Wednesday, November 19, 2008

It's The Pulp Writer's Way...

I am a pulp writer. I can't get around that fact even if my trusty laptop or my pen and Moleskine aren't within reach. I instantly dramatize any situation, any line of dialogue or even a simple sentence for its maximum entertainment value.

It is simply the way I think and act.

Some people see a man taking out the garbage, and I see a sleeper agent taking shredded documents out for disposal. Some people see a lady walking her dog, I see a serial killer who is searching for her next prey to feed to her trusted cannibalistic canine comrade. (say that three times fast!). Some people see a man chatting up a young lady at the coffee shop - I see a pulp headline in the making.

In this way I think I am the complete opposite of the rest of my family who tend to downplay everything and force you to dig the pertinent facts out through carefully guided conversation, like a cruise missile heading to target:


Mom: Hello, Cunningham's
Me: Hi Mom, it's Bill. How are you doing?
Mom: Oh good...I have no complaints.
Me: That's good. So what's going on?
Mom: Nothing. I went to the Doctor today...
Me: And?
Mom: Oh, nothing. I just got that drainage tube taken out...
Me: Drainage?
Mom: It's nothing. I'm so happy I don't have that bag dangling off my hip anymore.
Me: Okay. Bag. Dangling. Off. Hip.

(As squeaky gears within the bastard's head turn and pick up speed)

Mom: Oh, I have a bone to pick with you...
(Wheels grind to a screeching halt. Here it comes...)
Me: What about?
Mom: I didn't have four feet of intestine taken out...
Me: Okay. Sorry. You know I'm no good at math. How much was it?
Mom: It was more like half a foot...
Me: Well, sorry I embarrassed you by telling everyone it was four feet. I'll know better next time. At least you read my blog.
Mom: Okay, dear. And I still don't like the way you refer to yourself as a bastard. Your father and I have been married for fifty...ouch!
Me: What?!

(Gears run back up to pulp speed)

Mom: I'm just uncomfortable, what with all the stitches...
Me: Well Mom, you had surgery to repair a hernia, and had part of your intestine taken out...
Mom: Just six inches...
Me: Yes, JUST six inches...then you had that blood clot in your arm...
Mom: Had. The thinners took care of it...I'm just waiting for the bleeding to stop.

(Long...freaking...pause...gears spinning wildly)

Me: Blood? Stop?
Mom: Oh it's nothing, honey. The doctor says it's perfectly normal after intestinal surgery and being on blood thinners...
Me: Blood?
Mom: Don't worry.

(Another pause...stuffed like a turkey with regret)

Me: Blood? Uh...where?
Mom:, stool was...
Me: You're bleeding out of your ass!?
Mom: Honey, it's nothing. Don't bother. Whew! I'm so weak right now. Gail is right here taking care of me. I'm so grateful for her. If she hadn't insisted I go get that colonoscopy, I would never have discovered the blockage or the hernia, and had to have the surgery. I'm going to remind her of that fact every day I'm alive.
Me: Put her on the phone.
Mom: Okay she is. Love you...
Me: Love you too, Mom.

(phone jostles and is transferred to loyal Sister-in-law)

Gail: Hello?
Gail: This is going into your blog isn't it?

(Note: any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. Your mileage may vary. Check your grocer's freezer)


Trevor B. Cunningham said...

The imagery of stuffing turkey and blood flying from asses is sick masterwork. Keep it up. I too was inspired by a true incident. In an old apartment building the basement flooded due to feminine hygiene products being stuffed and flushed down the toilet. I felt sorry for the plumber who had to come in a solve the problem. But then my bad gears started turning. What if he scratched himself and said combo of filth and tampons started turning him into a monster? Think The Fly from a plumbing angle. Anyway, good to see I'm not alone. I have chicken curry on the go.

Good Dog said...

Not to make light of it, and I hope your mother is feeling better, but...


is a line of dialogue that should appear in as many films as possible.

Cunningham said...

Finally, someone not named Cunningham who understands my brand of humor...