Heroes and Hierophants

Contents

Week 0: Introductions

Week 1: Obituary (assigned by Doug)

Week 2: What’s Aaron Doing? (assigned by Noel)

Week 3: Children’s Story (assigned by Marc)

Week 4: December 21st, 2012 (assigned by Doug)

Week 5: Imaginary Review (assigned by Noel)

Week 6: Dialogue (assigned by Marc)

Week 7: Prequel Or Sequel (assigned by Doug)

Week 8: The King Of Beacon Cycle (assigned by Noel)

Week 9: Reinventing The Remix (assigned by Marc)

Week 10: E-Prime (assigned by Doug)

Week 11: Barrel Of A Gun (assigned by Noel)

Week 12: Past Lives (assigned by Marc)

Week 13: Fan Letter (assigned by Doug)

Week 14: The 14th Letter (assigned by Noel)

Week 15: Dreams (assigned by Marc)

Week 16: The Hypothetical Female (assigned by Doug)

Week 17: The Scene Of The Crime (assigned by Noel)

Week 18: School Bus (assigned by Marc)

Week 19: Track-By-Track (assigned by Doug)

Week 20: The Rubber Band Gun (assigned by Noel)

Week 21: Speech (assigned by Marc)

Week 22: Weekly Whack (assigned by Doug)

Week 23: Interactive Fiction (assigned by Noel)

Week 24: Insensatography (assigned by Marc)

Week 25: Text Message (assigned by Doug)

Week 26: It’s The Crew! (assigned by Noel)

Week 27: Instructions (assigned by Marc)

Week 28: I Ching (assigned by Doug)

Week 29: Monsters (assigned by Noel)

Week 30: Genealogy (assigned by Marc)

Week 31: Motel Room (assigned by Doug)

Week 32: The Eye In The Triangle (assigned by Noel)

Week 33: Meta Press Conference (assigned by Marc)

Week 34: Inner-Radio Talk Show Host (assigned by Doug)

Week 35: True Childhood Story (assigned by Noel)

Week 36: Harold The Barrel (assigned by Marc)

Week 37: Syllabus (assigned by Doug)

Week 38: Biff Bam Pow (assigned by Noel)

Week 39: My Life Is A Lie (assigned by Marc)

Week 40: Commercials (assigned by Doug)

Week 41: Gimme That New-Time Religion (assigned by Noel)

Week 42: Forever 42 (assigned by Marc)

Week 43: 10 Weeks To Go! (assigned by Doug)

Week 44: The Perfect Crime (assigned by Noel)

Week 45: Multiverse (assigned by Marc)

Week 46: 2 Letters (Doug)

Week 47: Santa Claus (assigned by Noel)

Week 48: The Crew Elders Book Quiz (assigned by Marc)

Week 49: BroFest 2004 (assigned by Doug)

Week 50: Free Topic (assigned by Noel)

Week 51: Alternate Routes (assigned by Marc)

Week 52: The Next Life

Week 0: Introductions

Write your introduction. Paste it into the document.

• DOUG – Here Comes the Stereotype

• MARC – Possible Intros

• NOEL – Another One In The Bag

Here Comes the Stereotype: An Introduction

It all began during the first minutes of 2009. I was on a conference call with Marcus D’Ambrose and Noel Rogers when I first laid out the blueprint for this book. Each week the three of us would take turns giving each other short writing assignments to complete in two pages more or less. Fifty-two weeks, 156 assignments, and over 400 pages later… this book was born.

Beyond that the book pretty much speaks for itself in its vastness, diversity, and earnestness of the effort put forth by three friends who thrive on creating together. This is a book for people who may not make a living by writing, but who still consider themselves writers. Marc, Noel, and I are all writers. No matter how old we get, no matter what jobs we work, no matter how few readers we have… we are all writers. This book is for people just like us. People who despite what direction life took them, they never stopped writing.

Writers, however, do not have much without readers. And with that thought, I want to personally thank anybody who takes the time to read this book. I can’t guarantee that you will like everything in it, but I’m sure that if you give it a shot, you’ll find something that will entertain, enlighten, or enliven your mind and creative spirit. While it may lack the polish that most books on the bestseller list have, its rough edges are exactly what allow this book to explore depths and heights that those books cannot. If you want to be continually taken to a wide variety of places that no other book could take you to, then this is the book for you.

Happy reading!

