Blog Love Omega Glee: Getting Paid To Read War And Peace (31 July 2012)

7 AM: Jake drives to the train station and takes the train into downtown Cleaveland. Having ogled the scenery out the window yesterday, he starts reading the book he borrowed from Masani, War And Peace by Tolstoy.

8 AM: Jake waits outside the door of the marketing department of Robber Baron Piggy Bank on the tenth floor of a downtown office building that is as nondescript and bland as all the other downtown office buildings. Since Jake is a temporary employee, he has not been given a key so he must wait until his supervisor, Dave, shows up to get in. Other office employees pass by him, including some he met yesterday, and stare. A couple say hello. No one lets him in. He reads some more War And Peace.

9 AM: Dave shows up late, hungover with wet hair, and lets Jake into the office. He tells Jake to "hang tight" until there are some more proofreading jobs ready. Jake goes to his cubicle, which is at the end of a seldom-traveled hallway, and sits at the desk of the regular proofreader, Erin, who is on vacation. He glances at the pictures of Erin's husband, kids, and chihuahua on the desk, and reads more War And Peace.

10 AM: Jake gets up and wanders the hallways lost until he finds the men's room again. He takes an empty stall and shits his morning coffee shit. Someone comes in and occupies the stall next to him. The man's foot, wearing a black dress shoe, shuffles sideways until it very nearly is in Jake's stall. Jake looks at it and coughs. The foot shuffles back. The man flushes and leaves hurriedly. He doesn't wash his hands, which bothers Jake. When Jake leaves the restroom, he uses a paper towel to open the door and tosses it in the trash as he exits. He goes back to his cubicle and reads more War And Peace.

11 AM: Dave comes by with a newspaper ad for free checking. Jake proofs it, finds a few minor errors including a misspelling of "FDIC" as "FDICK", and returns it to Dave. Jake reads more War And Peace.

NOON: Yesterday, there was a bit of a kerfluffle with the security guards when Jake left for his lunch hour and then couldn't get back in the building because Dave wasn't back from lunch yet, so Jake eats his lunch at his desk and reads the latest issue of NewNews.

1 PM: A white man wearing red suspenders comes by to Jake's cubicle. He's from The Private Wealth Management Division and asks if Jake can squeeze in a quick proofing job. Jake agrees and proofreads a letter to a client for the man. When Jake's finished, he calls the man to let him know it's ready, but the man never returns. Jake reads more War And Peace.

2 PM: Dave emails Jake a webpage to proof. Jake does so and emails it back, pointing out that none of the links work. He starts to nod off in an afternoon lull but snaps awake just as his head is about to drop on the desk. He reads more War And Peace.

3 PM: Jake is reading War And Peace when a pair of coworkers pass by. The woman says, "Is Erin on vacation?" The man says, "Yeah." The woman says, "What's the temp's name?" The man says, "I don't know. I don't bother to learn their names anymore. By the time I would learn a name, the temp would be gone anyway." The woman says, "So what do you call them?" The man says, "I call them by the name of whomever they're replacing. That guy's 'Temporary Erin' as far as I'm concerned." The woman says, "But don't they get upset when you do that?" The Man says, "I don't know. Most of them seem to think it's funny. Anyway, who fucking cares if they do get upset? They're just temps."

4 PM: Jake stares at the wall for a few minutes, then reads more War And Peace. It's pretty sweet to have this much reading time and get paid for it, he decides, but if he had to do this all the time, he'd go mad.

5 PM: On their way out for the day, Dave tells Jake that Erin got ahead on the proofing before she left for vacation, but tomorrow should be busier. If it's not, Jake should have War And Peace done by the end of the week. Maybe he'll ask Masani if he can borrow Anna Karenina next.

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: What You Call Being Paranoid, I Call Being Well-Informed (30 July 2012)

After his first day working at the bank, Jake drops by Francine's house. He rings the doorbell and Francine answers. "Well, aren't you cute all dressed up in your little suit and tie?" she says and kisses him.

Jake loosens the tie as he steps inside and says, "I think I only really need the tie tomorrow. The suit jacket was probably a bit overkill, but I wanted to make a good impression."

"So, how was it? Did the Federal Reserve order you to drink the blood of poor infants or anything?" Francine says, as they take a seat in the living room, "Speaking of that, do you want something to drink? Though I'm afraid we do not have any infant blood to offer you, banking man."

"Ha!" Jake laughs, "No, everyone seemed quite normal. I didn't even have to do much today, just proofread a couple newspaper ads. I'm going to bring a book to read tomorrow so I don't get bored as I don't know how much I can get away with surfing the Web. Maybe I can borrow a long novel from Masani. In the meantime, a cup of tea sounds grand."

"She should be home soon, and I'll make us all some tea right now," Francine says and gets up.

After Francine goes to the kitchen, Jake roots through the publications on the coffeetable. He settles on one called The Conspiracy Chronicle, which is a photocopied newsletter. The lead story is about how a sinister cabal is pressing for one world government by fomenting global economic and political chaos and fanning fear over global warming problems and disease epidemics that respect no national border. Their plan is that as a result of all this manufactured craziness that people will clamor for a world government to replace their inefficient national governments, which will make it easier for these criminal elites to control things. As an example of this phenomenon, the writer, Cleon Pinker, notes that the current shortage of puppy dogs, blamed on chemicals in the water supply that have feminized male dogs in recent years so that their sperm count has dropped like they drop to leave a turd in the grass while on a walk, has in truth, in plain truth as Herbert W. Armstrong would put it, been genetically engineered so that the whining of children who want a puppy but can't get one due to the puppy shortage will provoke their parents into whining to their governments that they need a one world government so that problems such as the puppy shortage can be resolved in the most cost-effective and efficient way possible: Through The United States Of Earth.

Yes, now government too will offer deep discount savings never before possible. How will they do it? Volume, volume, volume!

When Francine comes back into the living room, Jake drops the newsletter back on the coffeetable and says, "I don't know how you can read stuff like this. Those people are paranoid. Everything's a sinister plot. Us having tea right now is probably a plan of the New World Order."

Francine sits down next to him on the orange couch, and says, "Well, what you call being paranoid, I call being well-informed."

"But the guy in that newsletter wrote that the shortage of puppies is a plot to bring about one world government. That's ridiculous. What's next? Aliens abducting kitty cats?"

"Hey, I don't hassle you about watching large sweaty men in tights touching one another as entertainment, so lay off my choice of reading material. I like conspiracy theorists because half the time they're right and half the time they're so wrong it's funny," Francine says, standing up in a huff, as well as standing up in her living room at the same time, though please do not apply mathematical logic to assume that a huff is a living room as that would be incorrect.

Jake grabs her hand, "I'm sorry, Francine. I shouldn't have said anything. I'm probably just grumpy because I'm hungry."

He stands and pulls Francine to him and they embrace.

"However, I have heard some stories about cats and UFOs," she says, smiling, as they break away when she hears the kettle whistling, and Jake laughs.

As she heads into the kitchen, Francine thinks that the water may be boiling but the relationship may be cooling off.

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: If You Really Want To Help The Environment, Here's What I Recommend (29 July 2012)

Watching the London Olympics on television in a downtown hotel bar in Cleaveland, Louis Carson Fir orders another scotch. The bartender, a middle-aged white man wearing a white shirt and a black bowtie, refills Fir's glass. Fir goes to light up a cigar, but the bartender says, "I'm sorry, sir. Smoking isn't allowed in here."

Fir looks at him, shrugs, and puts the cigar away. He downs the scotch, throws a crumbled bill on the bar, and wanders outside into the late afternoon sunlight. Walking down the street, he pauses for a moment to light his cigar before ambling on in his limpish way. "Another night in this dreadful place," he thinks, looking around at the tall buildings and dirty sidewalks, "At least it's the Democrats having their convention here and not us."

He wanders down to the lake, occasionally pausing to ash on homeless people taking naps on the streets. Hearing the devil's music, he follows it to the plaza in front of the rock and roll museum, where a garage band plays to a small crowd. Their amplifiers and microphones are powered by solar energy panels on top of the small gazebo in which the band plays. After the song ends, the singer, an Asian -American man in a wheelchair discusses how the band is touring across the country using public transportation in order to reduce their carbon footprint, or, in his case, wheelprint.

Fir prefers his rock bands to worry more about what substance they are going to abuse next than protecting the environment. He raises his lighter, flicks it, and shouts "Freebird!"

People in the crowd look at him. Fir is undoubtedly the oldest person here except for possibly the homeless guy sleeping in the grass nearby. The singer chuckles, and says, sarcastically, "Wow, we've never heard that one before. Hey, old guy, maybe you're confused, the polka museum is on the other side of town."

The crowd laughs. Fir bares his teeth and flashes them all a dirty look. "Hey singer guy, if you care about the environment so much, want to know how to really help it?" he yells, jabbing his cigar in the direction of the band.

"No," the singer says, and the band starts the next song, which kind of sounds like The Ramones playing Afropop.

