TOF: The Truth About Fiction #3

[Andrew Perron]

On 5/19/2015 10:12 AM, Michael D Friedman wrote:

>I step off the bus after a wonderfully draining two-hour bus ride at 7:50.
 > I'm standing on a street corner in a not-so-great section of Los Angeles,
 > by myself, looking for 187 S. La Brea Ave.

Incidentally, am I the only one who hears "La Brea" and immediately thinks 
"tar pits"?

>The gallery is filled with paintings of gophers, portraying historical
 > figures from different time periods. I recognize George Washington Gopher
 > crossing the Delaware and Napoleon Gophernaparte laying siege to Moscow.

AWESOME.

> I'm kind of regretting not going into the Pleasure Pit instead.

YOU JUDGMENTAL ASSHAT.

>I'm in an opulent sitting room, decorated in all white. There are white
 > columns that line the walls, with ornate white molding depicting eagles and
 > snakes. They seem to be in some sort of eternal battle for command of the
 > room, frozen in time.

Interesting.

>Out walks the chauffeur from earlier in the day. He has a seat at the desk
 > chair and begins writing in a notebook on the desk. This goes on for an
 > uncomfortable amount of time. I start to think that he doesn't even notice
 > me sitting on the comfy white chair. That's practically impossible, since
 > I'm wearing a blue jacket and blue jeans and the rest of the room is white.
>
>"Man, I wore a lot of blue today," I think to myself. "Maybe I should just
 > say something. Should I just say something? I should say something. Okay,
 > I'm gonna just say something."
>
> "Hello," I blurt out.
>
>The chauffeur looks up from his notebook and finally acknowledges my
 > existence. He looks at the clock on the wall, which reads 8:04. He places
 > his pen on the desk.
>
> "You're late," he says.

Innnnnnnnteresting. Which way is this about to go? Carroll? Kafka? Gilliam? 
Wachowski?

> Surprisingly, things don't get much weirder.

Aw.

 > Simon starts singing Haley's big hit: "All girls like money/but I'm not
 > your honey. Catchy tune."
>
> I am embarrassed for him.

Super judgmental. Tsk tsk.

>He slowly creaks back in his large leather desk chair, which slides
 > backwards slowly to the point which he is too far away to reach the desk.
 > He attempts to push himself forward with his feet, but cannot gain much
 > traction. I get up from my seat.

Though polite, at least. (Feels Gilliam-ish so far...)

>"Secondly, you get my radio shack," holo-Joe laughs. "Radio shack. Ha,
 > never thought about that before. Get it?"
>
> "I got it," I say under my breath.

*snerk*

>"But most importantly, I know how much the truth means to you. I know you
 > want to be a world-famous journalist someday. Well, grandson, that time is
 > now. You are now owner, CEO and editor-in-chief of _The World News Weekly_,
 > the top-selling publication in the world today!"
>
>I'm about to cry. It may be the most best-selling "newspaper" (I use the
 > term loosely), but it's also the most ridiculous, featuring stories about
 > Boy-Bat Creatures, Psychic Kittens and Bigfoot.
>
> Yeah, I'm going to be taken really seriously as a journalist...

Ahhhhhhh, interesting. I now have an expectation as to where this is going; 
let's see if it's fulfilled or not, and which would be better...

Andrew "NO .SIG MAN" "Juan" Perron, mushroom mushroom