Douglas Palermo

May 29th, 2010

Lake Hiawatha, NJ

(I would like to use this space to thank the following people who helped support my first book: John and Cathy Palermo, Joe Hewitt, Linda and Bruce Hill, Michael Palermo, Hobby Britos, Steve Stanlick, Marc D’Ambrose, and Noel Rogers. Because of your aid, Learning to Live: Early Writings has reached and continues to reach the audience it was meant to. Thanks!)

Possible Intros

Self-Referential

Marcus Anthony D’Ambrose was born on February 27, 1978. He grew up in Vineland, NJ where he lived until 2009. During the year this book was written, he moved up to North Jersey. Currently he lives in Clifton and teaches elementary school in Jersey City. Marcus wrote his first poem, ‘Never, More Than Friends’ in January 1993. Since then his writings have appeared in many unofficial publications, including: Here and Now, Phenakistoskope, Title Here, The Acorn, The Feff World Guestbook, The Invisible Comic Book, Poemfish (a mini-book,) and LiveJournal. In 2000 Marcus won the Robert Fisher Oxnam Award in Playwriting for his self-referential masterpiece ‘In Between Your Legs.’ As Executive Producer of D.U.S.T., he co-produced a number of programs including: Fabulous Confabulations, The Towel Boy Dances, Raw Dog, Alive ‘n Good, For Tobacco Use Only, and Philosophy of Religion. Marcus has appeared prominently in other artists’ works, most notably in the books of his friends Noel Rogers and Douglas Palermo. In addition, Marcus, a.k.a. Towel Boy, is a main character in the internet comic strip It’s The Crew! In 2000 he received a BA in Philosophy from Drew University. He received elementary teaching certification in 2003, and has since taught grades 1, 2, 4 and 5. Marcus also worked as a Behavioral Assistant, providing in-home counseling to at-risk youth and their families. Marcus has two parents, one brother, two cats, and a tribe of cronies.

Self-Deprecating

Marcus D’Ambrose is mediocre at best. His two favorite themes are sex and science fiction. Although obviously talented, Marcus suffers from laziness, lack of discipline, and self-doubt, all of which prevent him from letting go and actualizing his full potential. He also thinks too much. The end result is a self-referential labyrinth of foppish fantasies, insanely intricate in-jokes, and an obscene amount of unabashed alliteration.

Self-Indulgent

Marcus D’Ambrose is a teacher, lover, and hero. His style is inimitable. He is adored by children, the elderly, and cats. Marcus fell in love before pre-school. He has an uncanny sense of empathy. Marcus strives to expand his conscious awareness while helping others in the process. In the distant future techno-angel hybrids recreate Marcus in their genetic bathtubs, where he endlessly amalgamates the dream of all possible lives.

Self-Aware

I am a late-bloomer. If the average human lifespan increases to over 100 years, that may be enough time for me to get my shit together. That’s why I’m grateful this was a joint effort. With friends like Doug and Noel, I was able to defeat my greatest enemy—myself. This book was written during a period of struggle, flux and novelty. Most of it seems amusing, but now sadly irrelevant. Any attempt to define me based on this work alone will come close, but inevitably fall short of the Marc.

Marcus D’Ambrose

May 29, 2010

Clifton, NJ

ANOTHER ONE IN THE BAG: Introduction

I would like to say I remember how this book project began. I would like to begin with a recollection of when Doug first reached out to me at the end of 2008 and explained the idea of this book to me. But I don’t remember any of that. Maybe it was the drugs destroying my short term memory, or maybe I just wasn’t paying attention. But I assume something like that happened, because during the course of 2009 we were writing weekly essays, or stories, or poems, or whatever that week’s assignment was. History is a lie that we tell ourselves to explain the present, so I construct comforting fictions to explain the gaps in my memory.

Something like this:

On New Year’s Eve I’m going to e-mail you and Marc a topic. We all write it, one to two pages single-spaced. We have a week to do it. Then the next week you e-mail a topic to us. Then Marc. We’ll do it for the whole year, and then we’ll publish it.

I probably said something like this in response:

Fuck yeah!

I am prone to swearing.

I met Douglas Palermo and Marcus D’Ambrose in the fall of 1996, at a college that I was already working at failing out of. Doug and Marc didn’t fail out, but for some reason the three of us stayed in close contact and remained great friends for the next decade plus. Kurt Vonnegut wrote of the karass, a group of people brought together, often without realizing it, to do God’s will on Earth. It may be presumptious for me to claim that the three of us (and a few related associates) are just such a karass, but fuck it when has presumption ever stopped me before?

So: this book. The three of us are writers. We have been writing for a combined damn near hundred years at this point, and I think that’s pretty impressive. But we never really worked on a project together.. Then the three of us came together like Voltron to create this book, which is so big you could seriously bludgeon someone to death with it, and that’s even more impressive.

