Story ideas are always formless vapor swirling about my head, waiting to turn into a story. You have to capture these wisps with a tight strangle-hold and wrestle them into form. Some days they are easy to catch and coax into shape. Other days, the wisps cannot even be seen by mortal eyes, and they slip through your fingers.

All of this to say “Hey, today was a much better for hunting and wrestling.”

Today’s Word:

laconic

As in:

I’ve always wondered if the others look down on me. They are always so confident, so brazen. It’s like they don’t even notice when I’m around.

Sure, I’m trying not to stand out, raise alarm bells, but we tend to recognize each other. I’m just uncertain whether their indifference is because I’m so good at blending in, or if it’s because I’m so beneath their notice that no one cares. They are all ashamed of me. I’m not even worthy of a pinch of acknowledgment.

Secretly, I know they talk about me. They laugh, poke fun. “He’s the lamest serial killer in the history of humankind,” they’ll say, or “Awwww, has the widdle poisoner passed his widdle bottle to the whiney, mewling human babies? He doesn’t even cut them or dismember them in any way. He has no proper sense of the joyous splatter of blood or the satisfying crunch of bone. What a pansy!”

Maybe they are right. I’m nor a proper monster. I stink at this whole game. I can hear their laughter.

“Only 12 victims! OOOOOooooooohhhh I’m *so* scared! A mail carrier, and a retired school teacher? Where’s the sport in that! Those are the kind of people that posed no challenge, showed no skill. A child could’ve done those people. He just got lucky.”

I shouldn’t think about those guys.

I rounded the corner on the way to my favorite dinner spot. We killers are creatures of habit. Just as I’d cleared the edge of the building, I saw it. A body lying a few feet in front of me. He looked like he knew karate. I made this bold assumption based upon the fact that the body was clothed in a gi with a round badge on the shoulder, with “Beat at Joe’s” on the top arc, and “Joe’s Karate Shack” on the bottom arc. I hated Joe instantly.

The guy was lying in a pool of his own blood. It was all over the street. Blech. I hate blood. It makes me feel woozy. I had to get out of there.

Wait. I bet they did this. This was left for me to find. One of those smarty-pants serial killers trying to make fun of me, see me freak out. HA-HA guys. You suck.

The guy was clearly dead though. Maybe I should call the cops.

I waited for the cops to come. I hope they don’t suspect me. I answered their questions in my usual laconic fashion, I’m not known to be chatty. Shouldn’t be too suspicious.

Do you think the others were watching? Man, I hope not. I bet they were. I probably would. Well, unless that’s a bad idea. Maybe I should ask someone, or something. Yeah. Tomorrow. That’s it. Tomorrow I will earn their respect.

******************
I was struck by the idea of a serial killer with no confidence, and part of me wonders if it’s even possible to be a serial killer with no self-confidence.

laconic / lay – CAW – nik / using or involving the use of a minimum of words, concise to the point of seeming rude or mysterious.

Some days, it’s really hard to think of something to go here. I mean, if I have a story idea, I don’t have any reason to ramble on in the intro, and I never know what to say.

Today’s Word:

vitiate

As in:

The controversial Art in Moderation Museum opened today in Springfield. The museum’s perspective on art is unique, and its goal is to bring the worlds best art together in one place, but without all the unfortunate and questionable parts.

The museum commissioned a replica of Michelangelo’s David, with permanent fig leaf, reproductions of Greek and Roman busts to be draped with togas, a copy of Guernica with the more “distressing bits” covered over with flowers, and a version of The Luncheon on the Grass with the nude woman removed.

While the museum does have some replicas that are unaltered from their original form, any with “objectionable” nudity or content have been altered to conform the “the common standards of goodness and decency.”

Besides nudity, other depictions which fall outside the standards of “goodness and decency” include portrayals of drunkenness and debauchery, excessive violence, distressingly incongruous or uncomfortable subject matter, and anything with political or anti-religious subject matter.

