Blog Love Omega Glee: A Trip To The Grocery Store, Or The Savagery Of Shopping (17 May 2012)

Jake's Mom asks him to pick up a few things for her at the grocery store while she's at work. Jake would rather wrestle a handicap match against The Cannibals while he was smeared in barbecue sauce, but he dutifully goes. These are his thoughts while on this expedition:

"Basket or buggy? I only need a few things, but a buggy might be good, if only for self-defense. Some of the shoppers at Food Wigwam will run you over otherwise. You'd think the world was going to end if they didn't reach the two for a dollar cans of beans before you. . . . Why is it so crowded in here anyway? It's Friday afternoon. Doesn't anyone work on Fridays anymore except me? I hope I get out of here in time for work. Sometimes these checkout lines can be eternal. Well, on to the produce. . . . Look at that guy sniffing the cantaloupes. Why is he sniffing them? Dude, I don't want to buy a cantaloupe that's been caressed by your nostril hair. . . . OK, she wants some spinach. Lady, why do you have to have your buggy blocking the spinach when you're ten feet away looking at the potatoes? Don't touch your cart? I had to move it. How else was I supposed to reach the spinach? Careful, lady, I'll ram you with this cart if you shoot me another dirty look. Why are people so grumpy in the grocery store? Is it because they haven't eaten yet? Onto the deli. . . . Number 57. Dude, you have to take a number. No, you're not next. I am. I have a number. That's right, thank you deli lady, now give me some ham. . . . Oh, the pharmacy section has one of blood pressure machines. I like those things. I'm always a little afraid they'll squeeze off my arm and I'll end up running around the store squirting blood from my stump, but it's always a bit relaxing. Not bad, my systolic is a bit borderline high blood pressure, but I think that can be explained by being in the grocery store with all these clueless consumers bumping into me. . . . Oh, great, this aisle has a traffic jam. Lady, I know it's very important for you to pick the right jar of peanut butter but do you have to take up the whole aisle? Can't you see us all waiting? Move your buggy from the middle of the aisle. Oh, check out brother. He ain't waiting. He just has a basket so he can squeeze through. Dammit, I should have gotten a basket instead of a buggy! Finally, congratulations on your fine choice in peanut butter, now get the hell out of my way. . . . Did that jelly display just address me by name? . . . Oh, free samples of salsa, count me in, thank you. . . . Why does that guy have twenty vats of tapioca pudding in his buggy and nothing else? I don't want to imagine what he's going to do with all that pudding, but I bet it involves a bathtub and a sexual fetish. Maybe he's just stocking a cafeteria or something. . . . Ooh, they have the new WWWWWW magazine. I have to look at the Waffle Warrior article. You can quit coughing store employee. I'm putting the magazine down. What do you care anyway? Go restock the soup for no reason in the middle of the day and clog up an aisle like usual. . . . I have to pee. I better hurry up because I don't want to go to the restroom here. Supermarket restrooms are always dismal. You have to go through the back and there's always a guy who's just been butchering a cow or something walking past you covered in blood. . . . Lobsters! Why are they always piled up on top of one another? There's more room in the tank. I feel bad for them, then I remember if they were my size they'd be chasing me around snapping their claws, and thinking how good I'd taste with butter. . . . Why does that guy have an entire buggy filed with those giant cans they use in cafeterias? Is he stocking up for the collapse of civilization or does he really like to eat a gallon of canned pears at a time? . . . Ah, when it gets hot out, the frozen food section feels good. OK, Mom gave me a coupon for something. What was it? Where is it? Shit! I think I dropped the coupon. There's no sense looking for it. Everyone in here looks crazed, like they might slit my throat if that would get them fifty cents off a frozen dinner; I'm sure, they were on that coupon like a vulture on a dead possum. Just get the ice cream and get out of this section. . . . Milk! I have to get milk! Check the dates! Check the dates! If I don't get the freshest milk from the back of the bin, Dad will tsk, tsk, tsk and drive me crazy about it for the next week. Oh, great, I think my arm's stuck in the milk refrigerator. Lady, don't look at me like I'm nuts, the nuts are in aisle 4. . . . OK, now what? The meat section. Lots of chopped up dead things wrapped in shiny plastic, what a bright and happy abattoir. Some of these corpses are quite yummy though. There's a man dressed as a chicken handing out free samples of chicken. That's quite disturbing. It's like he's asking people to eat him or his family. 'No thanks!' For some reason, I don't trust people dressed as poultry. Let's hit the bread aisle and bakery and get out of here. . . . Hey, what's the holdup? Oh, no, the checkout lines are winding all the way back here! Oh, well, I'll just read a magazine while I wait. Hmm, there's no magazines all the way back here. I guess I'll just look at the cookies. Hey! Those two old ladies are fighting about who was first in line! I think the one is going to ram the other with her cart! The guy dressed as a chicken has run all the way from the back and is trying to break them up. That's a conscientious chicken. I would have let them just go at it. Now they're both hitting him! The one old lady is pulling on his beak while the other one is breaking an egg over his head. I don't think he liked that. It's bad enough to have to be dressed as a giant chicken for a living, but getting smeared with egg is probably more than anyone could take. That's just showing disrespect to the chicken. Man, I never realized that a pork loin could be used as a baseball bat. I don't think that old lady's getting up. The Chicken really whacked her. That loin won't need tenderized now. The other lady has decided that her place in line is fine now, but I don't think that's going to satisfy The Chicken. Oh, that dude with all the bling on is trying to intervene while still talking on his cell phone. I don't think that's going to work, buddy. You might lose some of that gold on your teeth. Well, The Chicken just hit him with a case of cola. I've always daydreamed about doing that to people talking on their cell phones in the supermarket, but The Chicken is living that dream. Uh, oh, he's coming this way. I'll just hide behind these dented and dinged discounted items. Oh, good, he's going after the guy in the express checkout who has thirteen items instead. I bet that guy won't try to sneak through that extra item in the future. Twelve items only, enforced by The Chicken! Oh, the rent-a-cop is tackling The Chicken. The Chicken's going to get fired now, if not fried. Well, civilization is a thin coat of paint on our savage underpinnings, and it's never thinner than at the supermarket. I can't wait to tell Francine about The Chicken! . . . I hope the ice cream doesn't melt before I get out of this line."