I guess I should add that I do not actually recommend that you bludgeon someone to death with this book. My lawyer was insistent that I mention that.

I should also add that this assignment was a blast. Sometimes it was painful, sometimes it was tortured, and I’ll be completely honest, I phoned it in like half the time. Waited until the last minute and made a mad dash to type something up from the cacophony of voices in my head before the deadline was up. In my defense I am a pretty talented guy and me phoning it in still made for some good writing. I guess you’ll have to decide that on your own.

History may well be a lie we tell ourselves, but it is also written by the victor, and after making it through this year-long writing project I feel like all three of us are indeed victorious.

And now it’s just history to me.

Noel Rogers

May 29, 2010

Beacon, NY

Week 1: Obituary (assigned by Doug)

First assignment is to write a newspaper article about one of us as if we just died. I will write one on Marc. Marc will write one on Noel. Noel will write one on me. Keep it in the present. Only fictional aspect of it should be the person dying. The rest is to be factual- or at least based on facts.

• DOUG – Dancing With Jesus: The Death Of Towel Boy

• NOEL – To Die Before You Die: The Strange Death Of Doug The Kidd

• MARC – Noelbituary

Dancing With Jesus: The Death of Towel Boy

The underground amateur improvisational expressive dance community was sent into mourning yesterday by the untimely death of Marcus Anthony D’Ambrose, a much respected pioneer of their little known, and less appreciated art form.

Known primarily by his show name, Towel Boy, D’Ambrose came from the sprawling South New Jersey suburb of Vineland. Little is known of his upbringing, but individuals close to his family report that it certainly involved large amounts of pasta… and yelling. It has been speculated that growing up on a high carbohydrate diet forced D’Ambrose to seek constant exercise, and the turmoil of living amidst constant yelling led him to seek alternative forms of expressing his potent emotional states. According to legend, it was these two forces working together that resulted in the birth of the Towel Boy Dances.

In the summer of 1996, D’Ambrose left Vineland and headed north to Madison, New Jersey, where he would spend the next four years studying at Drew University. As a student at Drew, D’Ambrose read philosophy, but it was his extra-curricular activities that made him a cult phenomenon. It was a fateful evening during his sophomore year, while working as a technician for Drew University Student Television, that Marcus Anthony D’Ambrose inadvertently created the Towel Boy Dances. Film producer, and longtime friend of D’Ambrose, Colin Webb, remembers the day fondly:

"Marc was a respected figure at DUST. He was executive producer of our most popular show, Fabulous Confabulations, and everybody around the studio admired his strong work ethic and humble ‘behind the scenes’ attitude. Then one night while we were cleaning up after a taping, he just started dancing. No one knew why he was dancing, but we could not stop watching. It was like if John Coltrane never played the saxophone and could only talk to God through sign language. That was Towel Boy Dancing."

Webb had the foresight to record these first Towel Boy dances, and what followed was an underground phenomenon. Dr. Guy Pastena, a Drew student at the time, recalls:

At first I saw these dances, and I was like, ‘Wow, that guy’s got WAY too much time on his hands.’ Then I watched some more, and I became more like, ‘Where are my priorities that I am not allowing myself MORE time to do stuff like this?’ It was the Towel Boy dances that inspired me to become a healer.

Roommate at the time, Russell Sprague added this:

Towel Boy Dances, forget about it. That was what all the campus was talking about. We couldn’t get enough of them. Everywhere he went people would point and shout, ‘That’s that Towel Boy!’ and ‘Do the Towel Boy Dances!’ Marc loved it at first, but eventually it grew tiresome. I remember once he actually shaved his head hoping that he wouldn’t be recognized.

The Towel Boy Dance phenomenon lasted for over two more years at Drew, but with the anxieties surrounding graduation increasing, Towel Boy Dances quickly grew out of vogue. Economist, and Drew student at the time, Manu Singhal remembers the end:

Yeah, Towel Boy Dances were big for awhile. I even remember my friend Chris Steen use to do them as an ab workout. But the bottom line was that all the Towel Boy dancing in the world couldn’t pay back student loans.

With college over, and the Towel Boy Dance craze ended, D’Ambrose quickly slipped into obscurity. It wasn’t until several years later that interest in Towel Boy Dancing rekindled among a new generation. Colin Webb explains:

I missed my friend. I heard he fell on some real hard times. As a way to relive some of the glory days I put some of the old Towel Boy Dances on that YouTube all the kids seem to look at nowadays. Once again the magic of the Towel Boy Dances captured the hearts of souls of all those that truly have hearts and souls.