“This is an outrage. No museum should vitiate the world’s collective cultural heritage by altering the masterworks of its greatest artists. A fig leaf on David? It’s a violation and an abomination. Why I applaud the fact that they’re not forcing their warped perspective on the rest of us, they are missing the point of art, and are deliberately cutting off access to a perspectives and images which have shaped how people understand and see the world. It is short sighted and limiting. Sad, really.”

Representatives from the museum declined to comment.

*****************
I know that there are trends where statues get clothes over their offending parts, which ebb and flow over the decades, but, it seems to me that there’s probably always some insane minority that persists even when they aren’t actively demanding drapery. Those people would always want to see their art clothed.

I also think I’m writing this because I made a very insightful thematic comparison regarding Dali’s The Persistance of Memory at work yesterday, and no one got it. I’m feeling vaguely saddened by that. It was on the subtle side, and I shouldn’t have expected… Anyway, ignore it when I do that, won’t you? Okay.

vitiate / veh – SHE – ate / to injure the quality of; spoil.

I admit it. I’ve not one single shred of an idea for tonight. I didn’t even think about story ideas throughout the day, I kept forestalling that thought, and assumed I would just do one of the weird law stories, and be done with it, but, I’ve not yet figured out why it’s illegal for next door neighbors to loan vacuum cleaners, or why a pickle just ain’t a pickle if it doesn’t bounce.

This all means you get marvelous, rambly me.

Checking the news… Aha! I think I’ve got it… Now to find…

Today’s Word:

didactic

As in:

Today, a consumer group sent notice to McDonald’s, warning that they intend to sue the company, claiming that Happy Meals toys lure kids into unhealthy eating habits and break state consumer-protection laws.

A McDonald’s spokesperson responded to the action by saying that “The toys included in the Happy Meals are not meant to be eaten. If people have been allowing their children to eat the toys, well, that’s not really out problem is it?”

Nutritionists agree that the toys contain little nutritional value, and can cause severe problems with digestion should they be taken internally.

McDonald’s further insists that if a child insists on consuming the toys, that they contain little or no fat, sugar, sodium or carbohydrates. The company admitted that the toys contain only trace amounts of calcium, but, felt that if the parents chose milk for the meal’s beverage, calcium intake for the entire meal is within recommended guidelines.

Some have even argued that the toys are the most nutritious part of the meal.

“Even if parents choose apple dippers instead of fries, the caramel dip is jam-packed with sugar.” Noted one McDonald’s supporter. “Sure, you *could* eat the apples without the caramel dip, but what kid consumes a food item without dipping it? This is America, isn’t it?”

“Of course, it seems odd to target our toys as the problem here. Children have no income. If they are tempted by our toys, they can’t purchase the meals themselves. It’s the parents who purchase them and have control over their child’s dietary health. If the parents cannot tell their children ‘no’ when they request our meals, then those children and our society, has a much bigger problem. Not meaning to get all didactic, but, I think it’s clear that the problem is not our toys. It’s much bigger than that.”

*****************
That should be about enough of that.

didactic / die – DAC – tick / designed or intended to teach; intended to convey instruction and information.

I have been living in something of a fog, and my brain hasn’t been working so well lately. It’s like the hamster in my brain-wheel has gotten a gimpy paw, which it forgets about, until it gets going at full speed, and the paw gives out, and it sorta crashes. Yeah. Like that.

This is a story that has nothing to do with a weird law. Well, actually… maybe I ought to let you be the judge.

Today’s Word:

auctorial

As in:

Best-selling author James Patterson was arrested today for his brutal killings of over 100 innocent victims, many of them children.

Authorities say that the details of Patterson’s reign of terror have all been documented in his books, which are the only evidence being used to hold Patterson.

“The depravity of each of these murders is beyond even the worst of the serial killers recorded,” Noted FBI Agent Kyle Craig. “Some books the death count is more than three dozen. It’s appalling that he has been allowed to run free for more than a decade, making millions of dollars from his crimes. He must be stopped.”

