Day 3 In
Written by: Alex Sandell
June 21st 1998.
Day number 3.
Midnight: Just as the computer is about to hit me square in the forehead, Bugs Bunny yells out "what's up doc?" This startles Miss C. Heart, and gives me a chance to get out of the computer's range. "Shit! An error message. Now it's running scandisk." Bugs Bunny must be her happy little corporate sound maker, indicating a fucked up laptop. I'm sure the fellas down at the office get a big kick out of it.
12:01 AM: I notice that when I ducked from the computer, I moved forward, into the room, instead of back out into the hall. Miss C. Heart closes and locks the door. She runs at me with the computer. "You're doomed!" She yells. "Uh," I return, "what if I just scream for help?" "I've worked on that," she says, while grabbing the remote, and turning on the television. "Channel 3. Nothing but porno, 24 hours a day. Only $14.95 an hour!" She cranks up the volume and dozens of passionate screams, erotic moans, and slightly grotesque grunts fill the room. "You're fucked, Juicy Boy!" "What if I just stood up and knocked the computer out of your hands?" I ask. Miss C. Heart is left with no answer. "I . . . I didn't think of that. I've never had someone stand up to me before. ARE YOU TRYING TO GO AGAINST THE DIRECT ORDERS OF MISS C. HEART; THE HAPPY CORPORATE GIRL?!? I WENT TO A FUCKING TRADESCHOOL FOR TWO YEARS, AND LEARNED TO BE A GIGANTIC FLIRT, TO GET WHERE I AM TODAY! NO ONE IS GOING TO TAKE THAT FROM ME!" No voice has sounded more angry, yet she continues having a chipper grin on her face. This is definitely going to send me to counseling. "Yes I am." I snap back, "I'm taking that from you, and every other artificial piece of slutty trash hiding their insecurities behind thousand dollar clothing and however many sexual rendezvous they can manage to squeeze into a busy weekend!"
12:07 AM: Miss C. Heart momentarily seems to understand. This doesn't stop her, though. It's obvious she's used to getting what she wants, when she wants it, even if what she wants is murder. "Why are you trying to kill me, anyway?" I ask. "Why?" Miss C. Heart returns from her brief glimpse into reality. "Why would anyone want to kill you, right? You haven't hurt anyone . . . have you? Well, Mr. Red Converse All Stars and a T-Shirt, my husband happens to be a carpenter, and my dad was a construction worker." Oh oh. "You thought it was funny to talk about construction workers getting ran over, just because they cut down a tree and interrupted your precious sleep in that update you did on 5/19/98 called 'So, this is what it's like in the daylight?'?!? Well, at least one of us out there wasn't laughing." She stops for a second, and puts her two index fingers into the sides of her mouth. She's actually trying to hold her smile in place. "My father was ran over by one of those, as you call them, 'tree knocking down things' 11 months ago. He was smashed between the treads. Why? Because the 'beep beep beep' thing, the one you made such fun of, wasn't working, and only let out a small 'bip,' like on that "Pong" game from 'Atari'."
12:14 AM: I try to explain that my updates aren't all meant to be taken literally. Some of them might even start out totally real, and turn into complete fiction. Miss C. Heart ignores me. "A 'BIP' REALLY ISN'T ENOUGH OF A WARNING TO GET OUT OF A TREE KNOCKING DOWN THING'S WAY NOW, IS IT?" "Not if you don't have legs," "My father had legs." "Was he retarded? "NO! HE WAS A CONSTRUCTION WORKER!" Case closed. "No," I say, "a 'bip' probably wasn't sufficient notice for a construction worker to get his ass out of the way of a gigantic machine that makes lots of noise and would be noticeable to any normal human being from a mile away."
12:20 AM: Miss C. Heart stands about two feet from where I am sitting. She lifts the computer back up in the air, and throws it at me - it doesn't even come close to hitting its intended target, and ends up bouncing off of the window, landing on the floor directly in front of me. I grab it. "Now the tables are turned," I yell, triumphantly. "Not exactly," Miss C. Heart says, "for I still have this." I look toward her hand and see she's holding her Much Music Mixed CD. "What are you going to do with that?" I ask. "I can throw it at you. I can throw it really hard, and slit your throat. It's been done. Mostly in China, I think." I can't help but laugh. Her impenetrable cheeriness is starting to rub off. Either that, or her incredible stupidity is just kind of funny. "Yeah, but it's more likely that I would be victorious in this battle, being that I'm holding a 'weapon' of a little more strength and magnitude." "But you aren't holding my BOOBS!" Miss C. Heart screams, and then begins peeing on the floor. "You aren't peeing on the FLOOR!" She yells. "But I could pee on the floor, if I wanted too," I say back. "But you wouldn't want to now, would you?" Miss C. Heart asks. "Not really," I say. "That's what makes me better than you," she responds, "I'm someone that does, not someone who sits back and lets other people do it for me. "Are you going to still kill me?" I ask, as Miss C. Heart begins masturbating. "Give me a minute, I'm thinking about the 4 different boyfriends I'm currently juggling." Her moans blend into the pornographic screams emitting from the t.v..
12:25 AM: I leave the room. "No one's ever going to believe this," I think to myself as I hop inside my spaceship. "Probably not," Chewbacca roars back in his cute little way, as we take off into space.
Yes, I did notice that I missed a day.
©1998 Alex Sandell [all rights reserved]. Were the first three updates real? You make the call. Did we honestly stay in a motel for four days? You figure it out. Do I actually own a spaceship? Yes.
Back to the table of brains 1998
Back to the mind-map.