Stormed In: The Last LAFF Meeting: Terror and Destruction

Julie’s young sons rescue a pigeon with a broken wing. The bird lays on a towel next to the kitchen sink. “If we let it go, Mom, it’ll die. Or we could keep it and feed it.” Julie places her hand on the boy’s blond head. “We’ll need sustenance if this storm don’t let up.”

WE ARE BIVOUACKED AT JULIE’S HOUSE. FORCEFUL WINDS, HAIL, RAIN, AND THE DANGEROUS GRUMBLE OF THUNDER HAVE FORCED THREE OF US (ASHLEY, KACI, AND MO) TO RIDE OUT THE STORM WITH JULIE, HER FAMILY, AND A DYING PIGEON. WE JUST HAD THE LAST FESTIVAL PLANNING MEETING. THE LAST. THE LAST.

“WE MIGHT DIE, SO I WILL EAT AN EXTRA SLICE OF PIZZA,” SAYS KACI, CRAMMING A COLD SLICE OF VEGETARIAN INTO HER MOUTH.

The lights are flickering, but our iPhones still work.

The bird might die. I feel strange typing that. I had a chicken burrito for lunch.

Julie takes the last few drops of red wine from the bottom of the bottle. She is the most mellow of the group.

HEY WAIT THERE ARE FOUR OF US LET’S FIGURE OUT WHICH SEX AND A CITY WE ARE:

Mo: Missionary/Boston

Julie: Reverse Cowgirl/Seattle

Kaci: 69/Tokyo

Ashley: Seated Scissors/Miami

“69 is the most stupid position ever because you can’t even feel what’s going on. It’s a porn position.” –someone said that

MO’S GONNA RECOMMEND SOME BOOKS:

Fucking THE COLLECTED STORIES OF GRACE PALEY will fix your ass up good. Paley just sat her Socialist ass down one fine day and punched out the greatest short story of all time, “Goodbye and Good Luck.” That shit’s ending will make a bitch cry. You’re a cold, unfeeling eel poop if you don’t love Grace Paley.

Fucking MONSTRESS by LYSLEY TENORIO. I drove this San Diego brother to the Detroit airport last March. His short story collection will fuck you up with tenderness and sincerity, as well as a healthy dose of realistic weirdness.

OOH, CALM IN THE STORM. THE RED DOT ON KVUE.COM DOPPLER RADAR HAS PASSED.

No more book recommendations.

Kaci’s all bug-in-a-rug snugged up in a blanket on the couch. If we survive this storm, (and odds are we will be washed to sea and spend the rest of our lives as mermaids) we can thankfully expect more paintings from La Beeler. THAT WE CAN EAT!

Image

I sure want to nom on those painted enchiladas. Maybe on the Other Side, food is slightly pixelated and canvas-flavored.

OK, looks like we’re going to live.

HOLLA TO MY BOY JAMES JOYCE! STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS!

xoxo,

Mo

UPDATE: The bird has been set free. Its wing was not broken. It was just wet.

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