Here today, here tomorrow.

M (Also known as Dr.T, praise be unto him) has trouble sleeping. Every time he rolls into another position, he feels for a moment that it is cool enough to help him drift into sleep, only to find himself thinking about a hundred vagaries after a few minutes. The vicious cycle of more thought thrown in to sedate all thoughts leads him down the slippery slope of restless frustration.

Outside, the cold fog rolls in from the ocean, a wispy mist that soon turns into a thick soup.

Ms thoughts flit between his wealth, his toe, and the impermanence of crispy fried chicken.

M's Insignificant aide (Ia, woe unto him and his ignorant lot) opens the door a crack, and after a brief pause, whispers

Ia: Lunch is served sire.

M: What the f**k have you been smoking, you two-pence whore?!! Lunch? Do you know what time it is? Its three f**king twenty in the AM!! Now begone before I slam that door on your stupid head.

Ia: Does that mean you will not be eating, O esteemed leader?

Dragonslayer

Dark clouds creep up out of the forsaken lands in the west and begin to sap out the life from a spotless blue sky. The thunder is strangled by the distance and the flickering lightning flashes quietly, deep in the bellows of the storm. The wise know, however, that it is only a matter of hours before all hail will break loose as the heavens spew out their anger.

M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him) surveys the sky with an all-knowing gaze, as his insignificant aide (Ia, curses be unto him and his ignorant lot) watches M intently.

Ia: Pray tell, what does your mind see, O esteemed one?

M:--

Ia: My Lord, what do those clouds in the distance portend?

M: Silence, worm!!

M closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. He senses her. He can smell her presence. He feels her heartbeat.

He can hear her scream from leagues away as all her primordial senses boil into a determined arrow. Her mind is now pointed solely at her destination; she becomes a lethal bird of prey.

M falls to the ground on his knees, fumbling through his bag, and pulls out his weapon as his heart pounds in his chest.

She screams, closer to her target now, and seems to take on a different form as her gaze intensifies. Ia, who has soiled his pants, lies face down on the grass with his hands to his ears, mumbling the prayer of the ancients. M tries to allay his fears.

M: What the f**k have you been smoking, man!! Why you scared so?

Ia looks up feebly and looks around. In the distance, he sees a state trooper approaching fast.

Ia: Sire, we have company.

M: Fiyck!! Time to run, my man.

M packs his SLR back into his bag fast as he can as they run to their beat up old Corolla to hide the camera. The state trooper stops behind them and walks over.

M: Hello, officer. What seems to be the problem.

State Trooper: Good afternoon sir. Is there any specific reason you are parked here?

M: umm...My friend here has a.. umm.. uhh.. an incontinence issue, officer.

State Trooper looks at Ia and his pants.

State Trooper: Hmm. Is he alright now?

Ia: Im fine, officer.

State Trooper: OK. You cant stop here though. Its not nice for two young men to park their car right next to the fence by the end of the runway.

Mars Lumograph

The bitter cold winds from the dark north sweep across the barren plains, dry as a bone. M's fighters stand fast, their spirits raised by spirits, their hopes by weed, and their desire by the promise of victory. Their silver helmets reflect a grey sky, and their eyes reflect the emptyness that stretches to the horizon and endlessly beyond.

High in the castle, M zips up, as his aides step back. They stare in quiet awe at one so brave. Ia is the first to break the sombre silence.

Ia: You do look rather fetching in crocodile skin sire, if I may say so.

M cocks his head sideways to give Ia a look of condescension.

M: You think I wear this for looks Ia? How can you be so vain at a time such as this?

The other aides start to giggle suddenly, and without a warning, the chamber resounds with laughter, with all of Ms aides rolling on the floor, laughing themselves silly.

M: What the f**k have you been smoking, you morons!!?

M drags the skinniest aide to the window.