Blog Love Omega Glee is a novel by Wred Fright about two bloggers who fall in love while the world falls apart, which is being serialized on his blog. To start reading from the beginning or read another installment, please visit Blog Love Omega Glee Central on WredFright.Com. If you like what you've read, or you've read all of Blog Love Omega Glee and want more Fright, then please read his first novel, which is available in print and as an ebook.

"Cancer" Published Again!

A slightly revised version of my short story "Cancer" has been published in the 2009 issue of Inscape, the Ursuline College fine arts magazine. Inscape's not online alas, but you can read an earlier version of the story published on Underground Literary Adventures, a literary blog that Pat King and I once edited for the Underground Literary Alliance. The story is about a young girl who thinks she has cancer. As a guest speaker in a creative writing class, I used the story as an example of how to write fiction and Celeste Wiggins, the instructor, asked to publish it in Inscape.

Blog Love Omega Glee: Television Reality Meets Reality Television (16 May 2012)

The day is beautiful but Jake thinks Francine is more beautiful. The dreamy lovers have followed love's dream to Jake's front porch where they sit on the porch swing nauseating passerbys passing by with their public displays of affection.

Why can't they keep their hands off one another?

That's what keeps the human race going, folks.

Maybe we should cut it down a bit though. There's quite a few of us these days.

"Jake?" Francine says, looking down the street, "There's a guy coming down the block wearing a camera on his hat and talking to himself."

Jake looks up and sees a middle-aged man with a youthful bounce in his gait coming towards them on the sidewalk. He wears a red t-shirt that says "TommyTommy.TV" in white letters, black shorts, and those dreadful black and white shower shoes that should never be seen outside of a shower, accessorized with white socks pulled up to the knee. His baseball hat has a camera attached to the front of it and he is talking, though no one else is near him. "Oh, that's Tommy," Jake says.

When the man gets nearer, Jake says, "Hello, Tommy!"

Tommy waves and says "Hello!" and walks on by. Jake and Francine hear him say, "So I said hello to that nice couple on the porch and continued down the sidewalk. I'm hungry. I wonder what Mom has for lunch. I hope it's not ham still left over from Easter. I'm tired of eating frozen ham. I mean it's not frozen when I eat it, but it's been frozen, and that makes me think of winter, and I'm tired of winter. Today, sure is a nice day though. Hey, there's the mail male. I call him mail male but if it's a woman then I call her the mail female. That's pretty funny. I like to keep myself amused. I hope I'm keeping you amused. Thanks for tuning in to Tommy TV, where it's all Tommy 24 hours a day. Right now I'm using my hat cam . . ."

Francine says, "So he just broadcasts his life all the time and provides a constant narration?"

"Except when he's sleeping, then he just snores," Jake says, turning around from watching Tommy go down the block.

"Weird. Does anyone watch it?"

"I've tuned in a couple times. But his life really isn't any more interesting than anyone else's so I don't know who would really be much interested in watching it a lot. No one told him that all those reality television shows are more edited and scripted than they like to let on. But maybe someone's so bored that tuning into Tommy is interesting. I don't know. His mom probably watches it at least."

"Everyone wants recognition I suppose. Everyone wants to be a media star. Everyone wants love from the camera. It's our last god. Looks like Warhol was right. So was Orwell. Except he didn't think we'd be Big Brothering ourselves."

"I think I see a blog post coming on," Jake says.

"You might be right," Francine smiles, "But you'll have to read my blog to find out."

