The Was Pretty Girl – part 2

Bree sat next to the never before seen stranger. His eyes were dark and blood shot, his undershirt ruffled with creases, and his face as masculine as it was charming. A black lock swirled over his forehead, and the rest of his hair looked equally well groomed, perfectly placed, despite the fact that it were obvious he was recovering from a late night out.

A cigarette sat in his lips, and he held a cupped hand over his lighter to shield the cold wind. At her approach, he looked over to Bree, then raised both his eyebrows, giving her the benefit of a greeting without the burden of having to speak.

Bree bit her lips, then sat with her knees close together and her purse over her lap. She stared straight ahead, brushed her blonde hair back, then thought of the many various techniques she had learned for how to court the boys without saying a word.

But then, she remembered her strategy for the day, reminded her thoughts they weren’t allowed out, then turned over to her right to face the dark haired man.

“Long night, huh?” She said.

He seemed more focused on his drag than her, before finally looking up, as if annoyed, then nodding. He finished lighting his cigarette, exhaled a healthy cloud of smoke, then leaned back and allowed his arm to dangle at his side.

Bree looked ahead, as the smoke clouded her face, and winced her eyes in annoyance at the ever-continuing show of carelessness being sent her way. Then, remembering the day’s decision to quiet down the thoughts, she turned to him again.

“Your smoke is bothering me.”

The dark haired man smirked, then looked straight out ahead. “Sorry lady, nothing personal.”

Bree twisted her lips to the side, then went on, with quite a bit more command. “If you’re trying to impress me it’s not working.”

The dark haired man laughed at that, slumped forward, then turned sideways and laughed some more. He stood up, leaned with an arm against the sign post, then blew his smoke so that it missed Bree.

“Once again, sorry lady. Didn’t mean to offend, just trying to sober up a bit.”

The next five minutes were wasted in silence, as Bree sat gazing into the hazy grey fog enveloping them both.

“The name’s Bree,” she finally said.

The dark haired figure turned to her, eyebrow raised, before approaching and offering his hand. “Bradley.” He inhaled his cigarette, then exhaled the fumes out the side of his mouth. “Nice to meet you, Bree.”

They shook hands, then Bradley returned to the sign post.

“Are you an alcoholic, Brad?” Bree asked.

He laughed, tossed his drag to the ground, then rubbed it under the toe of his shoe. He took a seat, right next to her again, only closer than before. “No. But I do like to drink, and I do like to have fun, and I thoroughly enjoy a good smoke. Especially in the mornings. And especially after a long night out of drinking and having fun.”

They both chuckled lightly.

“What about you?” continued Bradley. “Are you a prune?”

Bree turned her lips down. “That depends. Define prune.”

Brad thought momentarily, scratching his cheek. “Hmm… someone who judges those who like to smoke and drink defines it pretty well.”

Bree laughed, crossed her legs, then danced her foot as she looked the opposite direction. “I wasn’t judging you for what you were doing. I was judging you for the fact that you were blowing smoke in my face.” Then, turning to face Bradley, and with a slightly suppressed smirk. “Because it’s fucking annoying.”

They both laughed again, Brad with his hands in his waist coat pockets. He stooped over himself in posture. “You are pretty blunt for a lady.”

She turned her lips down, shrugged, then looked away. As the wind blew through, she brushed a lock of blonde hair back and behind her ear.

Bradley coughed, started to whistle, and time and time again, from the corner of her eye, Bree noticed he was checking his rolex.

“What times the bus ussually get here?” He said.

Bree shrugged, then turned back to him. “I don’t know, Brad.”

He nodded, then turned away, then turned back. “You know I don’t normally use public transportation.”

“Oh,” she said, through a yawn.

“Yes.” He let out a chuckle, then crossed his arms. “I actually drive an Audi, believe it or not.”

Bree turned, then raised her eyebrows. “Wow. Good for you Brad.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Are you… being sarcastic?”

Laughing to herself, Bree noticed the bus approaching. She stood up, then held the strap to her purse with both hands. “Bus is here,” she said, before smiling when he stood to her side and pointed to her face.