Despite the new interest in Towel Boy Dances, D’Ambrose was still nowhere to be found. Rumor had it that he was teaching in the New Jersey public school system. His new fans, however, refused to believe it. As college sophomore, and organizer of last year’s ‘Towel Boy Dance for Peace’ demonstration, Paul Godmore put it:

Teacher… no way. Towel Boy is a GENIUS. Towel Boy is no teacher.

Shifty capitalist Noel Rogers attempted to cash-in on the new found appreciation for the works of D’Ambrose by using his images in his short-lived and much-maligned ItsTheCrew.Net venture. Old-time friend of D’Ambrose, Peter Magyar, protested:

That Rogers will do anything to make a buck. But this time he took it too far. You can’t sell Towel Boy! Towel Boy is ours!

In the end, the lifeless body of ‘Towel Boy’ was found in the Vineland home of his parents at 42 Victory Avenue by a cleaning lady. The anonymous cleaning lady had this to say about the discovery:

His mama… she put lot of pressure on him. He must clean house before I come. Too much pressure for the heart. He dance with Jesus now.

Marcus Anthony D’Ambrose is survived by his mother Maria, his father Gary, his brother Michael, Cousin Nino, countless ex-girlfriends, and scores of adoring fans.

Reality-riddled, spiritual war veteran Douglas Palermo released this comment to the press upon hearing of the death of D’Ambrose:

Towel Boy dead? Nah… Towel Boy ain’t dead. As long as you have little kids, and crazy bitches, and some guy dressed like a shark… all dancing on stage together… then Towel Boy lives!

TO DIE BEFORE YOU DIE: The Strange Death Of Doug The Kidd

Teacher. Lover. Fighter. Author. High school football aficionado. These are all accurate ways to describe Douglas Peter The Kidd Palermo. One description that is no longer accurate, however, is living – not since 8:51 last night, when Palermo was found dead in the Beacon, NY home of long-time associate Noel Rogers, due to causes the authorities will only describe as natural.

Long considered the favorite son of the sleepy suburban hamlet of Hopatcong, New Jersey, Douglas Palermo first popped up on the national scene in 1995 as head writer for the hit underground webzine Feff World. Feff World co-founder Joe Hewitt had this to say: Feff World? Really? You want to know about Feff World? You know I also worked on Mozilla Firefox, right? And Facebook? Ask me about Facebook. Go on, ask me! Famous not only for its witty satirical content – such as Doug’s online journal that pre-dated the rise of the blogging era by a half-decade, but also for its guestbook, a thriving online community that is cited by many as the prototype for MySpace and the aforementioned Facebook.

In 1996 Douglas graduated high school and matriculated to Drew University in sunny Madison, NJ. He would stay at this acclaimed institution of higher learning for the next four years – not including weekends during high school football season – and indeed, it was at Drew University that Palermo would fatefully meet two individuals whose lives would forever afterward be linked with his: Marcus D’Ambrose and Noel Rogers. In addition, Palermo crossed paths with many other well-known minor celebrities, including cable-access personality Aaron Kliger and online legend Russell Willaman Sprague.

Aaron Kliger, informed of Palermo’s demise, had this to say: Oh? Where’s your so-called karmic laws now, Doug? Doot-da-doot-da-do! It’s all so real! He then proceeded to make a unique shuffling motion with his arms. In contrast, when Russell Sprague was asked for a comment on his fallen comrade, he became indignant and said You mean you didn’t already read it in my LiveJournal?

While at Drew University Palermo pursued his dream of becoming a stand-up comic. He wrote jokes for Johnny Lampert, a local comedian, including the infamous blue muff joke that got Lampert ran out of Tuscaloosa on a rail. Palermo also performed his own material, both at the college’s open mic nights and also at local clubs. The majority of his act, dealing with masturbation and porn, was deemed too offensive in those more rigid days of the late 1990s. But some said he was a genius nonetheless. He was like Lenny Bruce without the junk, you know? said single mother Diane Barber. A white Richard Pryor. I am proud to say I got to see two comedians while they were still alive – Bill Hicks and Doug The Kidd. Others who didn’t get him at the time have re-evaluated him in death. I admit it, I heckled him something fierce at this one show, said New Jersey architect John Petersen. What can I say? I was a total douchebag. A lone comedy album, How To Procrastinate And Not Get Laid, is the only record of this remarkable if brief career.