Let's take our leave before things get uncomfortably mushy again and we feel like voyeurs, shall we? And let's be thankful Tommy doesn't have much of a sex life; though if he did, he might have more people tuning in.

Blog Love Omega Glee is a novel by Wred Fright about two bloggers who fall in love while the world falls apart, which is being serialized on his blog. To start reading from the beginning or read another installment, please visit Blog Love Omega Glee Central on WredFright.Com. If you like what you've read, or you've read all of Blog Love Omega Glee and want more Fright, then please read his first novel, which is available in print and as an ebook.

Blog Love Omega Glee: The Pettifoggers Get Damages Awarded (15 May 2012)

"From Philadelphia and licensed to practice law in the commonwealth of Pennsylvania, it's The Pettifoggers!" the ring announcer declares, which normally wouldn't be odd, but it's in the middle of a match already in process on Grapple Groove.

Watching the episode he recorded this weekend, Jake laughs as the wrestlers already in the ring--The Cannibals and the tag team of The Java Jolter and The Waffle Warrior, known collectively as The Breakfast Battlers--pause and stare as Stuart Subpoena and Victor Verdict approach the ring, wearing dark three-piece suits and carrying briefcases. Subpoena waves a piece of paper in the air, which he hands to the referee while Verdict grabs a microphone and says, "Stop! Stop this match! It's a travesty of justice!"

Looking more like he graduated from reform school than law school, Verdict glances at the wrestlers in the ring, "Not to mention a travesty of a wrestling match!"

The Pettifoggers climb in the ring as the other wrestlers throw their hands in the air and protest the interruption. Verdict addresses them and the fans in the arena, "What we've just handed the referee is an injunction a federal judge just issued to stop this tag team tournament. As you may recall, my partner and I were the former tag team champions until we were illegally stripped of the belts. That's why this tag team tournament is being held to determine who the new champions are. But we have sued to stop this unlawful discrimination against us and restore our championship."

The crowd boos.

"Was that an objection?" Verdict says, dropping the microphone from his mouth and putting a hand to his ear to hear better.

The crowd boos loudly.

Verdict drops the hand and raises the microphone back to his mouth, "Overruled!"

The crowd boos more loudly.

He continues, "However, despite this bad faith of the WWWWWW, my partner and I are so confident in our wrestling abilities that we are willing to offer an alternative dispute resolution. If we are permitted to enter this tournament, then we will settle things in the ring instead of in the court."

Subpoena takes out another piece of paper from his briefcase and gives it to the referee, who reads it and scratches his head.

Verdict passes the mike to Subpoena. "That's right," Subpoena says, "If the referee as an authorized representative of the WWWWWW will kindly sign that contract we've just given him, then we will drop our suit and reconfigure the tournament. Unfortunately, for you folks here tonight, that probably will take some time, which means this match that was in process, if it continues at all, will probably see a change in venue."

The crowd boos even more loudly, and the other wrestlers grab the ropes and tug them in frustration. One of the Cannibals starts to gnaw on the referee, who pushes him away.

Subpoena continues, "That's right, this match is going to be held in escrow until things are settled. That's because the WWWWWW has a fiduciary duty to us. Unless of course the WWWWWW wants to just give us the belts back. Then I think my partner and I would be willing to let this match proceed tonight as a non-tournament match."

Passed the mike by Subpoena, Verdict nods and says, "I'd be willing to cease our garnishment of this match if this hostile environment of us not having our belts was ended. In fact, if the WWWWWW would like to examine our contract in camera or even on camera, I'd be fine with letting this match proceed on a non-tournament basis while that occurs. In fact, I hope these two teams beat the hell out of each other. That will make it easier for my partner and I to obtain joint custody of our championship again."

Verdict tosses the mike to Subpoena, who says, "As it stands, we have a lien up against the belts because of the malpractice of the WWWWWW. The negligence of the officers of the corporation has caused us to petition this tournament. However, as my partner has stated, if we are allowed to enter the tournament we will as a quid pro quo drop our lawsuit because of our confidence in our ability to quash any other tag team. I mean the WWWWWW should take this offer because if our lawsuit proceeded, well to me it's an obvious case of res ipsa loquitur."

Leaning into the mike still held by Subpoena, Verdict adds, "I agree, and this is our service of process to the WWWWWW. We want the title to our titles back. We suffered an unjust taking. This is a valid claim as per the writ."

The Java Jolter yanks the microphone out of Subpoena's hands, and says in his typical fast, overcaffeinated manner, "I can't understand much of what you're saying with all the legalese you're throwing around, but I think you're complaining about losing your tag team championship, and as a result you want in the tournament. Now I gotta just say I'm just fine with that so my judgment is that I find for you. Let's put you in the tournament. Is that all right with you, ref?"

The referee looks up from the contract, balls it up, and throws it out of the ring, nodding.