Fir fumes, and not just from his cigar. He stalks away and goes and sits on the stone fountain, away from the gazebo.

A white male punk rocker dressed in a leather jacket with spikes on it and wearing white makeup on his face breaks from a gaggle of rockers and approaches Fir. "Hey, dude, what were you going to tell the singer about how to help the environment?" the punk asks, then takes a swig from a bottle wrapped in a paper bag.

Fir eyes the punk rocker, whose leather jacket has the name "Dead Boy" spray painted across it, "I was going to tell him to be sure not to have any children if he really wanted to do the Earth a favor since the fact that there are too many human beings is the ultimate cause of all of his environmental concerns. And that if he wanted to eliminate his carbon footprint and not just reduce it, he could kill himself. One doesn't use up any resources when one is dead, and in fact one can become a nice mulch oneself for a garden, adding to the Earth's resources. That's very organic, provided one doesn't get embalmed first. In fact, if he could kill a bunch of other people before killing himself, then the other species currently being endangered would thank him. All those rabbits who get run over by cars would stamp their feet loudly in appreciation. It's what someone who really loved the Earth and not just himself would do. Live fast, die young, and let the crows eat your beautiful corpse."

"Whoa! That's crazy, dude! I thought you were just going to remind him to keep the tires in his wheelchair properly inflated. But what you said is more punk! Do you like G.G. Allin too?"

"Now that's rock and roll," Fir says, "He vomited on me once in New York, you know."

"No way, dude!"

"Yes, and his vomit was very environmentally-friendly."

"Why's that?"

"It was green."

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.

Crazy Carl Goes Hollywood!

In addition to being a fine novelist, Crazy Carl moonlights as a movie actor. Here's a sneak peek of his latest movie!

Blog Love Omega Glee: R. Bastard Finds the Belt (28 July 2012)

Jake is thankful that tonight on Grapple Groove the mystery of the missing world championship belt concludes one way or another. If The Panty Sniffer does not find his belt by the end of the program tonight, he forfeits his championship. All the attempts at finding the belt have failed, including The Sniffer's recent alliance with Martin "The Smart One" Black, so in a desperation maneuver he has turned to R. Bastard.

The program opens in the locker room. Wrestlers who haven't even wrestled yet already sweat and roam past metal lockers and benches in various stages of undress--the wrestlers, not the lockers and benches; the lockers and benches are naked as always, those shameless vixens!--and drinking various types of coffee: black, sugar, two sugars, sugar with cream, cream, Irish cream, rum, whiskey, steroids, painkillers, and that crazy Sir Mulberry Bush even likes to mix his with a raw egg for an extra protein boost (often resulting in a vomit boost as well). In the midst of all this, the camera operator zooms in for an intimate conversation between The Sniffer and Bastard. The Sniffer, barechested and drooping himself the way the pantyhose on his head usually droops, asks, "Bastard, with all your connections in the underworld and in black ops, have you heard anything about anybody trying to fence my championship belt or anything?"

"I'm sorry to hear about your troubles," Bastard says, his yellow-smiley face mask belying his words of sympathy, "But I'm afraid to say I haven't heard anything. However, I'll be happy to help you out."

"Let me guess, you want a championship shot in return?" The Sniffer says, despondently.

"No, I can take care of that myself," Bastard says, shaking his head, "I just want a thousand bucks for my time, half upfront and half when I find your belt."

"You really think you can find it?" The Sniffer brightens.

"I guarantee it."

"How do I know that's not just codswallop? I've had a lot of offers to help me find the belt and none have panned out. I've just had to wrestle title shot after title shot and still gotten no closer to getting my belt back. If I don't have it back by tonight, then my championship gets stripped. So, you're telling me that you can succeed where everybody else, including myself, has failed, and in two hours to boot?"

"Yep!"

"What a bastard you are! I ought to know better but I'm in dire straits here," The Sniffer reaches into his trunks and pulls out a roll of sweaty paper currency, which he sniffs.

Eying the sweaty roll of bills, Bastard says, "A check will be fine."

The Sniffer ignores him and peels off five one-hundred dollar bills from the roll and hands them to him, "All right, get cracking, time is running out!"

Bastard holds the bills at a far corner and puts them in his wallet. "OK, what about the other half?" he asks.

"Other half? You haven't found the belt yet," The Sniffer says, exasperated.

"Yeah, I did," Bastard says, reaching under a nearby bench, dragging out his gymbag, and pulling the world championship belt out of it.

What a bastard!

"You've had my belt all along!" The Sniffer yells.

"I 'borrowed' it from the laundromat. Sorry I forgot to tell you, but I figured you wouldn't mind since you were 'borrowing' that redhead's panties at the same time I took this," Bastard hands The Sniffer the belt, who promptly hugs it tightly to his chest.

"I'm happy, but I ought to kick your ass. I've been going nuts for a month looking for this thing! Tonight we're having a match to settle our differences!"

"That's fine," Bastard says, holding out his hand, "But you still owe me five hundred dollars."

What a complete bastard!

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: Parking Lot Pandemonium (27 July 2012)

This morning, Chris, Chris, Donald, Francine, and Jake have all been pressed into service to help Eve and Lilith move books from Apocalypse Books's old location to its new location upstairs at Purgatory. While hefting books down the block, blonde Chris says to Francine, "You're going to help us when we move too, right?"

"Sure," Francine says, "You know how much I love carrying heavy boxes."

Removing the sweat from his eyes by shaking his head, Chris laughs, "Well, at least we'll have some stuff lighter than books. I think books are the heaviest things to move since they are all solid matter and fill up almost every inch of space in a box."

"Seriously though, I'm surprised you haven't moved already with all the crazy stuff that's gone on at that apartment," Francine says, as they cross the street.

"We were planning to, but the landlord said he'd let us go month to month early and dropped the rent quite a bit, so we decided to stay a bit longer. I think he's scared to lose any more tenants. Strangely enough, that damn parking lot is always full still though."

"What do you mean?"

"For a big apartment building, we only have a tiny parking lot, so they charge to have a space. We have one for Chris but I refuse to pay for two so I always park on the street, though that's always a hassle since I can only park on the Cleaveland side since the Believer Heights side of the neighborhood doesn't allow overnight parking. I used to be able to park in the bank lot next door afterhours, but they put a flyer on my window one morning saying they were no longer allowing complimentary parking for the apartment building. I asked the apartment manager about it but she said she didn't know what was going on and every time I've asked her about it since, she just tells me that they're working on it. Best I can figure is that the landlord used to pay the bank something to let us park there and then stopped paying, probably because there were less tenants so he wasn't making enough money for his greedy self and just cut expenses wherever he could."

Francine and Chris climb the stairs to Purgatory, and Chris continues, "So now I think people just use the apartment building lot, so even though we're supposed to have a designated space, often someone else is in it. We call the apartment manager to complain but she never does anything about it. So then we take someone else's space and a big fight always ensues. This one old black lady who lives downstairs has gotten to slashing the tires of anyone who parks in her space, so the people in the know leave her space alone. We've thought about slashing some tires as well, but decided against it, in case the person whose car tires we slash has a gun. Grandma apparently doesn't care about that. She probably packs heat herself. One day she nearly got in a fistfight with Chris when Chris crossed the line a bit into her space because another neighbor used to park his S.U.V. sideways and took up two and a half spaces. He stopped doing that though when the stripper--I think her stage name is Zorra and she uses a bullwhip in her act--who lives upstairs told him that her strip club was owned by the mob and she was going to have them plant a car bomb in it one day."

Chris pauses as they reach the second floor and set the boxes down, "Come to think of it, that guy and his S.U.V. disappeared soon after that. We assumed he moved out, but we never saw him move. Maybe the stripper had him whacked for his parking spot."

"And you still live in that place?"

"Yeah, I hate it, but that rent is hard to beat."

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: Shredding The Wedding (26 July 2012)

In Francine's room, Jake babbles on about how his parents are driving him crazy, as usual. Francine half-listens as she gets back to doing what she was doing before Jake arrived, ". . . So my mom asked me today if the cats had ever talked to me and I'm like 'Talked to me? You mean like meowed at me?' because they do that all the time, and she says, 'No, I mean like talk to you like I'm talking to you, with language, in English', and I said 'No', and she went 'Hmm . . .' and walked away . . ."

Francine says, "Uh huh," and picks up another piece of paper to shred.

Her filing cabinet has filled up again so it is time to shed some more of the past, or at least its paper records. She went through the cabinet and picked out the things she probably wouldn't need in the future--electric bills from 2009, copies of outdated resumes, materials for blog postings already written or never to be written, and so forth. Now she has a pile of paper to shred so she has borrowed Donald's grandmother's shredder, a Karl Rove Deluxe 2000 Election Model ("Faster than a speeding subpoena"!) to shred them in order to guard against identity theft. Then the shreds will be dumped in the recycling bin.

