Adam’s Plot

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A point, a reason, a purpose due.

A thought, a quest, a long pursuit.

A fear, a doubt, a question posed.

A reason for the reader to go.

Entertainment is not enough,

Nor are words puffed up with fluff.

Need to feed the man some strengths,

Some endless longing for his wrong days.

For what does this one man stew?

What is it that he so must do?

Brain is trembling, being all fears, so much time – plot’s still unclear.

Cannot quite touch it yet, need the thought but it’s still wet.

A playboy, a pessimist, a selfish man too,

Fear of love, a heart untrue.

He needs the fame but no King’s glory,

He needs a plot or his story’s boring.

Currently his chapter’s are fun,

A lot of sex, a thoughtful run.

Does his best to escape his needs,

Falls in love with Gnashing’s great weed.

A woman who is beautiful, charming yet, precisely dull.

She’s got a character much like his own  – Sweet with words, a heart that’s cold.

His story ends with much betrayal, for the girl who did enable –

Him to meet the antagonist, she brought him to the bad man’s twist.

So what now, what’s all I’ve told?

From what you’ve heard, what quest is known?

I need a plot, a question to pull. I  need a purpose, or Adam’s story just lulls.

– Thomas M. Watt

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A Handshake Precedes an Indecent Request – Part 2

chicken dinner

“Alright, I’ll tell you everything,” said Joe. “I’ll explain why I met you tonight and expect to leave with your wife, for good. I just need to know one thing.”

“What?” said Mr. Huerto.

“You won’t lay a hand on Marie. You won’t hurt her.”

Mr. Huerto laughed. “Joe, I’m not the type to hit a woman.”

“I know,” Joe gulped. “But after you hear my story, I’m afraid that all could change.”

Something loud fell and crashed in the other room. Marie sobbed louder.

“I don’t hit women,” said Mr. Huerto. “Now on with the story.”

Joe nodded. He had a breath, then began.

“When Marie and I were sixteen, we were already on our third year of dating, and felt normal teenage rebellion was getting boring. We needed thrill, excitement. We needed to do something new, something kids our age wouldn’t even dare. We needed more adrenaline-”

“Why?'” said Mr. Huerto.

Joe smirked as he returned his glance to Mr. Huerto. “We liked to fuck on it.”

Mr. Huerto shook his head and stuffed a cracker into his mouth. “Just… just go on!”

“Alright.” Joe nodded. “So me and Marie, we used to devise ways to get ourselves as close to danger as possible, without ever getting caught. It started out with stupid things, like breaking into random cars for a quickie. As time wore on, we got all the more adventurous. Started getting stupid with it. Broke into houses, backyards. Soon breaking in alone wasn’t enough.”

Mr. Huerto swung his glass of water to his lips then choked slightly on his drink. He tried to muffle his cough, and when he spoke again it was with a broken voice.

“You alright, sir?” said Joe.

“I didn’t exactly plan on hearing all about my wife’s sexcapades with some stranger tonight.”

Joe laughed. “That’s alright, it gets better.”

Mr. Huerto darted his glance back to Joe. Joe went on.

“So the whole breaking in thing, we got tired of it. It seemed juvenile, you know? So we decided to do something different. We decided to start getting strangers involved.”‘

Mr. Huerto raised an eyebrow.

Joe laughed. “Not like you think. It was a game. A sick, weird little game-”

“What was the game?”

Joe buttoned his lips initially. “Marie would go on dates with other guys. I would wait for her-”

“WHERE?” Screamed Mr. Huerto, standing up.

Joe shook his hands and backed away. “In the bathroom!”

“And then?”

“And then we would fuck, while her date was waiting for her!”  Joe scurried away.

Mr. Huerto charged on. “You mean to tell me the first date I shared with my wife, the night you were caught raping her in the ladies bathroom, the reason you were locked up for the last ten years… WAS BECAUSE MY WIFE IS A SEX-FREAK!”

Joe backed into wall. “Not a freak, Mr. Huerto. Exhibitionist is-”

“YOU WENT TO PRISON FOR TEN YEARS! HOW COULD THIS NOT COME OUT IN COURT?”

Joe fell into a corner. He looked down at the carpeting. “You can thank Marie for that one.”

“Why?” said Mr. Huerto.

Joe gulped. “She said if I could wait ten years, she knew a guy that would give us sixteen million dollars.”

“What? Who! I’ve got thirty-two million but I swear on my life I’m not about to give any… wait.”

Just then, Marie sprinted through the room and towards the front door.

“MARIE!” Shouted Mr. Huerto.

PART 3, COMING SOON!

Thomas M. Watt

A Handshake Precedes an Indecent Request – Part 1

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They sat across the table from one another, each carving up his own chicken breast. Not a word had been spoken since Marie last exited the room in tears.

“Let me get this straight,” Mr. Huerto finally said. “You come to my house, shake my hand one time, and now you’re expecting to leave with my wife?”

“Not just leave,” said Joe. “I want to be with her.”

Mr. Huerto shook his head. He wiped the sauce from his lips with his white napkin. “You think I’m some kind of joke? You think you can just waltz in here, have yourself a fine meal, then spend the night fucking my wife?”

“Mr. Huerto, you know that’s not what I came for! I’m in love with her. We’re in love together.”

“You think she loves you?”

“I know it.”

Mr. Huerto scoffed. “You’re really something, you know. Haven’t been laid in a while, is that it?”

“No!” Joe shouted.

Marie could be heard weeping in the other room.

“What did you do, anyway?”

Joe didn’t answer.

“C’mon, if you really think I’m gonna hand over my wife to you, you better give me some answers.”