M: Look at them. Can you see the fire in their eyes? Can you see their families in distant lands, waiting for them to come home sane of body and mind? Can you see ...

aide's aide: Hey! lets' go already! Im starving.

a few minutes later, M flicks the light off as he heads out the door after all his aides. They join their friends waiting downstairs. Nobody says a word. They all walk with a quiet determination, their noses dripping numb in the cold till they get to the diner to gorge on cream filled chocolate donuts.

Masturbation

Insignificant aide (Ia) bites into a cold apple-nutmeg muffin. There's less sugar than he would have liked, but it surprises him with its calming sweet aroma as he closes his eyes to enjoy this little escape from the daily grind. In his mind he sees visions of his youth; of his grandmother, and how she caused grief to his grandfather by eloping in her eighties. His poor grandfather spent much time, effort, and emotions trying to woo his wife back, but she had crossed the chasm for good.

M walks in with the lunatic smile so typical for him at this time of the afternoon.

Whack!. A swift knock on the back of Ia's bald head sends his hat sliding straight across to the corner of the room on the smooth granite floor and his half-eaten muffin down his throat. Ia falls to the floor, startled by the bolt from the blue and choking from the apple cinnamon devil that is starving him of oxygen. The little imp stays lodged firmly in his throat as Ia gasps for air.

M: You know, I have this wonderful idea for a tech startup. You wanna hear?

Ia: khhghasp! kkhhghkkrrgsp!! hhhhhhkkhhrkhk!

Ia's vision starts to get blurry.

M: OK!. Picture this: There are a lot of people out there, who want to manage their time efficiently, right?

Ia: kkksghghssss..!!

M: No, I think the figure is orders of magnitude higher. Its, like, basically, like, sixteen and a half billion people that want to manage their time efficiently. Just imagine if we could provide them all with an auto-generated timetable for the day, the week, the month, or even their whole life.!! huh? What do you think? Doesn't that blow your mind??

Ia: kkhsssss...!!

M: Yeah, I know!! When this idea first hit me in the shower, I almost choked too. Its genius, my man! We're going to be rich. And the best part is yet to come. You know how we will generate the timetables? Hold on to your hat now, this is truly mindblowing. We will ask people to enter their schedules and timetable when they register. OK? We then ask people to rate their close friends who they think have very good time management skills, see? Once we have about sixteen hundred million people sign up, we will have enough data to provide customized timetables based on your preferences and priorities in life, see?? F**k!! I cant believe how f***ing smart I am, man! Im trippin' man!! wow! This is gonna be HUGE!! I can see the billions. What do you think? Hey, I'm talking from my heart here, and you haven't said one thing!! Have you been smoking again, you dolt?

Ia is now too weak to make sounds. As he teeters on the brink of a coma and his brain cells begin to die due to a lack of oxygen, M loses his temper.

M: Answer me, swine!!

Whack! M kicks Ia on his butt. The apple muffin, now all gooey, pops out, flies all the way across the room and spatters on his pristine red and yellow hat. Splatt!

Ia: An excellent idea, sire, if I may say so myself.

Lock-out

M smiles.

Or so he thinks, at least.

He smiles in his sleep, for he is dreaming. He dreams of the future, of the past, of things that might have been but never were. Of things that may be, but never will. Images of impossible things. Of cigarettes, of tobacco, of electronic key fobs that are rendered ineffective by airport X-ray machines.

M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him) dreams of curly hair that never was; of presidents who light a cigarette, but never smoke.

aide: "Wake up, O esteemed leader. The sun is nigh, and we must make haste."

M: "What have you been smoking for breakfast, you idiot? Whats up with the high-elven-queen speech? Overdose of Tolkien, I guess. And why must we make haste? "

aide: "Forgive me, senor M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him), but, as the elders say,
there is unrest in the forest,
there is trouble in the trees;
for the maples want more sunlight,
and the oaks ignore their pleas.
"

M: "Wow!! you mustve snorted all night. I wonder why I havnet fired you already, you moron. Is my bath ready?"

aide: "Yes, sire, your bath awaits."