The Pettifoggers hug one another in celebration of yet another legal victory.

The Java Jolter looks at the other wrestlers, "Fine, that's settled. Boys, now let's award them some damages."

The other wrestlers charge The Pettifoggers and beat them with their own briefcases. The crowd cheers. Jake decides more lawsuits should be settled this way. It's much more entertaining.

Blog Love Omega Glee is a novel by Wred Fright about two bloggers who fall in love while the world falls apart, which is being serialized on his blog. To start reading from the beginning or read another installment, please visit Blog Love Omega Glee Central on WredFright.Com. If you like what you've read, or you've read all of Blog Love Omega Glee and want more Fright, then please read his first novel, which is available in print and as an ebook.

Blog Love Omega Glee: The Coyote Vs. The Litterbug! (14 May 2012)

"Unbelievable!" The Coyote thinks as he gazes through his binoculars at the drunk stumbling home below. The drunk has just thrown a cigarette butt on the ground and there he is lighting up another cigarette! The Coyote sets his binoculars down on the roof of the apartment building he uses to scan the neighborhood for misdeeds and wrongdoings. Usually it takes him too long going down the stairs from the roof to catch any misdeeder or wrongdoer, but tonight will be different. The Coyote makes sure the rope he brought is firmly attached to a nearby pipe and drops the rest of the rope down the side of the building. In the quiet of the night he can hear the end of the rope hit the ground five floors below. The Coyote checks his gloves to make sure they're tight, grabs the rope, and prepares to heave himself over the edge.

"Hmm . . . the rope feels loose," The Coyote thinks, and drops the rope.

He checks the knot on the pipe. It's fine. The Coyote grasps the rope again and prepares to swing into action. He looks down at the ground.

"Hmm . . . that is a long way down," The Coyote thinks.

The Coyote takes the stairs.

After catching his breath at the bottom of the stairs, The Coyote looks around for the drunk, but he is gone. The Coyote heads up to the street's edge and looks up and down it, but no drunks, litterbugs, or smokers are to be found. The Coyote does find the littered butt though and disposes of it in the apartment building dumpster. Francine always complains that society picks on smokers by taxing cigarettes to fund all sorts of unrelated things, and The Coyote always tells her that if smokers didn't do stupid things like throw their butts everywhere treating the rest of the world like their own giant ashtray that people might be more sympathetic to smokers being overly taxed. As it was, smokers didn't seem to care about anyone but themselves (if that, after all they were poisoning themselves essentially), so why would anyone else care about them?

In the midst of his ruminations, two more drunks stumble by on the streets. Two white males wearing Cleaveland Caucasians baseball hats and talking loudly at 2 a.m. on a Monday night, er, 2 a.m. on a Tuesday morning, er, two in the morning. One of them throws a cigarette butt on the ground.

The Coyote charges to the street. The drunks, occupied in their conversation, don't seem to notice and continue down Wouldland Avenue.

"Dude, that one chick was hot," the first drunk says.

"Dude, that was a man," the second drunk says.

"No way, dude. You're just jealous because she liked me more than you."

"Well, don't blame me when you go for a muffdive and end up eating a sausage sandwich."

"Excuse me," The Coyote says standing behind them and holding the cigarette butt in his left hand, "I think you dropped something."

The drunks turn around. "What the fuck?" the first one says, pointing at The Coyote's furry mask, "What's that on your face, dude? Are you the Wolfman? It's early for Halloween."

"I am The Cleaveland Coyote," The Coyote says, "And your friend I am afraid is a litterbug."

"'Litterbug'?" The Litterbug says, "It's just a butt. Who cares?"

"I care," The Coyote says.

"Dude, it's biodegradable," the first drunk says.

"Actually, that is not true. It is plastic and just falls apart about a decade later, and in the meantime the toxic elements in it such as lead and arsenic can sink into the ground and water, harming wildlife and . . ." The Coyote explains before he's cut off just before he was going to comment on the effect of litter on the beautification of urban spaces and the psychological toll it takes on the people living in them leading to higher crime, greater poverty, and other assorted misery in a true tragedy of the commons type situation.

"Fuck you, enough with the lecture," The Litterbug says, "This city's a shithole anyway, so one more piece of trash doesn't matter."

"Well, maybe the reason the city is in the shape it is in is because people like you have made it that way," The Coyote says, holding out the butt, "Now take this remnant of your tobacco pleasure and put it in a trashcan--making sure of course that it cannot ignite a fire--to dispose of it properly."

"'Dispose of it properly'! I'm going to dispose of you properly," The Litterbug, "Come on Bert, there's two of us, let's kick this freak's ass."

"Sorry, dude, this situation, that mask, that cheap suit, that tie with the wolf on it, whatever, it's starting to freak me out. Plus I gotta piss" Bert says, before he runs away.

"No public urination!" The Coyote howls.