Patterson, 63, continues to plead innocence, and insists that all of the deaths described in his books are fictional. He claims that none of the people he describes in his books are real, and that no crimes have been committed, except fictional crimes. He claims that he only “makes everything up” but that that is all part of his auctorial profession, which he says is “a legitimate enterprise, long held to be an honorable way to earn a living.”

Several people are skeptical of the man’s claims. “This man is saying that he lies for a living. That’s his job. Well, it seems to me he’s got a hobby of lying, too. He’s just trying to get out of trouble, escape suspicion, and go back to raking in the case with his ‘stories.’ It’s the perfect cover, really.”

Other people say that Patterson’s true crimes are much more sinister than murdering scores of fictional people, and insist that the true victims here are the English language, and the people who buy his books.

***************
I’d not read anything by James Patterson until recently, and I’ve not been particularly impressed. Maybe I am jaded. Maybe I’m just jealous. Who knows?

And, yes, astute readers might have noticed that the FBI agent in charge of the arrest is named after the reoccurring FBI agent character in the Alex Cross novels. It amused me.

auctorial / auk – TOR – ee – all / of or relating to an author.

I’m in something of a cynical mood tonight, which might be reflected in the following story. Maybe, if I can get it sent out in the next few minutes, a good night’s sleep will help.

Today’s Word:

epuration

As in:

Yesterday, the CEO of BP announced that the company would be giving 20 billion dollars to a fund to assist the people whose livelihoods have been affected by the massive oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico.

This amount does not change BPs financial commitment to the clean-up or absolve it of responsibility for any fines that might be levied against the company.

In other news, BP executives have announced they are filing for bankruptcy, and have hinted that they would like to request a special bailout package. These hints were part of the press conference presented on the subject of the bankruptcy, where the spokesperson read from a prepared statement. The statement indicates that the company believes that, like AIG, BP is “Too big to fail.”

“BP is committed to the clean-up efforts in the Gulf. We have not changed our stance that we will pay for all legitimate claims, however, we have to pay our executives bonuses, bribe members of the Mineral Management Service, pay lawyers, and put 20 billion into that small people fund. In addition, we just lost millions of gallons of oil into the stupid ocean, and we’ll never get it back, well, we’re pretty skint at the moment.”

Public opinion regarding the disaster and the prospect of yet another bailout is hostile. Taxpayers are demanding a radical epuration of the BP management, and, if a bailout package is approved by Congress, some people have indicated that there will be violence.

*******************
I’m not entirely sure that was fiction. It’s feeling a bit too real to me.

epuration / ep – YOU – ray – shun / a purge, especially of officials suspected of trechery. Purification.

This is the first one of one of the multi-part stories to which I referred in Monday’s story. I came across one of those lists of weird laws, and decided that it might be interesting to speculate on the exact story behind the wacky law. Because, you know there has to have been some sort of story behind each of these laws.

Don’t expect these ones to necessarily run back to back. If I have a good idea that fits better with current events or something, the series could get interrupted, but, as each story will be self-contained, it shouldn’t matter much.

The weird law of today is from Alabama, where it’s illegal to wear a fake mustache that causes laughter in church.

Today’s Word:

pogonophobia

As in:

Kyle Poole, 39, had been trying to decide on a new style of facial hair. He was not particularly known for such things, and wanted to pick something that suited him before he try and grow the real thing.

His plan was to wear some fake moustaches around town, where no one knew him, and see what people’s reaction would be. He choose a variety of styles, thick handlebar, a bushy walrus, a few in the Fu Manchu variations, and a few toothbrush styles.

Poole was not the sharpest spoon in the drawer. He was a blond headed, fair-skinned fellow, and he’d made the mistake of obtaining facial hair made of dark black materials. They were not the least bit convincing.

He thought the best places to test out his new looks were area churches. “After all,” he reasoned, “people who go to church are patient and tolerant, and kind.”

Unfortunately for Poole, those who go to church are also human.

He entered the first church, and introduced himself to the people he met, giving them a false name. Some parishioners were struck silent by the sight of a man with obviously artificial facial hair. Poole was unsure why everyone seemed so withdrawn.