Joe had a drink of water. “I’m done wasting my time here.” He got up to leave.

“Joe, sit down,” said Mr. Huerto. “I’ll let you have her without a fight, but only if I approve.”

“I don’t need your approval,” said Joe.

“But Marie sure does, unless you want her life to be filled with doubt. She’s come to love me, you know. Despite what you may think.”

After a lengthy exhale, Joe began his story.

PART 2, COMING SOON!

– Thomas M. Watt

Let me Explain…

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Ok. After surgery yesterday all was well. In fact, thanks to my prescription of Oxycontin and a number of other drugs, life couldn’t have been better. I just finished typing up a rambling blog post and was sitting back to enjoy, “Now you see me,” when I realized something –

I couldn’t move my left hand. It was dead to the touch hours after surgery. I tried to wiggle my fingers, but none would budge.

After dialing several random numbers of friends who couldn’t help even if they wanted, I tore outside, wearing half-a-shirt and some pajama pants.

To put it simply, I was freaking out. Man.

I pounded on my neighbor’s door, continuing well after he’d spotted me through the window and was fast already approaching. I told him about my hand, asking if it was normal (Don’t you love asking questions when you’re panicking?).

He got his shoes on and we were readying to go to the E.R. when I was reminded there was an on-call number to dial. I called it, and shortly discovered that my symptoms were completely normal. I had received a nerve block, which apparently blocks your nerves from working… for a temporary amount of time.

I spent the next ten minutes sitting on my couch sweating profusely and breathing heavily. Hysteria is not so fun when you are high on drugs.

Surgery Yesterday

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This picture is actually being taken as I write this sentence. That’s right, using only the mouse. Don’t ask me how, this kind of technology has not been made available to the public yet.

Will be here much over the next week. One handed pen-edits? No problem. One-handed typing? Sloooowwww.

You can see my sleep station beside. It’s that white blanket.

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Probably not going to be traveling much further than here.

I Should Not Post This

Surgery, hand’s asleep, drugs are messing with my head.

I am not a little boy nor good thinker when I’m floyed.

Yes that word I made up there  ’cause currently I don’t give a care.

Good time to post? Not so much. Hard to think I’m all drugged up.

Get me Cheetos and some cheese ah forget it I’ll take the keys.

Oh what’s that I cannot drive? Well fine then you drive I’ll ride.

Cheetos Cheetos what a plan, cat named Chester seems like nice friend.

I like his glasses and his wit, be fun to hear him joke a bit.

How was my surgery you want to ask? Wearing arm sling but it will pass.

Naked walking through the streets, buttoned shirt on just one sleeve.

Like the way girls look at me, like I’m wounded just to treat.

Favorite parts of girls is there – the way they care when life’s not fair.

Yippy, yes, yippet-yeah – I like the girls who love to share –

All their kindness with a stranger, even when he could mean danger.

Danger sexy or a risk? Hope I didn’t myself convict.

Meant to say a sexy way, now my image is in decay.

Well, ripe, welp, outwith, forgive me drugs are writing this.

What to do oh what to say, kind of stuck on girls all day.

I wonder if writer’s get laid by well-played prose and timely plays.

Quite so cool oh it would be, to say a line and make them scream –

“Oh you’re so brilliant sexy man! Oh please come hither to my bed,

Say me more so I can dream about your brain you dazzle me.”‘

I would respond, “Oh, ha-ha, aha tee-he, girl you’re… something autumn leaves.”

 “You said something in that phrase, I am quite sure you’ve ruined this blaze.”

“What, a blaze? You mean this trick? You mean the way I feed my dick?”

“Oh you bastard! Don’t you care! And your followers, with them you’ll share?”

“Shit I guess so, wrote it down. Damn my lady you’ve made me frown!”

“Perhaps you should now, after-all. You’ve proved yourself has too much gall.”

“Hmm… I like that!”

“Well they won’t! In fact they’re turned off by your quotes.”

“Damn I tell you, damn I say, girl just run please go away.”

“Ugh of course of course I will. You’ve turned me off without your quill.”

“Well I’m drugged so it’s okay, but one quick word before you stray?”

“What! What is it? I’m leaving goon, I hate the thought I thunk to spoon.”

“Yes me too just with my wiener. Shit I said it -“

“Dare go on I’ll kick your knees. For the love of blogs what did you need?”

“What? Oh yes now I remember – please purchase Cheetos and bring them hither.”

– This has been Thomas M. Watt post-op and on a variety of drugs.

The Writers’ Dream

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Back is hurting, ass is sweaty, tired of hunching, always pressing,

Got to get back on my feet got to get those words to seep –

Through my fingers, from my pen, to the desktop, repeat again.

How many drafts does one book take, how much perfection do readers crave?

Doesn’t matter, I don’t care, I know one day it will get there.

Perseverance? That is shit. Try to spend one year like this.

Learn to get up when you’re damper, know each word from front to backwards.

See description and how it lies, find out what meets readers’ eyes.

For it is not the talk of bees, nor the words that make you pleased.

What readers want is not so much, just to read and feel a rush.

To stimulate the modern mind, without much pictures in faster times,

To do the work of talking grand is indeed one dumb-ass of a plan.

They did not come here just to see the mind of yours and learn you’re deep.

They came instead to just relax, to grab a book and eat a snack.

To keep them going for one night, to let them think your book reads right.

Get them thinking it’s a treat, get them wondering why ‘Jack leaps’.

Raise a question, submit the answer, in the middle fill with banter.

Do this once and you’ll achieve, fulfillment of the writers’ dream.

– Thomas M. Watt