"Great!" The Litterbug says, watching Bert disappear down the block, then turning back to The Coyote, he sinks into a boxing stance, "Well, I don't need him to kick your ass. I can do it all by myself. C'mon, Butt Boy, I want to see what you look like under that mask."

After The Coyote beats up The Litterbug, he throws him in the apartment building dumpster along with the cigarette butt. When The Coyote uses The Litterbug's cell phone to call 911 to report The Littering, the operator hangs up on him. Disgusted, The Coyote throws the cell into the dumpster.

It's not easy to be a superhero when the police are uncooperative. "Do not they understand that small crimes lead to big crimes? Put out the little brushfires and you will not have to face a big forest fire," The Coyote thinks.

The Litterbug stands up in the dumpster. He picks up his baseball cap and puts it back on. He pats his shirt and pants. "Dude, all right, don't hit me again. I won't litter in the future," he says, taking out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

"I need a smoke after that," he says, sticking a cigarette in his mouth and patting his shirt and pants again.

"I can't find my lighter. I must have left it at the bar," The Litterbug says, "Dude, do you have a light?"

The Coyote slams the lid of the dumpster on The Litterbug's head, closing it, and goes to fetch his rope and other things from the roof of the apartment building. This is enough crimefighting for tonight, he decides and wonders if Superman ever feels slightly grubby after gooddoing.

As The Coyote walks away, the lid to the dumpster pops open and The Litterbug yells, "Never mind, I found a pack of matches in here!"

The Litterbug lights his cigarette and says, holding his match up, "Watch, dude, I'm not going to litter."

He drops the match in the dumpster.

Something in the dumpster catches fire. The Litterbug yells "Oh, shit!", jumps out, and runs away.

Underneath his mask, The Coyote starts to cry as the dumpster starts to burn.

Blog Love Omega Glee is a novel by Wred Fright about two bloggers who fall in love while the world falls apart, which is being serialized on his blog. To start reading from the beginning or read another installment, please visit Blog Love Omega Glee Central on WredFright.Com. If you like what you've read, or you've read all of Blog Love Omega Glee and want more Fright, then please read his first novel, which is available in print and as an ebook.

Blog Love Omega Glee: Zany In Zanesville (13 May 2012)

Francine lies on the floor next to her parents' bed, peering at a grey cat that has slunk to a far corner under the bed. "Come here, Lassiter. Here kitty, kitty, kitty," she says, stretching her arm underneath the bed.

She sighs and gives up, getting up from the floor. She dusts herself off and says to her mother, "I don't know why that cat hates me. Or does he spend all day under the bed normally?"

"No, he's out and about usually. He's the sweetest cat," her mother says, putting away some clothes into a drawer.

Francine crosses her arms, "Well, I think he hissed at me from under there."

"He's probably mad you left him behind. And you hardly ever visit, though I'm very glad you're here for Mother's Day."

They leave the bedroom and walk back to the living room, where Francine's father is watching a baseball game on television. "I didn't leave him behind. When I moved back here after breaking up with John, you and Father got so attached to him, I could hardly have taken him away from you. Plus the place I moved to didn't allow pets," Francine says.

"Well, I understand that, but he's a cat; he doesn't understand that. He thinks you abandoned him," Mother says, sitting on the couch and lighting a cigarette.

Sitting down next to her, Francine lights up as well, "He's probably happier here anyway."

"You would be too. You should move back," Mother says.

"Mother . . . I thought we said we weren't going to hassle Francine while she was here," Father says, looking up from the game.

"All right, all right," Mother says, throwing up her hands, "It's just that we miss you. I know Zanesville isn't the most exciting place on Earth, but you have people here who love you. Can you say the same about Cleaveland?"

"Maybe," Francine says, smiling.

Mother sits up, "You've met someone, haven't you? I thought there was a little spring in your step when you got here. Tell me all about him!"

"What if he was a she, would you still be so excited?" Francine says, trying not to laugh.

"She? What do you mean? Oh, Francine! I'm never going to have grandchildren, am I?" Mother says and faints on the couch.

"Francine! Quit teasing your mother!" Father says, getting up and grabbing Mother's cigarette before it burns anything, "Go get the smelling salts in the cupboard!"

Francine gets up and thinks, "And they wonder why I hardly ever come home!"

As she walks down the hallway, Lassiter appears in the doorway of her parents' bedroom. When he sees Francine, he runs back under the bed.

Blog Love Omega Glee is a novel by Wred Fright about two bloggers who fall in love while the world falls apart, which is being serialized on his blog. To start reading from the beginning or read another installment, please visit Blog Love Omega Glee Central on WredFright.Com. If you like what you've read, or you've read all of Blog Love Omega Glee and want more Fright, then please read his first novel, which is available in print and as an ebook.

Blog Love Omega Glee: North Goes South (12 May 2012)

"How did you ever talk me into coming to this?" Winifred asks Jake, as they sit in a half-empty rundown gym on the West side of Cleaveland, waiting for North to make his professional wrestling debut.

