Bone Garden

My bank robbery note was going to be brief and to the point but then it touched on something that reminded me of my childhood and then a lot of old deeply buried issues came flooding to the surface in a rush and I felt I had ought to go ahead and explore that which naturally lead to the reason my ex and I broke up and that’s like a dozen pages right there and then it totally slipped my mind to ask for the money. So next time I am just going to stay focused. I have a gun. Give me the money. That kind of stuff.

1. My world view acknowledges the existence of homosexuals as closeted aberrations only.
2. My view is the correct view ordained by God so it is appropriate that everyone adopt it officially, even if you disagree with my theology because you, after all, are the one in error.
3. Since my objection to same sex marriage is primarily a theological one, the passing of such legislation will serve well my ulterior goal of dismantling the separation of church and state.
4. My world view allows no discourse on the subject of divorce or infidelity as it relates to the sanctity of marriage. We are only human. Sometimes things don’t work out and our God is a loving and understanding God when vows made in His presence are tossed aside as inconvenient hurdles to the pursuit of our earthy desires.
5. That our 2nd wives are invariably younger and sexier is a statistical aberration. What’s important is that we are man and woman.
6. When people who espouse this view on marriage are caught same-sex diddling in a rest-stop lavatory it is a statistical aberration.
7. I cannot and will not admit that my objection and aversion to homosexuality is rooted in my own bodily urges which must be yoked by the law of God and tamed by the practice of strict marital rites to prevent the abomination of straying into sexual perversity because if allowed to play out who knows which way I will swing.
8. I am not gay.
9. Shut up! I am NOT.

Defense of Homophobia and Bigotry in a Nutshell

A pale Morris Wimpleseed stood feebly in the brilliant morning sun as Fred James opened the Lucky Miser Café at 7:30 a.m.  Fred rolled up the steel security shutters into the boxy housing above the entrance, casting a wide gray shadow on the white painted brick as he worked the gearbox. Mr. Wimpleseed swayed unevenly, pivoting on the cane, and showed no sign of acknowledgement as the man before him went about opening his business. Fred glanced up the street, looking right through the old man, and then went to fetch the A-frame sign which he planted on the side walk with a clap. Finally he turned and relented.

“Come on in, Morris,” he said in a tone tainted with discouragement. He flipped the Closed sign around to Open and held the door.

Mr. Wimpleseed sucked in a wheezy impatient breath as if to reply but let forth with a mild harrumph and hobbled in through the café entrance. His leaning form followed the stabbing and poking of his cane as he wended his way toward the booth where he always sat. The maple tan vinyl upholstery hissed some air through a crack as he lowered himself in and his cane went clattering to the floor.

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FADE IN:
EXTERIOR OFFICE PARK     MORNING


Sun rising over landscaped office park. Sprinklers raise a mist in
the golden light. The voice of an old man:


                Voice Over
        I was manager of this office when I was
        twenty-five. Hard to believe. Grandfather
        was management. Father too. Me and him was
        managers at the same time, him up in Peoria
        and me down here. I think he was pretty proud
        of that. I know I was.


We dissolve to another view of the park. No people, or movement.


        Some of the old-time managers never even
        used out-sourced labor. A lot of folks find that hard
        to believe.

                                   
We dissolve through differing views of cube farms and interior office
environs all empty, some with the lights out.


        I always liked to hear about the old-
        timers. Never missed a chance to do so.
        You can’t help but compare yourself against the
        old timers. Can’t help but wonder how they
        would’ve operated these times.


CLOSE-UP a RED Swingline stapler.


        The kind of dimwitted slackers apply for work
        today, it’s hard to even take its measure.


Camera pans up to reveal a chubby man sitting at the desk: Milton Waddams.
MILTON is muttering under the Voice Over.


        I always knew you had to be a complete douche
        to even do this job. But I don’t want to push my
        chips forward and find I downsized the wrong
        character.

        You could say it’s my job to destroy the souls of
        these cube muppets but I don’t even want to know
        what falls out when you tip the wrong HR jacket.

                MILTON

        mutter mutter I’ll burn the place down is
        what I’ll do.

n. that which Cindy indicates.

If my pioneering forebears could have foreseen their pampered descendant agonising in the department store over the price of an espresso machine they’d have shot themselves with their flintlocks.