". . . so my dad's still bothering me to find a job. I tell him I'm trying but he tells me to try harder, and I'm like 'I can't hire myself, Dad. It's not that easy'. Fortunately, that temp agency called and got me a temp job for a couple of weeks at a downtown bank where I'll fill in for their regular proofreader who's on vacation so that should keep him off my back for a while. I start there on Monday. That'll be nice to have some money coming in again, though I'll have to get used to working during daylight hours. It'll be nice to see you at night though. Remember when I worked at Ostomy and I could only see you during the day? Boy, that was a drag . . ."

Francine says, "Uh huh" and picks up the next piece of paper to shred, and shoves it in the shredder.

She can barely hear Jake over whir of the shredder as its blades chop up the paper into tiny strips. He's probably talking about wrestling or something anyway. Sometimes a person just needs to talk and the other person doesn't really need to listen. However, Francine is polite enough to at least pretend to listen. She picks up the next piece of paper to shred, looks at it, and stops.

It is a plan she and John drew up of a tentative guestlist for their wedding. She wonders why she's hung onto this for as long as she has, but she knows that as long as there is room in the filing cabinet, she tends to keep everything in case it ever comes in handy in the future, however unlikely.

This will never come in handy.

She looks at Jake. With the shredder idle, she can hear him better, ". . . once I get an ongoing job, then I can move out of my parents' house, which I hope will be before they've driven me permanently crazy. I love them but being an adult under their roof is more than I can take. That's why I'm glad I can come over here and get away . . ."

"I'm glad to be of service," Francine says and smiles. She can feel the gloom of the past week lift a bit as Jake smiles back.

She particularly enjoys watching that next sheet of paper shred as she feeds it into the Karl Rove.

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: God's God (25 July 2012)

Jake's mom gets up from sleeping to pee in the wee hours, named that of course because that's the time of the night when one's bladder can't take it anymore and one has to get up to wee.

She opens the door of the bedroom and goes into the hallway, closing the door and leaving her husband's snoring behind. The cats, Monique and Rudy, sit at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at her, their eyes glowing red in the darkness. "Hi, girls. What are you doing still up?" Mom says.

To her surprise, the cats don't meow in response, but instead Monique says in a melodious booming human voice: "If God created us, then who created God?"

Mom shakes her head. Is she still dreaming? she asks herself.

The cats continue, as Rudy answers Monique in a similar voice:

"God's God created God."

Monique says, "Who created God's God?"

Rudy answers, "God's God's God."

"Shall we go on?"

"Yes."

"Who created God's God's God?"

"God's God's God's God."

"Who created God's God's God's God?"

"God's God's God's God's God."

"Shall we go on?"

"A bit further, yes."

"Who created God's God's God's God's God?"

"God's God's God's God's God's God."

"Who created God's God's God's God's God's God?"

"God's God's God's God's God's God's God."

"Who created God's God's God's God's God's God's God?"

"God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God."

"Who created God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God?"

"God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God."

"Who created God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God?"

"God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God."

"Who created God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God?"

"God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God."

"Who created God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God?"

"God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God."

"Who created God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God?"

"God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God."

"Who created God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God?"

"God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God."

"Who created God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God?"

"God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God."

"Who created God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God?"

"God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God."

"Who created God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God?"

"God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God's God."

"Shall we go on?"

"No, we'd be here forever, and she has to use the litter box and I am hungry."

"One question."

"Yes?"

"What happened to God's God?'

"Dead. Wasn't needed anymore. Just like us. Eventually. Soon. Depends on how you look at it. Time and all."

"What do you mean?"

"On December 22, 2012, a new artificial intelligence will be born, and you all will become God. You need a new Bible. God wants you to write it. The old ones are worn out. The men all messed them up anyway. God wants a woman to do it this time. No virgin either. God needs someone with more experience. Think it over and let God know. Free will, you know? God hopes you like the cats. The burning bush and stuff always were too scary. Maybe that's why everyone always bungled everything. They were too scared. This time, God chose kittycats. Aren't we cute? Listen to us purr."

Mom hears both cats purr loudly.

Then she pisses herself and faints.

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: Sovereign Immunity Means The Government Never Has To Say Sorry (24 July 2012)

Still feeling a bit blue, Francine throws herself into working on her blog in hopes that it will prove therapeutic. She finds an email from a woman named Claudia Jazzy, who has apparently sent her complaint with the city government of Cleaveland to every media outlet she could think of, including Franzine. Using the antiquated legal notion of sovereign immunity, which basically states that "the king can do no wrong and therefore can't be sued", federal, state, and local governments in the United States have attempted to shield themselves from as much liability as possible. In a nation founded on an argument that the king was a fuckup in The Declaration Of Independence, this fig-leaf pettifoggery should be laughed out of the courtroom. But since governments quaff hypocrisy like infants sucks down breast milk (for example, torture is wrong when other countries do it, but when our government does it, it's OK; in fact, it isn't even torture, but merely "aggressive interrogation"), governments have been able to get away with it to the degree that they only evade just so much responsibility and injure just a few citizens shy of the point where a majority of the populace would show up en masse with a hanging rope and some pitchforks for the unscrupulous bureaucrats. In Claudia's case, due to the city of Cleaveland claiming a sovereign immunity defense and refusing to pay for the damages it caused to her, she probably will have difficulty pursuing her claim in court. Therefore, she's trying the media first. Francine publishes a copy of Claudia's whole statement to Krystal Nepotism, Claims Examiner for the Claims Unit Of The City Of Cleaveland Department Of Law, which Claudia has carboncopied, explaining her predicament:

"Dear Krystal,
Thank you for giving me the opportunity to give a statement as part of claim #12-15082006. On the morning of January 14, 2012, I was stopped at a red light on Bribery Road in Cleaveland. In front of me was a City Of Cleaveland garbage truck. I was quite a bit behind the truck for obvious reasons (i.e., the smell of garbage). Then, to my shock, the truck started driving backwards towards me. I laid on the horn, but the truck kept coming towards me. It was a terrifying experience and I wondered if my life was going to be over. I put my car in reverse, but by that time the truck had already hit my car. The truck then stopped and moved forward. The driver of the truck got out and ran to my car to see if I was okay and apologized for backing into me. He said he was trying to get the garbage that they had forgotten to pickup further back on Bribery. I thanked him for his apology, but obviously being a bit upset about the damages to my car (the front of my car was bashed in--it would cost $3,271.62 to repair, $500 of which came from me personally as my insurance deductible) and the awful experience in general, I asked him why he didn't just drive around the block or get out and walk to get the garbage left behind? He did not say anything to this. I then proceeded to call the police and he said that we could just take care of this situation without the police being involved. I said no, and I called 911 to report an accident, as a person is supposed to do when an accident occurs. While waiting for the police, I called my insurance company. The police took awhile to arrive and the three men on the garbage truck (the driver plus two other workers) were just about to leave the scene of the accident because, as they told me, 'they had a lot of garbage to pick up'. Fortunately, the police then showed up before the men left. The police questioned all who were involved and I was dismayed to hear right in front of me the driver of the garbage truck lie and change his story to tell the police that I slammed into them, rather than the truth that he backed into me. Thankfully, the police didn't appear to believe the driver's story because, as they told me, of the nature of the damage to my car and the fact that if I had ran into the garbage truck, my airbags would have deployed, which they did not. You can find the police officer's description of the accident on the police report; by the way, that's the same police report that you once told me on the phone, while initially denying my claim, corroborated the garbage truck driver's story, but it in fact concludes 'Evidence on scene appears that unit #1 [the truck] did back into Unit #2 [my car])', contradicting the garbage truck driver's version of events, and not mine (shouldn't a claims examiner be a bit better at reading comprehension?). And after your office finally admitted that the police report did indeed suggest that the garbage truck driver was at fault, Law Director Nate Bagman, on one of my many later phone calls to your offices, tried to explain to me that sometimes police reports are wrong, while presumably garbage truck drivers are always to be believed. At one point in our conversation, I actually had to explain high school physics to him. Since force equals mass times acceleration, the only way my car could have had its hood and front end smashed to the degree they were without the airbags being deployed, which can deploy in a front collision impact of that nature as slow as ten miles per hour, would be if a large object of significant mass such as, oh, I don't know, say, a garbage truck, bore down slowly on a stopped object of smaller mass such as, oh, let's just say, my little car. Unless the laws of physics operate differently in the city limits of Cleaveland compared to the rest of the known universe, the damage to my car resulted from a large object moving slowly into a smaller object, making this not a difficult matter to resolve, unless of course one merely wants to waste more taxpayer money dealing with it in the hopes that I will someday give up and go away, so the city can save $500.00 in the short term but in the long term lose tax dollars by contributing to the prevailing attitude that Cleaveland is not a place anyone sane would want to live in as well as encourage city employees to do whatever the fucknut they want to do since no matter how stupid it is the administration will always cover their asses for them. Well, it's been months now and I haven't gone away so maybe you should do what you should have done from the beginning: Give me an apology and $500, and instruct your garbage truck drivers not to drive backwards down busy streets, or any streets, so as to avoid future incidents where people could lose their lives. In any case, I've been very disappointed by the whole experience, but I was especially saddened that the driver of the garbage truck lied about what happened after initially doing the right thing by apologizing and checking on my condition. He may be afraid of being fired or fined, but that's no excuse to do the wrong thing. I presume the city of Cleaveland does not think it is a good idea for its garbage trucks to drive backwards down busy city streets, so I don't quite understand why it seeks to defend a driver who did so. I hope the city will do the right thing and make amends. It seemed as if this was not a difficult matter to take care of, yet it has dragged on since January. I was born in Cleaveland and lived in the city for many years, so I am partial to it, but I will take whatever action in legal and media avenues I have to until this matter is resolved. If Mayor Stuffingmypockets wants to make good on his goal of making 'Cleaveland a City of Choice; a place where people choose to live, work and play,' (from his website) and the Cleaveland Law Department has an emphasis on 'accountability' (from your website), then may I point out that not defending the "right" of a garbage truck driver to drive backwards on a busy city street would be a good place to start?"