After graduating from Drew, Palermo began a brief tour of teaching in the Bronx, in the same school building legendary creator of hip-hop Kool Herc once urinated on while drunkenly walking home from one of his seminal block party performances. It was here that he began compiling his magnum opus, Learning To Live. Published by iUniverse in 2004, this book was a collection of Doug’s writings from the previous decade. It was swiftly followed up by a sequel, Living To Learn in 2005, a second anthology of writings including the famous Muff People essay. This was in turn followed in 2007 by his most popular book, a personal account of spiritual triumph – I Whacked Off In All Fifty States. David Foster Wallace, wunderkind author of Infinite Jest said, of this book, I only masturbated in 49 states… I guess that’s why Doug’s a genius! Integral philosopher Ken Wilber, who also wrote the introduction, had this to say This is a book for all four quadrants!

But it was in 2004 that Douglas Palermo would begin the venture that would gain him the most notoriety and controversy, the infamous and inflammatory webcomic It’s The Crew! This comic, a bizarre mélange of stolen photographs, crude photo-shopping and toilet humor, would reach national prominence in the end of 2004 when Palermo and ITC co-creators Noel Rogers and Marcus D’Ambrose entered a pig in that year’s presidential election. Called Pigasus W, this thinly-disguised publicity stunt made It’s The Crew! a household name overnight. But it was not without its detractors – It’s not even funny, said fellow Drew alumnus Chris Stave. And it always uses the same font! Why do they need to use such explicit language and drug use in their work? asked the mustachioed Peter Magyar. Co-creator and main ITC writer Noel Rogers had this to say: "Yeah, there’s lots of in-jokes. You get them when you’re in-lightened." Regardless, It’s The Crew! ended unceremoniously in 2007 when Noel Rogers entered a long and unfruitful depression, and Palermo was to begin his greatest adventure yet: teaching history to kids.

For the next year Palermo would continue to teach history, for those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it, and it seemed he would continue to teach history (and perhaps coach high school football as well) for the rest of his days. It was not to be, or rather the rest of his days were very short, ending sadly last night in Beacon, NY, where Douglas Palermo was found dead on Rogers’s couch, a deflated balloon in his hand a sign of his whimsical nature to the last.

He is survived by his parents Johnny and Linda, his brothers Michael and Christopher, and his nephews Sean John, Ecko and Rocawear.

Noelbituary

Writer. Antagonist. Self-proclaimed prophet, visionary, and genius. Noel Robert Rogers, 31, of Fishkill, NY passed away two days ago at his parent’s home, apparently of heart failure. Apart from a brief period spent living in Baltimore, MD, Noel was a lifetime resident of Fishkill, NY. He graduated from Beacon High School in 1996 and went on to attend Drew University for one semester, before transferring to Duchess Community College. In Baltimore he worked as a web developer for Carpe Diem, Inc. and as a cashier at the local Stop ‘n Shop. After returning to Beacon, he briefly worked at Marshall’s before being hired by Staples, where he worked as manager until his untimely death. The rest of the Noel Rogers story is a surreal tale of ego on the fringe—a nearly forgotten fabricator of our future.

One of Noel’s closest and dearest friends Attila Szendrodi laments, Ultimately the fast food and lack of exercise did him in. Sometimes I sit close to his old computer. It is still warm with his presence.

Born with a genius IQ in a family of geniuses, Noel struggled through most of his early childhood. He was persecuted by his peers and often labeled as an outcast and troublemaker. These experiences translated into his writing and art, which became his passion and ultimate life mission. Noel often counted himself among those individuals whose true contribution to history and human development often go unrecognized until years after their death. Consequently, Noel preferred seclusion and the company of a few trusted friends. Despite self-publishing his first and only book, If You Don’t Give Me Heaven, Noel’s creativity went largely ignored except for a small cult following of friends and reluctant admirers. Ironically, the book is now required reading in Contemporary Lit courses across the country. As a consequence, or perhaps as a self-fulfilling prophecy, Noel Rogers’ posthumous material is now in high demand, largely due to the efforts of his friends Marcus D’Ambrose and Douglas Palermo.

Noelie was my best friend for over 10 years, Marcus says, He left behind a huge body of work, quite an accomplishment considering how much time he wasted on comic books and video games. Collectively, his writings display a steady pattern of growth: the development of a political philosophy, spiritual exploration, caustic social commentary, and of course, serious god knowledge. We wish to see his collected wisdom disseminated among the 85% of the population that is still cognitively asleep. Therefore, we’ve made every effort to properly present the late Noel Rogers to the world. Lord knows he didn’t care about that while he was alive.