Jake finishes chewing his dollar dog and washes it down with a drink from his dollar draft, burps, and says, "It was either this or stay home with Mom and Dad and listen to them argue with you about moving back closer to home."

"Oh, right. Things like this and that make me want to move even farther away. Still," she says, looking around, "I suppose this is a step up from when you and North used to wrestle one another in the backyard. That was very gay."

"Hey! Easy on the homophobia."

"I'm not placing a value judgment on it, merely a description. What else would you call two grown men touching one another for hours on end rolling around in the grass?"

"Well, I'll just have you know that I have a girlfriend now."

"So how come I'm your date tonight?"

"She works on Saturday nights as a waitress at a fancy place downtown."

"Well, I suppose that's better than telling me she lives in Canada. So if she actually exists, I look forward to meeting her. What's her name?"

"Francine, you'd like her, she's cool."

"Well, I'd hope so. I hope you wouldn't date someone who's uncool or something. I'm also happy you managed to find a girlfriend on your own because I'm never helping you with that again. That last time I tried to set you up on a date was a disaster."

"How is Harriet anyway?"

"She's good. She's dating the bass player in her band."

"Wait! I thought she was the bass player."

"They have two bass players; she's dating the other one."

"Well, that's good. She seemed nice. I was sorry I made a terrible impression, but it looks like things have worked out well for everyone."

"So where'd you meet your snookums?"

"Online."

"Oh, God. Good luck."

"Shh, that's North's entrance music. His match is starting."

North emerges from the back corner where a curtain has been set up for no reason other than to allow the wrestlers to come through a curtain for their entrances. It would be a dramatic entrance except most of the semi-crowd can see around the curtain to where the wrestlers stand waiting to go through the curtain. North is billing himself as "South Of No North" and he plays a Charles Bukowski type character who's a skid row drunk. He's dyed his hair platinum blonde for the occasion, which looks odd with the rest of his disheveled appearance of torn jeans, untucked plaid buttondown shirt, and brown long bum coat covered with cigarette burns and various stains of curious origin. He carries a bottle in a brown paper bag and stumbles his way to the ring. He's accompanied by his valet Miss Mess, who wears a prom gown, Breakfast At Tiffany's long black gloves, and a silver tiara, and carries a martini glass and shaker. She drinks from the glass and refills it from the shaker on her way to the wrestling ring in the center of the gym. From what Jake remembers from the night he first met her, he's pretty sure the glass and shaker aren't just props. Miss Mess takes a swig from the glass and spits it in the face of a fan who was chanting "She's a crack whore!"

"Isn't it a little soon for North to be wrestling?" Winifred says, "Didn't you just start training not so long ago?"

"He told me he doesn't have to do much but get beat up by Lew," Jake says.

Lew "Life of the Party" Zsyrjba comes to the ring next, wearing his customary lampshade. He tosses it into the crowd, grabs a metal trashcan from the corner, throws it into the ring with remnants of dollar dogs and dollar drafts flying everywhere out of it, rolls into the ring himself, picks up the trashcan, hits North over the head with it when the bell rings and North charges him, and pins North with one finger on his chest while squatting down and farting into his face and cackling.

"Well, here's a sign of the apocalypse," Winifred says, looking around at the many people missing teeth, limbs, and manners who cheer the victory like it's the second coming of Jesus Christ.

"Oh, come on, it's just good fun. Let your id out once in a while," Jake says, clapping as the referee holds up Lew's hand in victory.

"OK," Winifred says before she stands up and yells, "Hey, North, next time start drinking after the match! You suck more than your bitch!"

A large dad sitting with his three snotty kids stands up and yells at North, shakily getting up from the mat, "Yeah! What she said, faggot!"

"That felt good," Winifred says, "Maybe I'll come to these things and heckle people more often."

Jake sinks down in his metal folding chair seat and hopes no one thinks he knows Winifred as she and the large dad give each other a high five.

Blog Love Omega Glee is a novel by Wred Fright about two bloggers who fall in love while the world falls apart, which is being serialized on his blog. To start reading from the beginning or read another installment, please visit Blog Love Omega Glee Central on WredFright.Com. If you like what you've read, or you've read all of Blog Love Omega Glee and want more Fright, then please read his first novel, which is available in print and as an ebook.

Blog Love Omega Glee: Kitty O'Couscous Throws Her Hat (Along With All Her Other Articles Of Clothing) In The Ring (11 May 2012)

Evil Journalista alerted Francine to a new development in the presidential race. Just when it was starting to grow stale with the major party nominations wrapping up, the third parties have arrived to provide some blogging fodder, which is splendid because Francine has blog guilt as a result of cavorting around with Jake so much this week. As Evil Journalista advised, Francine firefoxes over to the website of Kitty O'Couscous, Renaissance woman of the 21st century: Kitty's an existentialist philosopher, a porn star, a professional wrestler, a stripper, and a tragimetal vocalist. Normally visiting Kitty's website costs $39.95 a month, discreetly billed on one's credit card as "KOC Enterprises", but today it's free because she has a major announcement and she's holding a webcast press conference.

