I tried to get dead reckoning put on my slide rule but couldn’t upload it because its a slide rule. So now I can only multiply and divide and all other calculations are done on my fingers. My left hand is (x) and my right is (y) and when I calculate the cosine of 5 against the lamp, the shadow of my hands look like a horse eating time.

Got some peanuts at the drug store.
Got some liquid glue.
Poured the glue into the peanut jar.
Shook it up.
Waved the open jar Pollock-style so the peanuts hit the outside window of the drug store.
Backed away and saw the face of Ben Franklin. Just like a $100 bill.
I shit you not.
9:21
Stared at glass.
9:22
Looked around to see if anyone noticed the glass.
9:28
Began to pull glue-trapped squirrels off the window with loving hands and the jar filled with warm water.
9:30
Heard a squirrel say, “Thank you”. I shit you not.
11:00
Finished Halo.
11:01
Wept.

There was this kid who loved syrup. He bemoaned the days when mom was out of it. He dipped everything in it: bacon, biscuits, corn dogs, hot dogs, grilled cheese, french fries, cake and pork chops. And his list went on.
One day his uncle shot a squirrel, boiled it and put it on the kids plate. His uncle knew of his love for syrup and for the common use of syrup on wild game.
The kid tasted it.
“Hey, this tastes like chicken.”
“That’ s because it is chicken.”
“Really?”
“No. But yes it is chicken.”
“Schinken?”
“Yes.”
“That’s pork.”
“Not pork.”
“Is it squirrel?”
“No. It’s shicken.”
“Chicken?”
“No. Yes. It’s tastes like chicken right?”
“What am I eating?”
“You tell me.”
“It’s meat.”
“Yes it is.”
“Did you hunt it?”
“I may have.”
“Then it’s squirrel.”
“Maybe I shot a pig in the back.”
“Did you?”
“No, but I could have.”
“You hunt squirrel.”
“I do have a 22 caliber rifle.”
“Is it squirrel?”
“You’re a clickin’!”
And this line of questioning finally landed on a mobius strip and kept on going with ricochets of words never sticking to the conversation. And the syrup never ran out.

Mr. Freebird himself, Casey Dobbins, was waiting to buy tickets to the mechanical toy theater production of “Wind Up the Wind Because Wednesday’s Gone, Too”. When four o’clock became four o’clock he picked up his rotary and began dialing ten numbers very quickly.
Busy.
Again.
Busy.
Again.
Busy.
Again.
“Hello?”
Oh no. This isn’t Ticketline. “Hello, is this Ticketline?”
“No, this is Judy.”
“Oh . . . Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Who are-”
Again.
Busy.
Again.
Busy.
Again.
“We’re sorry. Captain May’s Travelling Mechanical Toy Theater Proudly Presents ‘Skynrd: Wind Up the Wind Because Wednesday’s Gone, Too’ is sold out. We apologize for any-”
Again.
Busy.
Again.
Same message.
Oh dear. Oh dear. What now? Oh dear.
Casey ate a whole bag of Twizzlers as he circled the block of his house twenty times. He thought about how they would present The Ballad of Curtis Blow. And he began to weep. Weep hard. Not this hard since having to miss Star Wars because he had been waiting in a line earlier for his dental appointment.
But this was different. This was a tiny train with different scenes on each car. Each scene a story or song.
“Hey Joey, you got any candy?”
“No, sorry, Casey.”
Oh dear.
“I clap for you and your children, too, in this we’re all the same.
What a wonderful world in this old girl
how free the birds have gone.
So, Go on, Go on, Be a free free me
Tuesday’s gone but Wednesday’s here
And I haven’t got the time to steer you (wrong)
Go on, Go on, Be a free free me
Thursday’s Friday and Saturday’s Monday
How free a bird am I
How free a bird am I”

Here comes dawn and I’m not ready. I just made some real blood oranges. Not the Italian kind. More like the kind of oranges you find in prison, the kind given to inmates from people on the outside. Liquored oranges. Those oranges, injected with a syringe filled with vodka, are the brothers of my oranges, the ones I injected with blood and allowed to pickle in the blood barrel. I made of batch for me and my friends and now dawn is here and I have to get underground before the sun does me no good. If you’re human and you find this note, please leave the barrel alone because we want to watch The Poseiden Adventure tomorrow night instead if feeding on the likes of you. In fact, if you could give our Renfield guy a winebox full of blood that would be great.
In time, we will be cool to you. Thanks for being cool.
love,
Tony Vampire