At the end of spring '16, The Amazing Bob, fell catastrophically ill and boarded the express train to Whatever-the-Fuck-Comes-Nextville. Horrifyingly, dismantlingly bad enough but then, not even one month later, a couple of bullying, rapacious ghouls came out of their slimy shadows, looking to fleece me, (ME, the poor damn widow!!!).
Apparently these narcissistic greedy-ass trolls didn’t get the memo. It read:
Donna may be WAY down but she’s still nobody’s bloody doormat. ‘Cept Coco. Of course. Do you resemble a nine pound tuxedo cat in any goddamned way? No? Then fuck off!It was a long memo – maybe they didn’t bother to read it? In any case, I survived. I got through last July tattered and bedraggled but in, more or less, one piece. OK, maybe two or three but no more than that!
Anniversaries, by the by and just in case you missed the announcement, are shockingly, spectacularly hard. Yeah, I know Duh-HUH!
Barrelling into August, I find that my mood is beginning to lift and dreamworld is becoming a less dark, bleak place. While awake, I'm no longer crying though a box of tissues every three hours. Yea me! Still, I need some seriously amusing reading diversions. Ya know, to help grease the mood lightening wheels.
I just finished another brill Arnaldur Indriðason, Inspector Erlendur Sveinsson mystery. I love how his stories slowly, grippingly unfold. Having said that, though they're can’t-put-'em-down reads, they can be depressing as Hell. I hit the bookstore yesterday in search of something more upbeat – big funny escapism. What’d I find? Table upon table of pastel colored Great Beach Reads – romances. Nope. Sorry, not my bag. I dove into the Sci Fi stacks hoping for a new, comedic Scalzi or a sweet, magical, weird Charlaine Harris. Maybe there’d be a rollicking Christopher Moore or even a wacky Ben Elton?
No but I did find one of Richard Kadrey’s surreally droll offerings – The Everything Box.
A beautiful, ambitious angel stands on a mountaintop, surveying the world and its little inhabitants below. He smiles because soon, the last of humanity who survived the great flood will meet its end, too. And he should know. He’s going to play a big part in it. Our angel usually doesn’t get to do field work, and if he does well, he’s certain he’ll be get a big promotion.Psyched! Today I’ll hit the gym, run some errands and then curl up in my comfy porch chair and get lost in the fun.
And now it’s time . . .
The angel reaches into his pocket for the instrument of humanity’s doom. Must be in the other pocket. Then he frantically begins to pat himself down. Dejected, he realizes he has lost the object. Looking over the Earth at all that could have been, the majestic angel utters a single word.