The screen opens on a podium with the seal of the president of The United States Of America on it. The camera pulls back to show a projection of the White House on the back wall behind the podium, flanked by a flag on each side (one of the stars and stripes and the other of Kitty's emblem, which is a cat walking between two pedestals that are obviously phallic symbols). A man dressed in a suit and tie and wearing dark sunglasses stands at either end of the scene. Francine suspects they're supposed to be taken for Secret Service agents, but are probably costars of Kitty's videos. As the camera pulls further back, it shows a smattering of press sitting in folding chairs and typing on their phones and PDAs.

Kitty's wrestling entrance theme music blares--1970s porn funk grooves mixed with tragimetal riffing over which cat noises of hissing, meowing, and purring can be heard along with the sounds of a woman having a loud orgASM!--and the woman herself enters the scene, complete with a peek-a-boo brunette medium-length do, which contrasts well with the plain white robe she wears. Due to her half-Irish, half-Algerian ancestry (or so she claims at least), she has striking facial features when they emerge from the hair that often obscures her face. She reaches the podium, rests her arms on it and surveys the crowd, turning from side to side, smiling, and occasionally pointing and doing a rapid crablike wave with her hands at somebody. She takes a deep breath and begins to speak: "Thank you for coming today. I've thought about this day long and hard. This country's done a lot for me, so I want to do the country something. I've been very unsatisfied with the presidential candidates so far, and I've been waiting for one to come along that could stroke my dreams, but I realized no one was going to pop up. So I decided I had to erect myself if I wanted someone to elect; therefore I'm declaring my candidacy for the oral, I mean, oval office of President of the United States of America!"

The press nod and keep typing on their phones, but the Secret Service agents/woodsmen applaud. Kitty continues before the sparse applause finishes, "I'm running as an independent because this country was founded by the Declaration of Independence! My party will be the Party Party and we will guarantee life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, especially that last part. I know what it's like to be screwed so I promise the American people that I will never screw them. I make more than enough money from my businesses already so I don't need bribes; as a result, I'm always going to do the right thing for the pubic, I mean, public!"

She pauses, "By the way, my new t-shirt has a foreign relations theme and it's awesome. You can find it in the shop portion of my website for $19.99."

She continues, "I'm tired of these old men who can't get it up running the country into the ground with their war and greed. I'm here for peace and love and I think you are too. It's time to let a woman, a sexy woman I might add, run things. This country's sick and I aim to clean it up. I mean 'fuck you' is regarded as an insult? Like did you ever think about that? That's just wrong. 'Fuck you' should be a compliment like 'You're so hot I want to fuck you.' This society has glorified war and death long enough; it's time for us to celebrate sex and life. No more statues of mass murderers. I want statues of women who've had ten kids erected instead. What's wrong with the body? Let's celebrate the body. By the time I leave office, 'fuck you' is going to be high praise, not an insult. I mean sure we need taboo words, but we need to think about what words those are. I mean there is no God, so why is swearing a God's name obscene? It's because if you swear to do something in a deity's name, and then you don't do it, the deity looks bad, so people made that a taboo so they could protect their deity from people questioning him, and it's usually him, isn't it ladies? Well, the closest thing you'll ever find to a goddess has arrived and she, that's me, is going to lead this country into the promised land of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. I may not win this race but I will speak my mind and have a good time, and make those impotent old men sweat if they want to continue with the same old nonsense that's ruining this country. I am a fertility goddess and I will show them how to stimulate the economy. I will now take questions."

One reporter stands up, an older grumpy rumply male veteran of many a presidential campaign, and asks, "But the presidency is serious business. Ms. O'Couscous, quite honestly, even with all the French philosophy you like to discuss, you have a lightweight image, so are you tough enough to be president?"

"Honey, I'd like to see any of the other candidates do an anal double penetration gang bang. If that ain't toughness, then I don't know what is."

Another reporter, a middle-aged female reporter with an immaculate helmet of hair, "But you have no military experience! How can you be commander in chief?"

"You're forgetting I was in Army Love 69 III. Plus I can be a real bitch when I have to."

A third reporter, who looks suspiciously like another famous porn star, Scorchy Seagrams, except for the glasses she's wearing, "Ms. O'Couscous, do you have any skeletons in your closet you'd like to declare now?"

Kitty moves from behind the podium and stands in front of it. She unbelts her robe, takes it off, and tosses it to one of the Secret Service agents, who catches it. "As you can see," she says, standing nude, "Unlike those other candidates, I have nothing to hide. Plus my boobs are bigger."