“You are! You are making fun of me, aren’t you?” He asked.

She laughed again. The bus pulled over, and they both got in, Bree stepping up first.

– Thomas M. Watt

The Was Pretty Girl – part 1

Bree was twenty-seven, living at home, and hadn’t found a boyfriend since her first and only, a relationship that corroded over a tumultuous six year span.

Her clothes were plain and bleak, the required garment for her full time job. Every day she went to work, she woke up at five A.M., in order to make the one hour walk to the nearest bus stop. On her way, she thought about many things, with her head down low. She thought about how her parents worried for her future. She thought about the friends she had already lost to good husbands.

She understood her place, she knew where she was headed, and she saw quite clearly there were no more good times waiting ahead for her. In every way she felt on the decline, and in every thought Bree grew more and more certain her chance at getting married was growing all the slimmer.

Her body was not what it once was, and her once adorable smile now felt something more akin to a rotting jack-o-lantern. She thought all these thoughts often, always with her head down, shoulders sunken, and hopes as low as she could keep them.

She learned from work the best way to get through was to keep quiet. She learned from experience the best way to avoid notice was not to talk. She learned from those around her that she was meaningless, and did her best not to disrupt the natural order of things, not to dare act as more than she was, for there is certain amount of success one must be having in order to smile, and a certain amount of prestige required before one is permitted to laugh.

What bothered Bree the most was no longer the insults, or the murmurs she heard behind her back, or the way her manager spoke to her – slowly and with the sort of insistent expression that was meant to remind her how dumb he figured her to be.

What bothered Bree the most was the attention. Not a single sort of attention; not negative attention, and not positive attention. It was any attention at all. It was that which she hated, for, to remain unseen was to remain undisturbed.

As she approached the bus stop, on this particular morning, she noticed a man, roughly middle-aged, well built, and wearing a fine, fine suit, the type of which did not belong on a bus stop. The type of suit that meant money, the type of hair which mean handsome.

She stopped momentarily, aiming to catch her breath. She smeared at her forehead, winced her eyes close to a shut, then swallowed down the pain. The fear of dismissal, the knowledge of inadequacy, and the frightening prospect of sitting next to another slew of dismissive glances.

The thoughts kept coming, and growing worse, until, suddenly, Bree shook her head, then whispered to herself. “No.”

The thoughts kept silence at first, before barking back up, at which point she whispered to herself yet again. “No. Shut up.”

The voices pounded. “No. I’m not going to listen to you today. Today I am going to do what I want to do. This time I am going to be me, and I’m not going to a shit about the rules of arrangement.”

The voices silenced.

– Thomas M. Watt

Bree continued on, to the bus stop bench, then took a seat next to the handsome dark-haired man.

Alien Abduction

I was just walking my Iguana outside, whistling happily, when up above, wouldn’t you know it, a black saucer craft approach. Naturally, I waved to it and said, “Look Reptilley! That’s an alien ship.” I put my hands on my hips and looked on proudly.

That was when it happened – the bright orange light shined down on me, and soon I was hovering up, flailing my arms and legs excitedly as I went.

I came on board the ship, and three aliens, with faces like crocodiles and bodies like small children ruthlessly interrogated me.

“Welcome aboard!” Said the first, handing me an ice cold brew, green and alien style.

“Hey, thanks!” I responded.

We all clanked beers.

“I’m Frank, this is Tom, and he’s Boondock.”

“Hey guys!” said I. “So what brings you to earth?”

“Ah, you know, just wanted to find out more about the humans. We gotta fill out these reports and shit.”

“Oh?” I said. “How come?”

“Princess Nebula,” said Tom the alien.

“Yeah, she’s a real bitch.” Added Boondock.

“Oh, I see. What do you gotta fill out?”

Frank groaned loudly, then pulled out his clipboard and read down through it with his fancy alien pen(It was like one of those swirling straws that kids like so much). “Let’s see, uhh, here we go. What’s the deal with you guys and the television? Don’t you know you’re all essentially wasting your lives in front of a box?”