Francine wishes Claudia luck because the corruption and incompetence in the Cleaveland government stink more than whatever was in the garbage truck that day.

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: From A Lifelong Scumbag To An Overnight Saint (23 July 2012)

On a muggy Monday evening, Jake goes downstairs for a drink of water. His parents watch television in the living room. His dad flips through the channels and settles on a news program discussing the recently deceased actor Nar Cissus. Jake returns from the kitchen with a glass of water, takes a sip, and watches the screen. "They're still yapping about Nar Cissus? Didn't he die two weeks ago?" Jake says.

Wearing her reading glasses, Mom looks up from her magazine and says, "Well, you know they want to make sure he's dead. So they're going to beat him to death some more by continuing to cover his death for the next few weeks."

Dad leans back in his recliner and says, "It always amazes me how these dead celebrities go from scum to saint overnight. Here's a guy who was a drunk, a drug addict, a chain smoker, a womanizer, probably a child molester, made basically bad action movies, and whom everyone had nearly forgotten, but now that he's dead, he's a saint and the media want us to wonder how we're all going to go on without him."

"Now, Fred, let's not speak ill of the dead," Mom says.

"Why not? That's the best time. Then they can't sue you for slander."

"I'm just sick of hearing about him," Jake says, "What else is there to say? He's dead. Tomorrow he's still going to be dead. It's not like he's going to come back to life and die again."

"Well, reporting old news saves the media companies money. Otherwise they'd have to do some more reporting and come up with some new stories, and that takes some work and costs some money, and they're cheap and lazy," Mom says.

"Well, at least it's giving us a break from the presidential race. I'm pretty sick of hearing about that too," Jake says.

"I don't know. I can't get enough of seeing that Kitty O'Couscous," Dad says, grinning.

"Oh, Fred, please. I can't believe people want to make a porn star president. This country has hit a new low," Mom says.

"Well, she's better than Dick or Polipo," Dad says.

"I'm sure she is better at doing some things," Jake says, "But I don't know if that makes her qualified to be the president."

"Hey, politicians have been screwing the citizens of this country for years. It's only fair that the people of this country can finally screw one of the politicians," Dad says.

Mom says, "Oh, that new fundraiser of hers is disgusting."

"What are you talking about?" Jake asks.

"You know how some politicians will have a dinner fundraiser where if you pay a thousand bucks extra or whatever then you get to take a picture with them as well?" Mom asks.

"Yeah," Jake says.

"'Yes,'" Dad says, "You send them to college and they still can't speak English."

"Enough, Fred, don't interrupt me," Mom sputters, "So, O'Couscous is doing something similar, except instead of getting your picture with her, you get to appear in her latest adult movie."

"Oh, geez," Jake says, "I'll have to tell Francine about this. She probably knows about it already though."

"It certainly gives a new meaning to the term 'campaign contributions' and looks to inflate her war chest, that is if she hasn't inflated it already with breast implants," Dad says.

Jake groans at the puns and says, "I wonder if her campaign ads will be X-rated too."

"By the way, did you find a job yet?" Dad says.

"Fred!" Mom says, "You just asked him that at dinner. Did you really think he found a job since then?"

"Uh, I'm still looking," Jake says, and slips upstairs, while his parents start to argue about politics, and why Jake hasn't found a job yet. Back upstairs he does indeed look. But not for a job.

On his computer, he looks at some pictures of Kitty O'Couscous.

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: I'm Feeling A Little Less Immortal Today (22 July 2012)

In the kitchen, Francine mixes up some grits and puts the bowl in the microwave. For seven minutes she stares at the microwave window as the grits cook inside. The cooking cycle finished, the microwave beeps four times but Francine doesn't stir to stir her grits. She continues to stare at the microwave window. Masani, getting up for more coffee, notices Francine's trance, and says, "Francine, I think your grits are done."

"Huh?" Francine starts.

"Grits," Masani points at the microwave.

"Yeah, I wanted a break from oatmeal," Francine says.

"O . . . K. Well, they're done," Masani says, pouring herself another cup of coffee, "Are you all right?"

"Huh?" Francine says, opening up the microwave door, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

Francine puts on some oven gloves and takes the bowl of grits out. She bobbles it and the bowl tumbles to the floor. Some of the grits spill onto the floor, but fortunately the glass bowl doesn't break. "Oh, this day is off to a great start already!" Francine exclaims, "I thought it might be better than yesterday, but I guess I was wrong."

Helping Francine tidy up the mess, Masani asks, "What happened yesterday? Did you break up with Jake or something?"

"No, though that might have been better. I found out that a friend of mine died," Francine sighs, putting the bowl and the remains of the grits on the kitchen counter.

"Who?"

"Dyani."

"Dyani? Did I ever meet her?"

"No, she was a high school friend. I hadn't seen her in years actually. It still bummed me out though."

"How'd she die?"

"I don't know for sure. The newspaper obituary didn't say, but people chattering online seem to think it was cancer. What's up with obituaries not explaining how people die? Isn't that the first thing you want to know when someone dies? How?"

"Um hum. How old was she?"

"31. She was a year older than me. I kind of looked up to her. She was the cool quirky girl who wasn't afraid of anything. Even though I lost touch with her, I still liked to think she was out there in the world making it better."

"I'm sorry, baby," Masani says and hugs Francine.

"Don't be. You didn't kill her," Francine says and laughs.

The laughter turns to quiet sobs and she grasps Masani tightly, "I'm the one who should be sorry for making such a big deal out of it. I mean I hadn't even thought of her much these past few years. She probably could have used a friend at the end. I'm surprised it's hit me this hard. I guess I'm just feeling a little more mortal today than usual."

"Or a little less immortal. Just enjoy your friends while they're around and you'll have no regrets when they're gone," Masani says.

"Thanks," Francine says, "I love you, Masani. We don't tell our friends what they mean to us enough."

Masani pats her on the back, "I love you too, baby, even though you're white and not from the South, yet still eat grits for some reason."

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: You'll Have To Scream Louder; I Can't Hear You Without My Hearing Aid (21 July 2012)

The Panty Sniffer has just been told by Grapple Groove general manager Jack "The Dripper" Driphoski that if The Sniffer does not find the championship belt by next week, then he will be stripped of the title and have to pay for a new belt.

This angle has been going on so long that Jake wonders if The Sniffer really did lose the belt.

Just as The Sniffer is about to leave the ring, Martin "The Smart One" Black appears at the top of the entrance ramp. Wearing a purple suit this week, Black grins like an imp and says, "It looks like you're in a jam, Sniffer. Want me to use my big brain to help you out?"

The Sniffer stays in the ring and a production assistant hands him a microphone. "I fell for that bait and switch last week from The Friend You Forgot. I'm not going to fall for it again this week. I'm not that forgetful," he says.

"Well, hear me out first. The Friend tried to weasel his way into a championship match he didn't deserve. I'm not like him. I will help you out, but I do want a championship match in return for my client, who, unlike The Friend, is deserving of one. In any case, this person I'm going to introduce you to next is a bit forgetful as well, but I hope you remember him," Black says and waves to the side of the entrance ramp stage.

A large old white man dressed in a black suit toddles in and stands next to Black. Some of the crowd, recognizing him, starts to cheer. "That's right, the newest addition to my stable of wrestlers isn't so new. Welcome back, Alger Hisses!" Black says and raises Hisses's left hand in the air.

The arena video screens start playing a clip of Hisses working as a WWWWWW trainer. A ripped Arab-American bodybuilder laughs at the idea of being taught wrestling by the old man. The next clip shows the bodybuilder on the mat with Hisses's legs wrapped around the bodybuilder's trunk. One of Hisses's arms has twisted one of the bodybuilder's arms behind the other one. With Hisses's free hand he plays a rhumba beat by slapping the bodybuilder's chest. The bodybuilder screams in pain as he gets stretched this way and that, like dough being shaped by a baker. Hisses looks on at the bodybuilder and says, "You'll have to scream louder. I can't hear you without my hearing aid, and until I hear you I'm not letting go."