The friends’ efforts include a recent blitz of book publications which have propelled the previously unheard of Noel Rogers to the status of greatest writer of the 21st century...so far. Ms. Justine Swallow, Lead Editor at Paragon Publishing commented, Frankly a lot of his stuff is way over my head, but it’s selling like hot cakes! The Noel Rogers zeitgeist has also spread to the movie and television industry. Aaron Kliger, former friend of Noel, has refused to acknowledge reports that his part in the planned film adaptation of It’s The Crew! was offered to Andy Milonakis.

It’s The Crew! proved to be Noel’s most controversial creation since the infamous Stigmata Shoppe, for which he was expelled from Our Lady of Lords Catholic Elementary School in the eighth grade. Christopher Stave, another former friend of Noel, says this of the legendary self-referential comic strip: He thought he was so clever, cropping us all into fancy backgrounds and putting speech balloons in our mouths. Nobody but those guys thought it was funny…or good.

Nevertheless, the comic did develop a cult following on the Internet, and all five seasons were published in book form just before Noel’s death. However, an equally strong negative reaction emerged from those who criticized the comic as being full of vague in-jokes and blatantly bombastic new age propaganda. Discouraged and disillusioned, Noel abandoned the comic strip format for a straight novel version that ultimately proved more successful.

While It’s The Crew’s Movie! is halted in pre-production due to several pending lawsuits, another film based on Rogers’ short story Panopticon is due for release this May. His dark-comic masterpiece My Dead Ego will appear as an animated series on HBO next fall. It stars Steve Buscemi as the dead-but-doesn’t-know-it protagonist, Wormwood. Movie director Steven Soderburgh is abandoning all film projects to produce the series, which will feature his trademark style of rotoscope animation.

One wonders how Rogers, a well-known recluse, would have reacted to such artistic recognition. Noel would probably feel vindicated, maybe a bit more confident, says friend and co-athor Douglas Palermo, but he would still hate you all.

Week 2: What’s Aaron Doing? (assigned by Noel)

A two-page fictional account of what Aaron Kliger is doing these days.

• NOEL – A Is For Aaron

• MARC – From the Journal of Aaron Kliger…

• DOUG – One Last Smoke With Aaron

A IS FOR AARON

A white room. Not white like the proverbial padded room, not even hospital white… more like hotel white, with muted brown and neutral pink thrown into the mix for variety’s sake. It was a hotel room, of course, which only served to strengthen that comparison.

Above: the ceiling fan was spinning lazily, as if circulating air wasn’t quite worth the effort. Whrumm-whrumm-whrumm was the sound it made as it made its rounds.

Aaron Kliger was lying on the bed, staring up at the fan and channeling Apocalypse Now. Each time I looked around, the walls moved in a little tighter. Whrumm-whrumm-whrumm-whrumm. Every minute I stay in this room, I get weaker.

At that moment, the red security phone went off like a car alarm. Aaron stood up, brushed the Ritz cracker crumbs from off his clothes, and ambled over to the phone as it beeped and flashed.

Aaron? The tinny voice on the other end said. This is General Kincaid. We have an emergency down at Alpha Lab. Come down right away.

Aye-aye. Aaron hung up, shrugged to himself, and left the room.

As he drove to Alpha Lab, Aaron thought back on the strange circumstances that lead him here. Once he had friends. Once he had a job, a career. Once he had a second-hand bass guitar. But he had traded all that away to find himself, and what had he found? He found himself at thirty years old, still as lost and confused as he was that traumatic time his house burned down in his childhood.

And I never found Mr. Sniffles again, he muttered to himself, brushing away a faint tear as he thought of his long-lost teddy bear, taken by the flames some twenty-odd years ago.

Aaron drove the rest of the way in silence, Nastradamus the soundtrack to his trip. God love us hood niggas, Nas said on the stereo. Aaron nodded. It was a hard point to argue.

At Alpha Lab they were ready for him.

Alright, Aaron, this is the situation, said General Kincaid, gruff but paternal, his grandfatherly mustache a reminder to Aaron of all the father figures in his life that had abandoned or betrayed him, from his own father on down the line. At oh-nine-hundred hours a heavily mutated fifty-foot tall Amy Winehouse crawled from the sea and has been making a slow but devastating beeline towards the center of the city.

Again? Another giant mutated celebrity clone? Where are they coming from? In the past month Aaron had already been called out to deal with a giant Paris Hilton, a colossal Dane Cook and an overgrown Madonna on the rampage. It seemed like whatever that hole in the ozone layer had done, or maybe it was rampant stem cell research, whatever caused it, giant mutant celebrities were now a force to be reckoned with.