I set a finger to my chin, then crossed my legs to look more studious, in an effort to properly represent the human race. “Yeah, you know, I never really thought about it that way I guess. I think we just like to relax.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” responded Frank the alien. “And then I see, according to here, humans like to… ‘go to the mall?’ Is that correct?”

“Yeah, sure. Some of us do.”

“And what is this mall?” said Tom.

I shrugged. “Just this place people go.”

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh,” said Frank. “Just one more. What would happen if we all just started coming here for vacation? You think we could just walk around and hang out with you guys? Or would there have to be a big war and stuff?”

“Ugh,” I said, groaning at first and scratching the back of my head. “Not-gonna-lie to you, probably would be a pretty nasty war.”

Frank nodded, then recieved my beer after I finished chugging it and handed it back to him. “Yeah, that’s sorta the feeling we got over here, to.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, you know, that’s just the way it goes I guess. I don’t have any problem with you guys though.”

“Of course,” said Boondock, bowing then taking me in for a handshake. “You seem like a decent fella. Well, see you around.”

“Okay, thanks guys. Good luck with the Princess.”

They all laughed. “Shit man, you guys got no idea what it’s like out there. We’re trying to just stay here for another week or two, but doubt we’ll get permission.”

“Where you gonna stay?” I asked.

“We wanted to scope out disneyland, but our superiors won’t let us.”

“Shitty,” I said. “Space mountain is pretty cool.”

“Yeah, that’s what we’ve heard. Have a good one, bud!” Said Tom, before he turned the orange ray back on and let me down to the ground gently. I waved to all three of them when I was back on my feet, and they waved back.

Taking Reptilley by the leash again, we continued on our walk. “They’re not too bad. I wish their princess wasn’t so mean.” Reptilley agreed, and I returned to whistling once more.

McWatty9’s Fun Run Park

Are you tired of the same old jog? Ipod shuffle just not having the same stimulation for you that it used to? Or maybe you hate running, cause you lack the motivation?

Well, I’m setting out to put an end to that, ladies and gentlemen.

Here at McWatty9’s Fun Run Park, we’ve armed the place for ten miles with trial and tests like you’ve never seen before.

The trail starts with fifty yards of gasoline-soaked pavement. When we tell you to go, we simultaneously set a match to it. Better get out of the way!

We’ve got paid muggers, who lurch behind corners then chase after you with panty hose over their faces. Black bears, straight from the zoo, who we’ve set free and neglected to feed, just to make them a tad hungrier!

And if getting chased isn’t enough, we simulate real live life-threatening disasters! They’ll be bombs with timers on them, which you’ll read as you pass by. Better fasten your pace!

Miniature volcanoes, which burst out lava every thirty seconds. Old farmers with shotguns, who have lived on the property their whole lives and refused to leave when we sent our lawyers to tell them to get off!

A King Kong machine, three-hundred feet tall, that stomps on idling pointing people and grunts as he does.

Get ready as you approach the finish line, for there we have a jump over spikes and knives. Better learn to dive!

After you complete your run, you will receive a free mini water bottle, roughly the size of your palm. So, if you’re looking for a place to get a new-fastest time, come on down to McWatty9’s Fun Run Park. You’ll literally be running for your life!

Did you know? Often times, muggers in the streets like to where black and white striped shirts and a black band over with two holes over their eyes. They hold a gun in one hand and a sack with a money symbol over their opposite shoulder.

McWatty9 Interview

Hello everybody, my name is Thomas M. Watt, established poet, and eloquent novelist. I am sitting alongside McWatty9 today, who was supposed to hold a press conference and answer many questions in regard to the state of Wattie nation. Unfortunately, ‘The Watties’ appear very weak at this point, and issued no questions themselves. Therefore, I have chosen to interview the infamous McWatty9 myself. Let us begin.

Thomas M. Watt – McWatty9, I would first like to thank you for joining me today, and would like to congratulate you on bringing multiple bloggers to laugh quite hysterically at some of your recent posts.

McWatty9 – Yeah well I don’t have shit to do tonight so it’s really not that big of a deal. But the bloggers who laughed hard weren’t just normal bloggers Tommy boy, they were actually hot girls.