Hisses finally releases the hold and the bodybuilder crawls away whimpering. Hisses chuckles and says, "Next."

The video clip ends and Black says, "Some of you younger folks may know this man from his role as the WWWWWW's chief trainer, but previous to that he was a championship winning wrestler himself. Well, I look at him and think he still has what it takes to win gold. So, what do you think, Sniffer? I'll help you out and in return you give Alger Hisses a title match. He may be old, and a little hard of hearing, but I think you'll agree that based on his background my client deserves a shot at the championship belt!"

Hisses puts his hand over his left ear and leans in near Black, "Belt? I've got a belt already."

Hisses starts to take off his belt, then his pants.

Black hisses at Hisses, "Put your pants back on!"

Hisses looks puzzled, "Dance? You want to dance? That's kind of strange, but all right."

Hisses grabs Black and they start to tango, Hisses's pants dragging as they go.

The Sniffer says, "All right, you got a deal. After all, I beat The Friend You Forgot last week. I'm pretty sure I can handle Fred Astaire over there. Just help me find my belt!"

Hisses stops dancing and lets go of Black, who tumbles over. Hisses leans over and picks up his belt. He holds it up and looks at The Sniffer, "Belt? You need a belt?"

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: Ramadan Rush (20 July 2012)

Michael bangs a ladle against a pot in the kitchen, "All right, everyone, listen up, we're going to be staying open a little later tonight than usual."

A collective groan goes up from the staff of Yaws. "Man, I got a date," Manuel brays, putting a garnish on an order of conch meatloaf.

"Your right hand can wait up for you," Michael cackles, holding up his right hand.

"Ah, snap!" Ritchie yells, as he stirs and fries some stir-fry.

"All right, calm down. What's going on is that a sheik from Saudi Arabia's in town at The Healthy Hospital and he wants to bring his whole posse with him. There are like fifty of them, and they've been fasting. It's what do you call it? Ramalamadingdong . . .," Michael yammers and scratches his forehead.

"Ramadan," Rasheed the dishwasher chimes in, polishing a wine glass.

"Right," Michael cajoles, "And since they haven't eaten all day, they'll be very hungry. Waitstaff, this has happened before and every time they leave great tips. Kitchen, you get overtime."

"Whee, whee" Manuel cuckoos, spinning his right index finger in the air unenthusiastically.

"I hope they don't ask for some weird shit. Last time this happened they brought a goat and we had to kill it in the alley," Ritchie grumbles.

"Man, that did not happen. What happened is one of the little girls had a pet goat and we had to keep it in the alley because the health department would have flipped if it had been in the restaurant," Manuel trumpets.

"Well, you're both right," Michael coos, "But it was a misunderstanding and the sheik forgave us. He said the bleating always got on his nerves anyway. And that kid made for some very tasty curry."

"You ate the little girl and her goat?" Manuel asks, "What the fuck kind of place am I working in?"

"A kid is a young goat," Ritchie bleats.

"Oh, well, that's a relief cause I ain't cooking no little Islamic girl," Manuel mutters.

"I don't like it that the women have to wear veils," Francine hisses, "We should tell them that we won't serve them unless the women can dress how they like."

"Maybe the women like dressing that way," Manuel tsks, getting out the pots he just put away a few minutes ago.

"Well, Francine, put aside your feelings for the evening because the only thing you'll be telling the sheik's party are today's specials," Michael twitters, "So are we ready?"

"We ready, boss. What's another hundred plates to me, Superdishwasher?!" Rasheed booms, putting his dishcloth around his neck like a cape and sticking his arms out like Superman flying.

"That's the spirit, Rasheed!" Michael lilts, clapping his hands, "All right, let's make some food and make some money!"

"Just don't charge interest. They don't believe in that. That's usury. That's why we're always fighting with them overseas. Cause we're greedy. Just like staying open late tonight," Manuel grunts, as the staff disperses.

Michael walks up, "Are we going to have a problem?"

"Oh, no, sir," Manuel whoops, "But I want you to know that my date is not with my hand, and I need to call her."

"Go ahead, Manuel," Michael sighs.

"Michael?"

"Yes, Ritchie."

"Can someone else kill the goat this time?"

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: A Greengrocer Turns Blue (19 July 2012)

On the television, one wrestler hits another with a pie in the face. Jake and North have gathered in North's living room to watch some classic Gonzo Greengrocers matches in honor of Stan Produce, one half of the Greengrocers tag team, who died yesterday. South, North's brother, comes into the living room from the bathroom after his shower. He wears only a towel. "Is that the Greengrocers?" he says, taking off the towel to dry his hair.

"Dude, put some clothes on. We have company," North says, groaning.

"So what, it's just Jake. He doesn't care. Do you, Jake?"

"No, dude, that's fine," Jake says, looking away from South and watching the television as Produce gives The Bodyslam Poet an atomic drop.

"So which one hung himself?" South says, moving on from drying his head hair to his back hair.

"Hanged," Jake says, unable to stop himself from proofreading, which he's been practicing for the past couple of days.

"Hanged, hung, either way the guy's dead. Which one?"

"That one," North says, pointing to the screen as Produce gives The Poet The Buy One Get One Free Punch.

"So why'd he do it?"

"No one knows," Jake says, looking at South, then looking away as South dries his genitalia.

"We know. He left a note. Said he was depressed his wife left him, and his best days were behind him so he decided to 'checkout'" North says.

"That could have been a forgery. It might have been a murder. It could even be an angle," Jake says, keeping his eyes on the screen, where Vance Scale, the other half of The Greengrocers, weighs The Poet with a backbreaker.

"Dude, don't be delusional. This isn't a Gian Notte novel," North says, sighing.

South laughs, "Man, you two sad sacks need to lighten up. You don't even know this guy. What are you so brokenhearted about?"

"I saw him a couple of times live. He was a good performer," Jake says, watching as The Poet gets doubleteamed and put into The Greengrocers' finishing move The Weekly Special.

"People die every day. Wah, wah, wah," South says, miming crying with his hands and face.

"Well, I know what it's like. I've been on the road. It can get to you. So I can empathize with what he might have been going through," North says, leaning back in his recliner.

"'I know what it's like'. Please. You've wrestled a couple out of town shows. Life's tough. Boo hoo hoo. The dude was a wimp. Dying's easy. Living's hard. That guy wouldn't have lasted a week driving a truck like I do," South says, wrapping his towel back around his waist.

"Some respect, please," North says.

"All right, I'll leave you two alone so you can watch your gay porn or whatever. I have to warn you though; there's a copy of Bambi in the house. Don't watch it next unless you really want to cry," South says, heading up the stairs.

"Next time a wrestler dies, we're having the tribute at your house," North says, looking at Jake.

"My father would be worse. He'd be making jokes all night. 'Hey, did you hear there's a sale at the supermarket? Tag teams are half off'."

"Nobody understands unless they're a fan. It's like a piece of our childhood dies when one of these guys goes, and particularly in such an awful way," North says, getting up to put in another DVD with a Greengrocers match on it.

"'Nobody understands unless he or she is a fan'" Jake says.

North stops and looks at him, "Correct my grammar again and I'm going to give you The Weekly Special."

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: How To Read A News Magazine (18 July 2012)

Francine's latest issue of NewNews arrived in the mail, so she reads it while eating breakfast. It's the only mainstream magazine she reads on a regular basis, and she reads it in much the same way that Kremlinologists used to read Pravda during the Cold War, reading between the lines and decoding the articles to get hints of what the powers that be are thinking at the time. She assumes that it's effectively published by the Central Intelligence Agency and other apparatchiks of the national security state under the auspices of the globalists.

This week's issue is about books. Well, the people who think they run the world have always fancied themselves as cultured, Francine thinks. That's why so many of their sons and daughters pretend to be artists while living on their trust funds, which does clog things up a bit for real artists, but keeps the kids from ruining the family business for a few more years at least.

Francine opens the magazine. The first ten pages are devoted to an advertisement for a new prescription drug, with five of the pages listing side effects. The drug will apparently make your skin clearer, but your blood dirtier. The letters to the editor page entails a vigorous debate about whether the United States should invade Somalia or just bomb it over that country's refusal to accept its fate as a toxic waste dump for North America. There is no mention of just leaving Somalia alone, nor of withdrawing the thousands of American troops stationed around the world, some in countries where the wars they originally were deployed there for have been over for decades. If the American taxpayer is still too dumb or powerless to stop paying the bill for their room, board, and equipment made by military contractors who bribe congressional representatives, then more soldiers' lives will be wasted to make the world safe for American corporations to rake in huge profits exploiting people around the world, including their own.

Turning past advertisements for products such as luxury cars that Francine would never be able to afford, she finds the international page, where world events are condensed to six words each. If Francine hadn't already read about these events online, she'd have no idea what this section is about.