America needs you, Aaron. General Kincaid’s eyes twinkled with benevolence, like a kindly neighborhood shopkeep. With a sidearm.

Against Amy Winehouse? Why don’t they just build a trail of giant crack rocks back to the ocean and hope she leaves on her own?

America needs you. That’s all you need to know. For some strange reason, your unique biology is the only kind that can interface with the mysterious giant fighting robots that are only known as—

Angels?

Attack-O-Trons. Don’t get this confused with some weak-ass anime.

Alright, I get it. Save the world from giant mutant celebrities. My only question is, how come it never gets reported on the news? I should be a national hero! Some old school friend of mine puts out a kid on fire and I read about it in the news out here. I saved Silicon Valley from the Fred Durst/Minotaur hybrid and some Harry Potter book makes the news instead.

Any word of your activities got out, it could destabilize our entire society. Now go report to Tech Area 3 and get prepped for Attack-O-Tron deployment.

Amy Winehouse’s giant mutant clone was even less successful at standing up and walking straight than her source original, and it wasn’t hard for Aaron Kliger, top secret battle-mech pilot, to knock her down. Then it was simply a matter of tearing her head from her shoulders to prevent further aggression and then burning the entire corpse with built-in flamethrowers, so there would be no evidence.

Afterwards, on the flight back to Alpha Lab, Aaron popped a Slick Rick cassette into the Attack-O-Tron’s tape deck and thought about his battle. After all the prep work – the briefing, the sterilization, the suiting up, the dozens of pre-flight tests the engineers had to make, this quick and painless skirmish seemed almost—

Anticlimactic. Yes, that’s the word for it. Aaron smiled to himself, a smile of ironic detachment masking a life of existential void. I need a Jack and Coke.

As an afterthought, and with a wink to the fourth wall, he added, But not in that order.

From the Journal of Aaron Kliger...

c. 2004

I woke up from a horrible nightmare, one of the few that I am able to recall vividly. I was back at the UC Desk at Drew. The phone rang, and I answered it. It was Towel Boy. He said there was a party happening at Riker and that I should come right away. As I walked toward the dorm I noticed megaphones on all the lampposts, blaring Iron Maiden’s ‘Mark of the Beast.’ Suddenly Russ’s voice shouted, Craziest Reality Ever!

Next thing I’m standing in the bathroom of our old quad. Pete is playing guitar and sipping absynthe. Doug and Marc are laughing at me saying, Aaron Kliger, you’re the lamest character ever! Then Sarah shoved a funnel up my ass and poured her vodka tonic into it. I woke up ejaculating.

Who says ejaculate anymore?

c. 2004

I am at the UC desk. The new UC desk. These college kids are mostly lame idiots. Found a few promising ones though. I will be their Jeremy Piven. My mission is simply to take over some aspect of this school the same way I did at Drew. The TV studio is an obvious first start. Great, my life is now on a loop.

c. 2005

Sometimes I feel like my life is one giant farce. I mean, what have I really accomplished? What have I done to make this world a better place? Most human pursuits are utterly futile, but there has to be something or someone to believe in besides Noam Chomsky. My problem is that my whole life people have let me down. My dad let me down. Sarah let me down. All my friends at Drew...even fucking Towel Boy said I could come live with him and then changed his mind the next fucking day.

c. 2006

I am not Aaron Kliger. I am a collection of probability waves, conglomerating chemicals and firing neurons. My thoughts are alien to me, the ramblings of some incessant madman who wants desperately to be LET OUT. I am not Aaron Kliger. He is a fictional character. Is any of this real? Doubtful. I’m swimming in a sea of absurdity.

c. 2006

Today I arranged an entire box of magnetic poetry alphabetically.

c. 2006

Moved back home today. The familiar surroundings make me feel better than I have in a long time. Mom is out right now. I rolled a joint and plan to start re-watching The Wire.

c. 2006

I am the Jackson Pollock of spackling.

c. 2007

Why can’t people realize that things just ARE?

c. 2008

Well that’s it for this journal. I’ve been looking back and it’s painfully obvious that none of this is who I really am…anymore. I started it with the intention of it being a springboard for writing a book. A real book, not some lame self-published collection of stuff I wrote back in high school. It seems that all my writings just degenerate into self-referential ramblings. What the hell happened? Suddenly ten years have gone by. My internal dialogue is quieter. Strangely enough, it has only increased my sense of urgency. The less I pay attention to the thoughts running through my head the more in the moment I become.

c. 2007

I wonder what happened to Sarah.

c. 2008

Made the mistake of looking at itsthecrew.net. It seems Marc Noel and Doug have a new friend named Attila. If this guy is as lame in real life as he is a fictional character, I’m sure glad I got out when I did. Still, every once in a while, I miss those guys.

c. 2009

No I don’t.