Thomas M. Watt – Oh, well… that’s good to know. So McWatty9, where do you get the ideas for your skits? I mean, some of them are very creative.

McWatty9 – Well Tommy, I’ll tell you. Often times when I’m breathing, I like to think. Sometimes when I think, I get these… ideas. And then I write them down.

Thomas M. Watt – Haha. No doubt this is a taste of your sarcasm?

McWatty9 – No. Is there a different way or something?

Thomas M. Watt – Well, I don’t know, you just state things so plainly. Moving on, there was a blog you posted earlier this week pertaining to paintball guns and go carts. By the name of several of your tags, you seemed to be ashamed of the posting. Why?

McWatty9 – Well, you see Tommy boy, a lot of times when you outline dumbass shit for people to do, several dipshits actually go out and try it.

Thomas M. Watt – Oh?

McWatty9 – Yeah, it’s true.

Thomas M. Watt – Interesting, to say the least. Holding your press conference last night, did you ever think you might be better off hiding your level of intoxication, rather than making it so apparent to the public?

McWatty9 – No Tommy.

Thomas M. Watt – Why not?

McWatty9 – Because I was fucked up. In fact, often times when I drink, I do many things that at the time seem like a good idea, and then wake up and realize they weren’t such a good idea.

Thomas M. Watt – Oh? Care to elaborate?

McWatty9 – Sure. Often times, I enjoy approaching woman and doing such things as hitting on them, flirting with them, and then thinking up various techniques to take them to the sack.

Thomas M. Watt – Oh?

McWatty9 – Yes. You see, this strange feeling comes over me, and it launches me into predatorily mode. I look around the room for strictly the most good looking of the bunch, then I approach them, and then I talk to them, and then I buy them a drink.

Thomas M. Watt – And how does this ‘technique’ work out for you?

McWatty9 – It really depends, you know.

Thomas M. Watt – Depends on what?

McWatty9 – How long I am willing to pretend like I’m still interested. The funniest thing happens, where the skanks I court begin to disgust me, because I realize that, at times, I’m not actually talking to a person, but a walking manual for what someone should act like in a social setting.

Thomas M. Watt – Hmm. Do go on.

McWatty9 – Well, there seems to be this personality type that ninety percent or more of the population strives to pretend to be. Upon realizing I’ve met another clone, even in my fucked-up-ness, I realize I still have no interest in dating a picture cut out from a magazine.

Thomas M. Watt – Really?

McWatty9 – Yes. Usually, my courting lasts up until I begin to make sarcastic remarks in response to the skank’s preference to appear as something more than she is. That seems to be the end for me, as I can only kiss an ass so many times, before my lips can no longer move, and my ears begin to burn with every word I hear.

Thomas M. Watt – Don’t you think such a view is somewhat sexist?

McWatty9 – Not really. Skankism is a disease Tom, not a gender type. Are you sexist?

Thomas M. Watt – I write poetry.

McWatty9 – Oh, right. You’re like that weirdo in the corner waiting by the ladies room.

Thomas M. Watt – What? No. That’s a terrible accusation.

McWatty9 – It’s not an accusation Tommy boy, it’s an assumption. Only creeps write poems.

Thomas M. Watt – You are beginning to offend me, McWatty9.

McWatty9 – Oh, well… Sorry.

Thomas M. Watt – It’s alright, I understand you enjoy making people laugh.

McWatty9 – Yes, and you enjoy creeping on woman because you are a pervert. We each have our own ways.

Thomas M. Watt – I’m beginning to dislike you the more I get to know you.

McWatty9 – And I’m beginning to think you’re a bit of a pussy.

Thomas M. Watt – McWatty9, I’m not going to empower you by responding to that. This interview is over.

McWatty9 – Tommy boy, I’m sorry, you know I didn’t mean that seriously.

Thomas M. Watt – Ha, well, I can never quite tell with you McWatty9. Thanks for coming today.

(Handshake)

McWatty9 – And thanks for making a joke about ejaculation to finish it you perverted creep.