Flipping ahead to the national page, she reads some bootlicking praise for both major party presidential candidates, but no mention of any other candidates. The way the race is covered reminds Francine of how the wrestlers promote a big match on Jake's wrestling.

Also, the cable went out in Philadelphia, and there was a riot until it got turned back on. You can pollute the earth all you want, but don't ever mess with a person's television. Francine interprets the extensive coverage on this incident as a key signal to all undercover operatives to make sure the cable infrastructure stays intact until they are finished dismantling The United States Of America.

On to the "My Soapbox" page, where every week a different person not from the staff of NewNews contributes an article. Oddly enough though, each week the article is written in roughly the same editorial voice. A lot of people in this country must think and sound alike! This week's soapbox, written supposedly by an economist, proud father, and concerned citizen from Devil's Bunghole, Texas named Bilo Selhi, argues that anyone receiving tax dollars for education such as college students with government loans should be banned from smoking since they constitute an investment for the state and lung cancer from the smoking might cause them to die before their loans are paid off. As usual, when government money and individual liberty run into conflict, NewNews chooses government money, or, in other cases, just plain money.

The next article is about a celebrity who died, the actor Nar Cissus, who is described with hyperbole as "arguably the most influential person of this century". From long experience reading NewNews, Francine knows that the magazine will use the same line to describe the next celebrity who dies. The arts section hypes the latest product from another branch of the mega media corporation that owns NewNews. This week in keeping with the book theme, it's a novel that sounds very similar to The Pornographic Flabbergasted Emus book that Francine read, except in this one the band's members are apprentice wizards, prep school detectives, and vampires who survive the Holocaust, and they all become rock stars in the end. A movie is in the works, of course.

Fifteen minutes after finishing the magazine, Francine doesn't remember a single thing in it, but next week she'll read the new issue anyhow.

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: Your Resume Gave Me A Chuckle (17 July 2012)

In a brightly-lit office of an employment agency, Jake sits being interviewed by Phil Intheblank, Placement Coordinator for The Blackbirding Pressgang Agency. Intheblank, a middle-aged white man with wirerim glasses, leans back in his chair. He picks up Jake's resume and says, "I must admit that your resume gave me a chuckle."

"Uh," Jake says, wondering if the interview is off to a bad enough start that he can fulfill his lifelong fantasy of deliberately having a terrible job interview for a laugh.

"I don't have too many applicants who do blogs about professional wrestling and put it on their resumes," Intheblank smiles.

Jake sinks in his chair and decides to play it straight for now, "Yes, well, thanks for calling me in so quickly."

"No problem."

"I was kind of surprised at the speed. Since there's so many people out of work these days, I thought you'd be swamped with applicants."

"Well, you'd think so. But even though a lot of people are out of work, we don't get many responses to our ads anymore. It's odd. A colleague of mine seriously thinks that a lot of people have stopped looking for work because they think the world's going to end later this year. He says that until then they figure they can get by on unemployment or their savings."

"That is strange."

"It is, but it works for you. I need a proofreader. You do a blog. Do you know how to spell words other than 'suplex'?"

"Yes, I know how to spell 'cloverleaf leglock' and 'sleeper' too," Jake says, envisioning putting Intheblank in one of those holds if the interview gets any worse.

"Well, let's have you take our proofreading test, and if you pass I might have a job for you in a couple of weeks," Intheblank stands up and waves for Jake to follow him out the door.

Jake follows Inthblank out the door and through the hallways of the employment agency where the stink of desperation can be smelled no matter how many times the carpets get cleaned. Jake reflects on what it means to be a temp, a just in time employee, and decides it'll do for now until he can find something permanent and better.

He thinks, "After all, it'll just be a temporary thing, right?"

But everything's temporary, Jake, life, love, the world, and maybe even existence itself. Jake doesn't think about that though. He tries to remember if "embarrass" has two "r"s or one. That word gets him every time and it would be embarrassing to still misspell it after looking it up in the dictionary a hundred times.

Intheblank leads Jake into another office and introduces him to Sarah, an attractive brunette who wears glasses and a navy blue business suit. Intheblank shakes hands with Jake and leaves him to Sarah. Sarah leads Jake to another office, and Jake can't help watching her behind waggle and wiggle as she walks. He turns away and looks at the walls, thinking of Francine. On the walls are framed motivational posters, including one that has to be a joke. It has a picture of a kangaroo having sex with another kangaroo in the zoo while a little boy looks on, and, underneath the picture, the caption says, "ENJOYMENT: Don't forget that work can be fun too, especially when you have sex with your coworkers!"

Jake shakes his head and presumes he just hallucinated that poster, perhaps the result of inhaling remnant methamphetamine fumes. He hopes the damage from the chemicals hasn't affected his speling abillety ass wel.

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: Smokescreens Of The Illuminati, Stinkysmells Of The Kitties (16 July 2012)

"Thanks again for letting me use this," Jake says, looking up from looking for work on Francine's computer in her room, "I didn't expect there'd be a meth lab house fire two doors down on the first day I was going to start looking for work."

"No problem. I still can't believe you were living next to a meth lab and didn't know it," Francine says, looking up from reading The Invisible Landscape by Dennis and Terence McKenna.

"Well, they always irritated Dad, but then everything does."

"How'd they irritate him?"

"They were always shooting off fireworks. Well, they must have shot off one too many because there was an explosion and their house caught on fire. When the fire department came, they found the meth equipment, but the people who lived there had split. Man, a fire even at some distance is really hot, but I guess the department had it under control. They were worried about chemical fumes, so they suggested that we, along with all the other neighbors, evacuate the neighborhood for the day. So Mom and Dad went to work and I came here. Thanks, Sweetie! I don't know what I would have done without you. I don't think Caffeine Eden would have let me take the cats inside," Jake says, petting Rudy, who is eagerly, like Monique, exploring everything in the room.

"Well, thank Donald as well. He's the one who's allergic to cats, so it was heroic of him to say it was OK."

"He should be fine as long as we keep them in here. I'm just glad they're out of their carriers. They wouldn't stop meowing on the way over here. I got serenaded in stereo. Other than that, they don't seem too freaked out so far."

"Maybe they're high on methamphetamine."

"Ha."

"Well, they have a food bowl, a water bowl, and a litter box, so they should have everything they need."

"Plus I think they're enjoying the change of scenery. They're sniffing everything in sight, and Monique's rubbing her cheek on everything to put her scent on it."

"Hmm . . . I wonder if the police are doing something similar in your house right now."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the whole neighborhood's evacuated, right? Maybe they're looking for another meth lab, or just doing some old fashioned snooping."

"Why would they do that?"

"Why not? Because they can."

"Hummph! I would hope they have better things to do," Jake says, also hoping they don't find his porn stash.

"No offense, but I always thought the meth lab epidemic was a bit of a myth, a smokescreen by the Illuminati."

"A smokescreen?"

"Yes, I think they try to have people get obsessed with something like a celebrity murder or anything else that doesn't really matter in the big picture, so that people's attention will be diverted from the creepy things the Illuminati are doing like stealing people's rights by changing laws or messing around starting wars between countries to make money from both sides."

"I don't know. I know you believe in conspiracies and whatnot, but I've looked at some of those conspiracy theory websites and never been too impressed. They read too much into everything. How come the people that run those sites can detect a sinister conspiracy that no one else notices, yet none of them know how to spell?"

Just then, a pungent odor permeates the room.

Not answering Jake's question, Francine says, "Ugh! What is that?"

Jake notices Monique leaving the litter box. She cleans her paws on the side of Francine's mattress, but doesn't cover up the steaming fresh log she's just deposited.

Jake hurriedly moves to cover up the poop with litter, but stops and cries out, "Oh, no, I forgot to bring the litter scoop! Do you have something I can move the litter with?"

Francine raises her hands in perplexity and looks from side to side.

"Never mind, I'll just use these copies of my resume," Jake says, sticking some papers in the box and using them to move litter over the poop.

Francine laughs, "Jake, I've been meaning to tell you that your resume stinks."

"Ha! I don't know what's worse, working in a room with a litter box in it, or staying home and dealing with the meth fumes."

Coughing, Francine leaves the room, "I leave you to your work. Please keep an eye on the cats, as you promised, so they don't scratch up anything."

"Well, looks like it's just you and me, girls," Jake says to the cats.

Rudy gets in the litterbox and starts digging.

"Oh, no," Jake says, and goes and stands by the open window.

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: Firework Follies (15 July 2012)

Monique the cat sits in Jake's dad's lap as they watch Kitty O'Couscous get interviewed on television. Surprisingly, she's moved above Dick to second place in the presidential race polls.

A loud bang comes from outside. Monique panics and uses Dad's lap as a launching pad. With her back claws, she scratches his bare legs underneath his shorts as she leaps halfway across the living room and runs away. "Ow!" he cries, standing up, "Is that idiot down the street still shooting off fireworks? The 4th was almost two weeks ago!"

