she slowly unbuttoned her blouse.

    Sadly, I really wasn’t in the mood that afternoon. You see, Megan Fox had left just a few hours earlier and she, unlike some Hollywood husbands, is quite skilled in providing satisfaction. In my mind, I spontaneously imagined Brad Pitt ineptly fumbling around between my legs until he starts crying and admits he doesn’t know what to do. It was pathetic. I laughed.

     Back in reality, I still hadn’t decided whether to allow Angelina Jolie to seduce me or not. I knew that if I passed up this opportunity, I would regret it for… not that long, probably. It would be only a matter of time before Angie came sniffing around again. But, what if she died or something? Better safe than sorry. I gave in to her demands.

    You’re probably wondering if I was able to satisfy her. It wouldn’t be gentlemanly to tell. What I will tell you is that when I got home a week ago, there were twenty six messages left on my answering machine. When I finally got around to checking them this morning, guess who they were from?

    A collection agency. Not really what I was expecting. I guess truth really is stranger than fiction.