TOF: The Truth About Fiction #4

[Andrew Perron]

On Tuesday, May 26, 2015 at 9:46:23 AM UTC-4, Michael D Friedman wrote:

<snip>
> Instead, I've graduated from college and I'm living off-campus in a Mission
> Valley apartment with my old on-campus roommate, Bubba. Life could be worse.
> Heck, I'm a multi-millionaire just on The WNW's profits alone. Not that I
> want any of the money.

Um... why not?

> Okay, maybe "happily" isn't the right choice of words. After all, none of the
> big newspapers will touch me, especially when they know my "connection" to my
> grandfather's rag. Not even _USA Today_, for Christ's sake! 

Huh. Is this how newspapers work? I mean, I guess that makes sense; in theory, they're careful about connections, journalistic integrity and all, but... hmmm.

> I'm editing for a living! The grammar! The glamor! 

Heeheehee. <3 Super swank.

> Today's assignment is _Torpy The Torpedo_, a lovely children's tale about a
> poor submarine missile that gets lost at sea. Instead of blowing up U-Boats,
> Torpy makes friends with a tortoise and a starfish. He learns a valuable
> lesson that you can be anything you want to be, despite what others have
> planned for you
> 
> I am Torpy.

Nice. XD

> No, not it. I see ME. 
> 
> I see me and my parents on the cover of the May 12 issue: 
> 
> "AUTHOR ALLENS FOUND ALIVE! (SON REFUSES TO SPEAK)"
> 
> I think I will be making a trip to Fiction after all.

Oh my. o.o

> My parents are supposed to be dead. There was a tragic plane crash in the
> Alps in 2001 that nobody heard about because it happened the day after 9/11.
> I was seven at the time.

Ouch. ^^;

> Wilkins had just signed a new 5-year contract and was at the top of his game.
> He just decided to walk away from millions of dollars. He never said why, and
> nobody ever asked.
> 
> I tell you this, not because my parents mean nothing to me, but because Jamal
> Wilkins is now right in front of me, sitting on the hood of a broken-down
> Cadillac, on a dirt road in the middle of the desert, holding a goldfish in a
> glass bowl.
> 
> "Can I get a ride?" he asks.

...I approve of this bizarre shift. <3

> "I go by Runningbear now. Jamal Runningbear. It is the name given to me by my ancestors."

Interesting.

> "You should respect all cultures, even those different from your own," he
> adds.
> 
> He's right. Torpy would've known that.

Disgracing the legacy of Torpy, now!

> "Does he speak to you?" he asks.
> 
> "Who?"
> 
> "The goldfish!" he says, gesturing wildly and almost spilling him.

It's Binky!

> "Aren't you supposed to walk on a vision quest?" I say after my moment of
> befuddlement. "Like commune with nature or something? What were you doing in
> a Cadillac?"
> 
> "Walking in the Mojave? Are you crazy?"
> 
> Okay, so I'm the crazy one.

*sad trombone*

> Besides him, the place is practically empty, except for two bald men in track
> suits, sitting next to each other in the corner booth. They both look at me
> with an odd stare. I quickly look away, as weird bald men usually don't lead
> to anything good.

Oh, come on! Just look at Professor X, who-- okay, bad example...

> Her nametag says that she's called "Peliculas," but that can't possibly be
> her name. That's Spanish for "movies." I don't think anybody would name their
> child "Movies."

It's pretty! <3

> And as if to confirm this, the two weird bald men in the corner jump up from
> their booth and yell, "It is him! Joe, it is him! Behold, the grandson, our
> savior!"

DUN DUN DUN...

Andrew "NO .SIG MAN" "Juan" Perron, to be continued...