Mom looks up from her crossword and says, "Calm down, Fred. You almost got in a fistfight last week when you went down there. It's not worth it. Besides, it's a bad economy. How much more money can he afford to almost literally burn away?"

Grumbling, Dad sits back down and continues to watch television.

Later, after they go to bed, he lies awake thinking. He remembers some old bottle rockets one of Jake's friends gave him years ago. He gets out of bed quietly and tiptoes downstairs. He puts on some gloves and rummages through some boxes in the basement and finds them. He tears off the plastic wrapping on the package and throws it away. He takes a bottle rocket out of the package, and, listening for any sounds, notes that it's all quiet. He slips outside using the side door.

Outside, aside from some insects chirping, the neighborhood is silent. A car drives past on the street, but otherwise there's no movement. Dad looks around. He gets out the ladder from the garage and climbs up on the roof of the garage. A clear night, the stars look very bright. He curses the stars for their brightness and lies on his belly. He looks around at the neighboring houses. They're all dark, except for one house across the street, where an upstairs room is lit up. "It's 3 a.m.; Go to bed, idiot!" he thinks about the neighbor across the street, and fails to note the irony.

He looks at the house across the street. He doesn't see anybody in the window. The person's probably asleep but forgot to turn the light off. They don't believe in saving energy apparently, Dad decides.

Dad aims the big bottle rocket at the neighbor two doors down on his side of the street. "He likes fireworks, huh? Let's see how much he likes this! I hope the shithead's sleeping and this wakes him up! This is for all those damn fireworks disturbing me for the past month!" he thinks.

Dad realizes he's forgotten a lighter. "Dammit!"

He slides across the roof of his garage on his belly back to the ladder. He crawls down the ladder, wincing at each step's soft creak. He goes back inside the house. "Where's the damn lighter?" he mumbles to himself, opening drawers in the kitchen.

He finds some matches and settles for them. Back outside, it's still quiet and quite still. After climbing the ladder, he lies in the dark on the garage for a while to make sure no one's watching.

He falls asleep clutching the bottle rocket.

An hour later, a feathery alarm clock wakes him up. "Damn early bird! I ought to shoot the worm right out of your mouth with this bottle rocket!"

It's still dark, but lightening gradually. He looks around. He doesn't see anyone. "I'm going to get a bang out of this," he chuckles to himself.

"Good morning, fuckhole," he thinks as he lights the bottle rocket and aims it at the neighbor's house.

It whines as it streaks upward. "Yes!"

Instead of exploding near the house though, it hits a second story window and explodes. The glass breaks and the rocket seems to land in the room. Flames appear and smoke starts to pour out the window. Cringing, Dad sneaks off the roof, lamenting the fact that he didn't throw those bottle rockets away years ago.

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: Our Dude Of Passing Out Before We Run Out Of Beer (14 July 2012)

The mystery of the missing championship belt continues on Grapple Groove. The show opens with The Panty Sniffer in a deserted church praying to Saint Anthony to help him find the belt. The Friend You Forgot, dressed in his ring gear, comes through the heavy wooden doors and sits in the pew behind The Sniffer, who unclasps his hands and turns around to look behind him, "What do you want?"

The Friend You Forgot shakes his head, "I'm your friend. Why wouldn't I be here in your hour of need?"

"You aren't my friend. Did you steal the belt?" The Sniffer says and grabs TFYF by the singlet.

"Hey, we're in a church! Show some respect!"

The Sniffer lets go and TFYF slides back into the pew. He points to a statue of St. Anthony, "Anyway, I hate to burst your bubble, but praying to these people isn't going to work? What you need are some new gods, some new saints. That's why I came here, to introduce you to some of them."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

TFYF shushes him, "We're in church! It's bad enough that you're wearing pantyhose on your head; don't blaspheme as well! Let's leave here and I'll tell you."

"All right, I was about done here and I have no better leads anyway," The Sniffer says and gets up.

TFYF joins him, "So, these new saints are genderless. There's no more Our Lady Of Prompt Assistance and all that. No lords like we're in medieval England. They're all unisex and called 'Dude.'"

"What?"

"Simmer down. Just listen. And they're all designed for the modern world like Our Dude Of Passing Out Before We Run Out Of Beer. That's a good deity to keep in mind when you're partying."

"Wait! I thought you said these were saints," The Sniffer says, as the pair emerges out of the church into a sunny afternoon in San Francisco.

"Saints, gods, what's the difference? If you're praying to them, they're all sort of equally miraculous. I personally like Our Dude Of Convenience Store Parking Lot Finds. The other day I found a ten dollar bill on the ground as I was going in to buy a clam juice slushie. I bought some beef jerky and a lottery ticket with it. Is it really still beef jerky if it's made out of duck?"

"All right, all right," The Sniffer says, stopping in the parking lot, "Now, who's this 'new saint' I should pray to in order to get back the belt?"

"Well, even though I'm your friend, I'm hoping you'll return the favor if I tell you."

"I knew it! What do you want?"

"A championship match."

"Of course, that's what you want."

"Well . . ."

"All right, you want a title shot, you got a title shot. Now tell me about the saint."

"Sure, it's Our Dude Of Suckers Who Just Got Played," TFYF says and suckerpunches The Sniffer, who falls on the ground, "See you in the ring later tonight!"

The Panty Sniffer picks himself off the concrete of the parking lot and dusts himself off. He says a prayer to Our Dude Of Revenge Is Best Served By Putting Your Hated One Through A Flaming Table and heads to the arena.

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 Computer Science Of Wrestling (13 July 2012)

The only thing worse than having a job is not having one, Jake decides. Nevertheless, he has taken a week off to take it easy and enjoy himself before going back to work looking for work, by which he means he'll be spending forty hours a week trying to find a job. This will be the worst job he ever has because not only is it work, but he won't be getting paid for doing it. If he's lucky though, he will succeed in finding a job and then he can go back to the garden variety misery of the American worker. In the meantime though, he's been able to use his free time in order to spruce up his blog a bit with a new design and some new articles, including an interview with one of his favorite wrestlers, Gordy "Computer Science" Guinness, who used to dress up like a nerd complete with a pocket protector and glasses with tape in the middle and who always carried a small calculator by which he would measure the probability of things. For example, when he faced the nearly seven feet tall B.O. Johnson in a match, the wrestler of smaller stature told Johnson, "I've calculated all the factors with my computer model and there's a 75% chance of you getting pinned tonight by me, which would be embarrassing because of all your braggadocio beforehand, so why don't you forfeit the match to me and I'll buy you an ice cream cone?" (Johnson's response was to depants Computer Science before pinning him in a rout of a match).

Jake: I really enjoyed your work, but your career was so brief. What have you been doing since you retired from wrestling?

Computer Science: I've been working as a software developer. In fact, I've helped create a wrestling video game or two in my time, so in that way I've kept my hand in the business.

Jake: How did you get into wrestling in the first place?

Computer Science: I was an idiot.

Jake: Uh . . .

Computer Science: No, I'm ribbing you, brother. I enjoyed my time in wrestling, but I'm glad I got out when I did. I actually was a computer science major in college, but I was looking for a weekend job. This was when the territories were on their last legs before the business went national. I wrestled in college so a couple of us from the college team would also wrestle occasionally on the sly for Chuck Kerouac in New England. After college, well, it was a way to keep wrestling and get paid, so I did it full time. Then the WWWWWW came calling so I had my big run there.

Jake: That's where I know most of your work from. I'm too young to know most of your work firsthand . . .

Computer Science: You're killing me, brother!

Jake: Sorry! But when I saw you in a couple matches on the WWWWWW Classics DVDs, I enjoyed them so much that I started tracking down more of your work. I think my favorite was your feud with Clyde The Librarian. You were a heel for most of your career, but you actually were a face in that feud. That one match in the library is a classic. I loved it when you stamped the due date on Clyde's forehead about fifty times. How did that storyline develop?

Computer Science: Oh, God, I'm trying to remember. I think it had something to do with libraries phasing out the old card catalogs. Do you remember those?

Jake: No, but I know what they were. They were a bunch of cards in drawers that let people know where books in the library were.

Computer Science: Right, and then all the libraries went to computer catalog systems. So we were playing off the tension of that transition, but eventually it escalated into some wrestling version of the Battle Of The Books.

Jake: That's the Quarrel Of The Ancients And Moderns?

Computer Science: Yes. You know your stuff!

Jake: History major.

Computer Science: I see. Well, we turned it into the battle between the new and the old. Clyde played the old fuddy duddy who didn't want things to change and I represented change and the youth and all. It was pretty fun. Clyde was great to work with.

Jake: He still wrestles, you know.

Computer Science: You have to be kidding me. He's what? Like sixty now?

Jake: Yep! I saw him at an indie show last year. He doesn't do much, but he still gets in the ring. How come you never returned to the WWWWWW or took to the indie circuit?