He took a seat in the back. The service went uneventfully, until it was time for the pastor to speak. Five minutes into his weekly lesson, he caught a glimpse of Kyle Poole, with his large, black handle bar moustache, and blond head.

And he started to laugh. He couldn’t help it. This had to be a trick. He laughed until tears rolled down his face. He laughed until he couldn’t breathe. He laughed until he fell down. He died laughing.

The congregation had sat in awkward silence, trying to figure out what had possessed their pastor. When someone finally realized his distress and ran to his aid, he could do no more than shoot for help, and told someone to call emergency personnel. It was far too late.

Poole didn’t realize that it was his appearance that had caused the fit, and though distressed at what he saw, he continued with his plan.

Over the course of several weeks, Poole left a trail of victims. Not all of them died, of course. Some simply developed pogonophobia. Others simply stopped going to church for fear of seeing *that* man.

After trying all of his moustaches, Poole decided he didn’t like the way they tickled his nose, and decided he’d stay clean-shaven.

******************
A serial moustache murderer could very well be the root of this mysterious law. This story is dedicated to my friend, Dr. Tectonic, who has “dressed” his ‘stache in the widest variety of unique and creative fashions that I have ever seen.

pogonophobia / poe – GO – no – foe – bee – a / fear of beards. I know, a beard is no moustache, but, I couldn’t find a formal word for that fear. Why is there a word for the fear of a beard, but not one for the fear of a moustache? Who knows?

I had originally planned to send out another story tonight, but, fate intervened, and brought me a present. It would be bad manners to refuse, so, I am sharing that gift with you.

Today’s Word:

inconvenance

As in:

Lightning struck the six-story sculpture of Jesus Christ known officially as the “King of Kings.” The sculpture, a familiar landmark in southwest Ohio, burned to the ground, leaving nothing but a blackened steel frame.

As is often the case when religious icons are struck down by forces of nature, many attempt to interpret the meaning of this tragedy. “God is trying to tell us something,” says Mitchell Kent, a local minister. “He is angry with us for creating a graven image of our Lord and Savior. We must repent! Clearly, we have committed grave acts of inconvenance.”

Kent, not associated with the Solid Rock Church that owns the statue, said “This is but the latest in a series of judgements from on High, telling us we must change our ways. The disaster in the Gulf and the economic crisis are caused by the grave sins of this land, of which the most disastrous was the election of Satan to the highest office in the land. God is angry that we have turned our backs on Him, and embraced a demon of Islam.”

One local resident, who describes herself as a Neo-Norse Pagan, said “Clearly, this demonstrates the superiority of Thor, the God of Thunder, over that ridiculous healing-feeding-people love-freak. This round goes to the mighty Thor!”

Others are more skeptical. “Maybe it just means that God is against tasteless, grandiose statuary. Did you ever *look* at that thing? Jesus had no legs. He was pretty much a torso drowning in quick sand. There’s a reason people referred to the statue as ‘Touchdown Jesus.’ I’m Christian, but, I find the statue an eyesore.”

Of course, some offer a more simple explanation of the melting of Butter Jesus. “It could simply be that it was a very tall structure with a skeleton of steel, and it attracted lightning.”

*******************
I think that’ll do for tonight, don’t you?

inconvenance / in – CON – vin – ants / impropriety

I’ve been cooking up some ideas for some multi-part stories again. Well, actually, this time they will be each self-contained, but, variations on a theme. sorta like 13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird. I have no idea how many ways I will be looking at my various blackbirds, but you can bet it’ll be something akin to “as many times as I can look at that blackbird and milk it for story ideas.”

I’m feeling really sorry for the blackbird, let me tell you.

This is not one of those stories. I’m just giving you something to look forward to.

Today’s Word:

adventitious

As in:

The world is always stranger in truth than in fiction. I’ve always told my husband that, more than once. He’s a good sport about things, which is really good for me. No one deserves to have a freak show for a wife.