Blog Love Omega Glee is a novel by Wred Fright about two bloggers who fall in love while the world falls apart, which is being serialized on his blog. To start reading from the beginning or read another installment, please visit Blog Love Omega Glee Central on WredFright.Com. If you like what you've read, or you've read all of Blog Love Omega Glee and want more Fright, then please read his first novel, which is available in print and as an ebook.

Blog Love Omega Glee: Love On A Thursday Afternoon (10 May 2012)

It appears to be a coffeeshop romance. If T.S. Eliot's J. Alfred Prufrock measured out his life with coffee spoons, then Francine and Jake are stirring up their love with cream and sugar. However, it might be moving fast in their hearts, but to any observers, it's moving slow, even standing still. If you drop in Caffeine Eden this Thursday afternoon, you might notice a couple--a heterosexual couple Adam, the owner of the cafe, would add as you order your coffee from him at the counter--sitting close together in the corner chatting and laughing. He has wavy, dark hair in a short haircut and pale skin shows where he's not wearing jeans, sneakers, and a short sleeve black and white striped shirt. She has dyed black hair with some pink mixed in the front of her even shorter haircut, and more paler skin displayed with her sleeveless shoulder-showing blue blouse, jeans, and boots. If you sit in the corner near them, anxious to soak up memories of love long ago or hopes of love to come by proximity to the young lovers--he looks a bit more young than she--you might overhear:

"So Donald liked you. He wished you'd stayed longer so he could have shown you even more wrestling comics. You were fresh meat to talk about comics with. Masani and I tend to slip away when he starts talking about comics," she says.

"Yes, I was sorry to have to go to work. That's what sucks about second shift. It hangs over my head like an anvil all day. I'd rather just go to work and get it over with," he says.

"I hear you, though getting up early is a drag too. Let's face it, there is no good way to work. If work were fun, people wouldn't have to get paid to do it."

"So, uh, Donald, he's just your housemate, right?"

"Yes."

"You two never, er . . ."

"Dated? You jealous boy, you. No, you have nothing to worry about. I'm pretty convinced Masani, whom you haven't met yet, would kill me if I ever had designs on Donald. She has a massive crush on him, but he hasn't seemed to notice yet. He's too busy reading comic books."

"I can relate to being that obsessed with an aspect of popular culture. One reason I think I like wrestling so much is that it's completely ridiculous, and that enthralls me somehow. Sometimes I think life is ultimately ridiculous and that's why."

"Well, love's ridiculous. So, are you going to show me your house? We started some things yesterday that we didn't get to finish since you had to get to work."

"Sure, you can meet the cats. My parents are at work though."

"I'll feel like I'm in high school again. Sneaking around somebody's house while their parents aren't home."

"Well, it's better that way. My mom would ask you a million questions. She's obsessed with having grandchildren. Until I got through college, my parents tried to scare me away from girls since they were afraid I'd get someone pregnant and ruin my future. Now that I'm in my twenties, it's the opposite, and they're trying to bumrush me into giving them grandchildren."

"Well, try being a woman in her thirties. People start saying things like 'Your biological clock is ticking' or 'You know older women who get pregnant often have babies with problems' or 'Have you tried one of those online dating sites?' or 'You should come to church with me. There's some nice single men there.' They act like feminism never happened, and I'm just shirking on my duty to pump out more humans for the race."

"Well, there's no shortage of human beings so I don't see what they're so worried about. You can't reach out your arm without hitting another human."

Jake swings out his arm and hits your elbow just as you were lifting your cup to your mouth while you were sitting at the next table. Coffee spills all over you. He apologizes and gets you another coffee. Francine gets some napkins and helps you wipe up. They offer to take care of the dry cleaning bill, and ask you if you're all right, were you burned? about fifty times each, but you assure them it's no problem, you're fine, accidents happen, it's how most of us got here in the first place, chuckle, chuckle. Eventually they toddle off and you watch them go. Despite the fact that you'll smell like hazelnuts for the rest of the day, you aren't angry. It was your own fault after all. You only leaned back so far because you wanted to soak up a bit of love, and so you did. Coffee too.

Blog Love Omega Glee is a novel by Wred Fright about two bloggers who fall in love while the world falls apart, which is being serialized on his blog. To start reading from the beginning or read another installment, please visit Blog Love Omega Glee Central on WredFright.Com. If you like what you've read, or you've read all of Blog Love Omega Glee and want more Fright, then please read his first novel, which is available in print and as an ebook.

San Francisco Sonnet

Last year I visited San Francisco for the first time. I liked the city but was stunned by the number of homeless people on the streets. I've never seen so many people begging and sleeping on the street, and I've been to many cities and seen this sad situation before; I've just never seen it on such a scale. The experience sparked a poem, "SanFran PanHand Sort-Of-Sonnet," which San Francisco zine Xploited has published in their new issue (#3 for those keeping track on their scorecards out there), which has a homeless theme. You can find the poem here.