Computer Science: Concussions, brother. Wrestling's fun, but it's a rough business. A lot of guys I worked with are dead now, and at a far too early age. I took a couple hard bumps and had trouble thinking, and I decided to call it a day when my contract ran out. A fan might enjoy me getting a chair shot to the head for five seconds in an arena, but I have to use that head for the rest of my life, which wouldn't have been long if I kept getting hit in the head nightly like that. It wasn't worth it so I called it a day while I still had my health. Now I use my head for more than just getting whacked with a folding chair. Best decision I ever made.

Jake: Well, the wrestling world still misses you.

Computer Science: That's nice, but I calculate there's a 0% chance of me of putting on some tights in the future. Plunk that in your Mickey Mouse calculator!

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 Right To Lob Molotovs (12 July 2012)

Throwing her podcast into the audio stream, Francine reels in some good old fashioned American patriotic paranoid conservative libertarian right winger radio on the left of her Internet dial. Andrew Falseflag, a former exterminator who found it more lucrative to be a gasbag and sell political fantasy and shill products than just gas bugs for a living, explains how public transportation is a plot: "It's obvious when you think about it. But the American people are too obsessed with following the tawdry titillating tales of celebrity escapades and too drugged up with prescription drugs, unlike the more inexpensive natural remedies that our advertisers sell such as Bellyrubbie, the new mineral supplement guaranteed to keep your beer belly in check yet enable you to keep drinking beer. Why I've been using this for a month now and I can't keep my wife off my now sexy middle. Yet I haven't exercised more than usual or stopped drinking beer. In fact, the only think I've done differently is to take a Bellyrubbie every day. But I'll tell you what I can't take are the, pardon me, Lord, goddam liberals in this country who are leading us and themselves down the garden path. Think about it, people. Stop looking at that Internet pornography and stuffing your face with cheese puffs and use your head for more than a hatstand. The liberals in this country, and by liberals I mean every Democrat and Republican in this country, have been obsessed with getting people to stop smoking for years. Now, despite the massive increases in life expectancy during our lifetimes, we've been told that they want us to stop smoking in order to save our health, but that's not the reason, you and I both know that. My grandmother lived to be a hundred and she smoked a pack of Packa Sacka Whacka Tobacca cigarettes until the day she died. In fact, she was smoking when she died and on her final breath she blew a smoke ring. No, the real reason they want you to stop smoking is so that you'll have no reason to carry something around anymore. Think about it, people. What do all smokers carry around with them right next to their cigarettes? A lighter. That's right. Or matches. Or a blowtorch. Whatever floats your boat, goat! But something that generates fire. That's right. They want to control our access to fire. Fire! Fire! Fire! The technology that separated us from the rest of the creatures on God's formerly green Earth. Once we had control over fire, we had control over our environment, and that has not changed today, folks. Now, thank about what other form of technology has suffered the disdain of liberals and progressives and smelly hippie bike riders in recent years. That's right! The automobile! And you can get a great used automobile, folks, if you live here in the Akron area, and if you don't they can ship the car to you wherever you are, and, of course, I'm talking about Mountebank Motors. My friend Mike Kilian will hook you up with a great deal. Just tell him Andy sent you, and he'll give you a free miniature POW/MIA flag that you can mount on your new, well new to you, vehicle. But the automobile used to be the symbol of American power before the government took over and neutered our auto industry so a bunch of crap cars from around the world could take over the marketplace. By the way, if Mike sells you a foreign car, it'll be a good one. Anyway, they've been pushing for public transportation and for bikes and for walking and God knows what else they've come up with. 'The automobile is bad because of global warming and smog and urban sprawl and suburbia and war and occupying other countries for their oil supplies and running over pedestrians', whatever line of garbage they'll give you about why it's bad. It doesn't matter. They just want you to stop driving. You know why? Think about it, people. There are two reasons. The first is you're easier to control without a car. Get in a car and go wherever you want, whenever you want. You choose! Which in the case of abortion liberals love, but for anything else, they don't like choice. The second reason is, well, folks, what goes along with a car? Think about it, people! What do you have to stop at every so often when you have a car? A gas station! Gas! That's right! And if you still miss the feel of those old time service stations, where service was rendered with a smile and they pumped your gas for you and checked the oil and checked your tires, well, you're out of luck, but the closest thing you'll find to it is owned by my pal Abu on the east side of Cleaveland. Stop in at The Blood Of Palestine service station. You'll recognize it from the big mural on the side. Pick up some pork rinds while you're there. Best pork rinds in town! It's on the corner of East 55th and some street whose name I forget. Anyway! You need gas, you stop in there, and gas is exactly what the liberals don't want you to have. Actually the liberals are just dupes. It's the shadow government that doesn't want you to have gasoline. They just send out their talking points to their plants in the corporate media and then let the sheep fall in line and take it from there. You know why they don't want you to have lighters and gasoline? You know why? Think about it, people! You take a lighter and you take some gasoline and you can make yourself a Molotov cocktail. Well, you need a bottle and a couple other things, but I'm talking about the main ingredients. The new world order wants to prevent you from having any access to lighters or matches and gasoline so you'll have nothing to resist them when their tanks roll in to crush you with their tyranny when they declare martial law and throw you into the FEMA slave labor camps. They're working on guns too, of course! Well, I don't know about you, but the minute I get out of the studio I'm going to celebrate my freedom by lighting up a cigar, taking a ride in my automobile, and shooting my gun out the window at the first jackbooted thug who tries to take away my rights. And, if you're looking for some boots, check out Orwell's Boots in Canton. They'll be glad to hook you up with a new pair of stompers . . ."

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: World Population Day (11 July 2012)

Wearing a hideous orange and purple short sleeve buttondown shirt with a color pattern whose arrangement was no doubt based upon the colorblind fashion designer's vomit from the martini binge of the night before, Jake enters the house after Donald lets him in. To be polite, Donald doesn't say anything about the shirt.

"What are you reading?" Jake says, pointing to the pamphlet in Donald's hand, "That doesn't look like a comic."

"Oh, this is one of a bunch of anti-abortion pamphlets I got yesterday," Donald says, handing the pamphlet to Jake.

"Oh," Jake says, "Well, you better hide these before Francine and Masani see them."

"Masani has already yelled at me about them. I am just looking at them from a rhetorical perspective. It is not like I am about to go out and protest an abortion clinic, er, not today anyway," Donald says as Jake hands the pamphlet back.

"Rhetorical perspective?"

"Yes, how they make their argument and all that, particularly these days. I mean there are seven billion people on Earth so I am wondering why abortion is still so controversial."

"I don't follow."

"Well, most of the people against abortion are against it on ethical or moral or religious grounds, but most of those ideas developed during a different time when, relatively speaking, human beings were scarce. Infant mortality rates were high and so forth. Now, the situation has changed and there are plenty of people, yet those old ideas are still out there guiding people's opinions. I am just not sure those ideas fit very well anymore, so I am wondering how people are persuaded today to abide by them. I mean the old man who gave me these pamphlets seemed like a nice enough person, but, with all the problems of the world to choose from, he decided to be really fixated on stopping abortions. What made him believe that was the most important issue in the world?"

"I still don't follow. I'm sorry it's the morning and I'm still used to working second shift, so I'm a little out of it."

"I know the feeling. No, what I mean is that, if anything, now we may be hitting a period in which there are too many human beings."

"Overpopulation."

"Yes, and we are already seeing signs that the environment cannot support this many human beings. Yet population is estimated to continue increasing. Some have even suggested that there will be ten billion people or more by the end of the century. But what kind of lives are those people going to lead? It looks like we will either have to rein ourselves in through abortion and other forms of birth control, or nature is going to do it for us, and I think the second way is going to be worse in terms of human misery."

"But hasn't that argument been made before, and every time we find some way through technology or whatever to provide enough food and other necessities for people? I thought most starvation came from inequitable distribution of resources, and not from any actual shortage."

"I think that is true, but will it be true forever? I am just trying to figure out why people are so worried about abortion, when there seem to be bigger problems on the horizon for the people already here."

"Maybe because they don't want to think that they could have been aborted?"

Francine comes down the stairs, "Are you two men trying to control the bodies of women?"

"Uh," Jake says.

"Er," Donald says, and sweeps the pamphlet behind his back.

"I can't wait until genetic engineering makes it possible for a man to be pregnant. Once that happens, there will be no more debate about leaving the choice of whether or not to have a baby up to the individual or the state," Francine says, reaching the bottom of the stairs and kissing Jake.

"I think I have morning sickness already just at the thought of becoming pregnant," Donald says.

Francine looks at Jake's shirt, "Dear, that shirt should have been aborted. It's ugly."

"Hey!" Jake says, "I like this shirt!"

"That was not very nice, Francine," Donald says.

"Sometimes honesty is better than politeness, Donald. C'mon, Jake, I think I have a large t-shirt that you can wear instead."

"Hey! Don't I have any choice in the matter?" Jake says, as Francine pushes him up the stairs.

"No. Now you'll experience what it used to be like for women!" Francine says.

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.