I’ve been hanging around this part of the world for 300 or so years, which is only one stripe on my personal freak flag. I broke that one to my husband first. I thought it might make him feel good, dating an older woman. And, if it bombed, then I’d know, and could get out of the whole thing before I told him the even weirder stuff.

He just sorta nodded. After he realized I wasn’t joking, he said, “Well, you don’t look a day over 200.” He sure knows how to charm a girl, doesn’t he?

Of course, most people would guess I am closer to thirty. I have a great metabolism, and moisturize. Never discount the value of a good moisturizer.

It is pretty unusual for my kind to live this long. Certainly, I don’t know of any, and I would know. Nature is weird. Sometimes the inexplicable just happens.

Like Clyde. There I was, minding my own business, running with my pack, who were hunting some buffalo. We had picked out a likely candidate, and were running him to ground, when my eye caught an adventitious buffalo, bison, watching intently.

Our eyes locked, and I knew, instantly. He was like me. He’d lived a long time, longer than any of his kind. After a quick bite, and my companions had drifted off in a food coma, I went to the very normal looking quadruped. We bonded over our mutual freakish condition, and I started to call him Clyde. Most people think the strangest thing about my pet is his species, and that I just replace him every few decades.

And before you get all excited about me hunting a threatened species, this was a few centuries ago, when the buffalo, bison, whatever it is, were plentiful. They’re pretty tasty, too. They’re still tasty, just not plentiful.

And yes, I said pack. I’m a werewolf. There. I said it. If I could wear my race with pride, out in the open and all, I might even call myself a “Lycanthrop-American,” but it sounds unbelievably pretentious. When you’ve run with the wolves, there isn’t much room for pretense.

That’s really my big secret. My husband, the mild-mannered chiropractor from Montana, is fine with all of this. One secret at a time, he just went with it all. And, if you think it’s weird being a 300 year-old werewolf with a pet bison, well, try finding someone who is willing to stick with a 300 year-old werewolf with a 200 year-old pet bison. Let me tell you, *that’s* much more rare.

*******************
It’s probably better not to ask where this idea came from. Not that I could really answer that question. So we’ll just leave it at that.

adventitious / ad – VENT – ish – us / accidentally intruding from an unexpected quarter

This weird little idea came to me tonight, and, as I had nothing better, well, it’s going to come to you too. Don’t thank me yet.

Today’s Word:

hypothimia

As in:

In your hour of need, call Home Comforters.

When tragedy strikes the most vulnerable among us, it is important to know who to call. Our experienced staff will come and sit with your Home, keeping it company, bringing the comfort and care most desperately needed.

It is no laughing matter. Whether your Home is grieving the loss of a shingle or of a whole roof, we’ll be there. When your Home is scared of the dark, and you can’t be there, we will be there.

Your Home is not just your biggest investment, it’s a member of your family. When it hurts from the pain of remodeling, or is facing the trials of tornado or termites, we provide strength.

There is no hypothimia we cannot heal. If your Home has become withdrawn, lost interest in life, and shows no pleasure in activities that once brought great joy, it is time to call the experts. Your Home deserves the best, and there is no other firm that can provide the amazing results of Home Comforters. We treat your Home like family.

It should be no surprise in this day of depressed Home prices that suicides amongst Homes have reached record levels. Don’t let this happen to your Home! We can bring your beloved dwelling back from the brink of despair, reconnecting it to loved ones, and making sure that its mental health needs are met.

Other firms may claim to have achieved excellent results in the field of Home Mental Health, but only Home Comforters, with its patented “Home Health Method,” has earned the certification as a licensed Home Healer. We are bonded and insured, so, your peace of mind can remain intake while we treat your Home’s peace of mind. Call now. You have nothing to lose but your Home.

**************

I think my Home is calling me. No, that would be my bed. Much better.

hypothimia / high – po – THEME – e – ah / Profound melancholy or mental prostration.

I am not completely convinced that the universe is allowing time to elapse at the same rate for me as it does for other people. I think I’m losing about 2-3 hours everyday. If anyone has seen them or has extra hours they can send my way, that’d be terrific.

Today’s Word:

indocible