M: "Jeez, man. You so need to be in rehab. You're cooking your brain with that shit, I tell you."

M shakes his head and walks to the shower.
...
...

M: "THE WATER'S F***ING FREEZING!! . @#!$@!#, you ass&*!@(#!@*!@#"

Lentil Soup for the monotonous soul

M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him) views the distant hills with suspicion as the slant rays of a golden evening cast sinister shadows in the deep folds on the hillside. The summer has parched the grass to a dull dusty color (this is one way of avoiding having to state any color, in case you are color blind) and the hills look like they could do with some water. In these parts, the days are deceptively warm. The heat of afternoon might seem like the precursor to a warm night, but with the melting of the sun comes the chill of a desert night.

M is now bored. The caffeine he had at 7 pm is keeping him wide awake.

M: "Dimwits! Where's the f***ing wine?"

aide: "Terribly sorry sire, but you asked not to buy any."

M: "Oh, did I?."

aide: "Yes, senor M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him). I would have personally bought some now, since you seem to want some, but all the stores are closed for business, sire, being a Sunday night."

M switches off his sixty-inch plasma TV, mountains, slanting light, melting sun, desert and all, and tries to go to sleep with a caffeine buzz so he can wake up bright and early to start the week.

Who ate the ping-pong ball?

M (also known as Dr. T, Praise be unto him) decides to camp for the night, against the suggestions of his whimpering aides. Their horses, however, are happy to rest after a seemingly endless day of trudging with fat losers on their backs.

The aides are scared that the local savages will silently creep in from the darkness and carry them away into the black of the pine forest, to be sacrificed to the pagan Gods. They hurriedly find a few twigs, start a whimpering fire, and start pitching their tent as fast as anyone has tried to pitch a tent before.

M is amused.

Later in the night, as the horses are making love, pale-faced people with dark body paint and little clothing appear from the woods. Their teeth are a dirty shade of brown, their eyes seem to glow yellow, and their body paint is grotesquely mesmerizing. Slithering as quietly as they can, with strings of little bird bones and feline teeth across their necks, they take away M's aides.

Enough of this!

==[The scene: A dark, cavernous hall atop an old stone castle. Little lamps high on the towering walls try feebly to light the dark that seems to be waiting to creep down upon M and his two aides. M sits on his cold throne, low to the ground, and looks out upon the endless hills, wet with the rain from the grey sky that has been weeping for as long as the elders can remember.]==

M: Who's responsible for this mess?! (tm)

Insignificant aide: The mob has lost it, sire. Its a f***ing massacre out there. They are baying for your blood, senor M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him) .

M: Who starched their underwear?

Insignificant aide (Ia): I cannot say, sire. Some of them might not have the luxury of wearing any undergarments.

M: Screw them, I say! Gas them all! Bring out the agent orange, my man. And jump to it!

Ia: We are running rather low on agent orange, O esteemed leader. We might be able to gas a few, but most of the scoundrels will run free; or worse still, they might terminate the gasser in their irrational rage.

Whiny aide to Insignificant aide (waIa) : Walmart has a sale on agent orange this week. You can save three dollars on a couple of gallons. More if you return the container.

Ia: We do not have an atomizer.

Spineless aide (Sa): Can we do this another time? I need to pick up the kids after school. My wife's working late this evening.

M: Enough of this nonsense! I will quell the mob myself. Bring me my Blackberry! and...

==[Ia and waIa scramble out into the darkness and return with a Blackberry. M types furiously as the raindrops come heavier and distant thunder seems to blow a cold draft into the room. M blogs on as the clouds darken. He hits the "post" button, and, the skies begin to clear. The patter of the rain on the window panes gives way to the chirping of little birds. The blue burns the gray, and the sun blazes across the grassy hills. The mob finds softer underwear.]==