Exhibits Excerpt – Malt Liquor

Nov 16, 2016 by

Upon reading this little bit of Malt Liquor, you’re sure to notice similarities between this and one of the characters in yesterday’s piece, Chutes and Ladders.  Coincidence? Decide for yourself. As with Emily, if you’ve read the site or our short story collections, you’re familiar with George and the strange worlds his inhabitants live in.  I like George, he tends to be up late like me, which leads to fun, and weird, email exchanges.  And, this new bio:

George Losey – Blame the whiskey.  I’m just an innocent bystander after 5 o’clock.

Malt Liquor

George Losey

Fernando couldn’t control his internal lizards, and this often led to trouble. He kept a zippered gym bag stuffed with moisturizer and stress balls close by at all times. When he was 9 he learned to converse with newts, geckos, and whatever small lizards he could get his hands near. By his eleventh birthday he’d been kicked out of his village for associating with such unconventional friends. His parents were decent people but couldn’t find just cause to go against the villagers’ wishes and soon, though disheartened by the loss of their child, they came to relish the peace and quiet left behind in Fernando’s wake. No more late night bullfrog Strip Poker Parties, no more Russian Roulette with brontosaurs, and paramount, no grieving brontosaur relatives holding loud, interminable vigils for their foolhardy recently deceased.

They rented his old room to a troupe of traveling actor vampires who had sought out immortality to enable them to perfect their craft, though all that extra time only led them to become uncannily self-indulgent. Upon less than poor reviews of their, in all honesty, overwrought and bleak adaptation of The Lion King, they wrathfully converted the town into their own half-turned unliving minions before being driven out by a team of hired mercenaries. Despite their gruff exteriors, the mercs hid hearts of gold, and once the vampiric menace had been dealt with, they stayed on to rehabilitate the spiritually lobotomized and train them as seeing-eye-persons. With the profits from their wildly successful business endeavors, they set up a first-class orphanage. It did Fernando little good, as he’d been gone four months by the time the tie-dye doors of Summer Of Love Orphanage opened.

Fernando went to live among the brontosaurs. They were kindly accommodating and each gave him one thing apiece so that soon he had acquired enough to live on for a week or so until he had things straightened out. They all smoked constantly and with difficulty. Half a dozen intrepid Bronts eked a living out of selling Bronto-Friendly cigarette holders. Competition in this market was fierce, and after a few years of pedaling only half-functional holders, the tech evolved at such a rapid rate that each brontosaur smoker, or every brontosaur, was easily able to put away a minimum of three cartons a day. As a result, the Bronto Village was enveloped by a solid fog of smoke.

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