One Last Smoke With Aaron

Aaron sat at a bench overlooking the Hudson River as he waited for his mom’s train to come in. He just finished work at his aunt’s and uncle’s film production company and made the routine drive to the Dobbs Ferry train station to pick up his mom, who was coming home from her job at the Museum of Natural History.

As he sat silently, staring at the reflection of the clouds on the river, an older man wearing khaki pants and a black hooded sweatshirt stood above Aaron and pointed to the empty seat next to him.

You mind if I sit here? The man asked Aaron.

Aaron silently nodded in assent, and the man took the empty seat.

You wanna smoke? The man asked as he reached into the pocket of his sweatshirt and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and an orange Bic lighter.

Sure. Aaron replied with a non-committal tone.

Attaboy! The man said as he handed Aaron a Camel cigarette. He quickly lit Aaron’s cigarette and then his own.

Non-filtered. Aaron casually said while examining the cigarette after taking a long drag.

You better believe it. The man said. I love the feeling of smoke in my lungs.

That’s funny, Aaron replied, I once knew a guy who said that. He smoked the same kind.

Aaron and the man sat quietly together, smoking their cigarettes while watching the river through a haze of smoke.

You know, I’d take this smoke over that river any goddamn day. The man said, breaking the silence.

Startled by the comment, Aaron looked at the man, and then slowly back to the river.

Water flows down, The man explained, smoke RISES.

Aaron raised a suspicious eyebrow as he looked at the man through the corner of his eyes.

Water is transitory, but gives off the illusion of permanence. Smoke is transitory, but creates no illusion.

Excuse me? Aaron asked, now slightly intrigued by the man.

That river, The man said, pointing to the Hudson, It ain’t the same river that was there when I sat down.

You can never cross the same river twice. Aaron reflexively quoted from memory.

Exactly! The man said excitedly, But it definitely looks like the same goddamn river.

That’s true. Aaron concurred.

Friends are like that. The man said bluntly.

Aaron looked at the man silently.

You could know some people for years, The man continued while standing up, flicking his cigarette butt out in front of him, and they could look the same, they could talk the same, and they could even act the same… He paused and looked directly at Aaron, But goddamnitt they ain’t ever the same!

Aaron was still silent.

They’re like the fucking river… The man said as he sat back down. Slowly eroding our souls.

Aaron dropped his cigarette butt on the ground in front of him and stomped it out with his foot.

You got to understand that while friends are like the river, people are like smoke. The man proceeded with. They are only really here an instant and then they’re gone. And if you fool yourself into trying to get them to last forever then all the fucking smoke will suffocate you from the inside. In the end you’ll just be left spitting up the sticky residues of your broken memories.

Aaron resigned himself to simply stare at the river, allowing the man to say his full.

Just let them be smoke, and you too will be smoke… and together we shall RISE.

The man got up and began to walk away.

You want another cigarette? The man paused to ask.

No thanks. Aaron replied, slyly grinning to himself. I quit.

Attaboy! The man said. And then he was gone.

Week 3: Children’s Story (assigned by Marc)

Write a children’s story. Either a complete piece or a chapter excerpt (include title of imaginary book.) Must be written for 8th grade or younger and cannot contain any previously written material. Aside from that, anything goes.

• MARC – Time Warriors: Episode 1 - Quandary of the Quadrants

• DOUG – Jimmy’s First High School Football Game

• NOEL – Emerson & Pete in: None So Blind

Time Warriors: Episode 1 - Quandary of the Quadrants

Chapter 2: Gym Class Heroes

Gym class was the worst part of the day. Christian felt like his flesh was slipping off his skin as he stood on the vast expanse of black tar that was the Sacred Heart School playground. His view of the soccer game was distorted not only by the blinding sun overhead but by ripples of heat radiating from the ground. He tried to pick a wedgie without anyone looking, but as soon as his hand touched the back of his sweaty shorts two things happened. He heard girlish giggling, looked over and saw Michelle and her friends laughing at him, and then something smacked him hard in the face. He saw a bright flash followed by blackness as his skin slammed onto the burning ground.

The soccer ball rolled across the concrete and was picked up my Mr.