Wednesday, March 01, 2006

"Tron glanced upward, waiting, all his hopes pinned to the Communication Beam. All at once a voice filled the room, enormous, distorted, echoing like rolling thunder, familiar and yet alien.
pg. 126

You should never pin all your hopes to the Communication Beam... sitting there desperately wringing your hands, sweat-drops glistening on your fevered brow, legs jiggling nervously-- WHY DON'T THEY CALL? No, man-- pin some of your hopes elsewhere like a drunken child at a birthday party playing 'pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, giggling and stumbling all over the living room, pinning that tatter of grey felt onto a priceless Matisse before falling backward over the ottoman and then vomiting pink frosting all over the bearskin rug... if this was a Fairy Tale the bearskin rug would then spring to life, filling out all its bearly proportions, shaking that massive furry head and letting loose a confused growl as if to say, 'Wha--? What the hell am I doing standing in a suburban living room surrounded by screaming children? And hey-- is that one kid drunk? Who the hell was giving that kid booze?' And of course no one was giving that kid (Peter Torrence from Home Room Class) booze, oh no, Li'l Petey found Mr. Bishop's bottle of Grade 'B' Whiskey (in a plastic gallon bottle, straight from the rolling wheat fields of Alberta) all by himself:

PETEY rushes into the kitchen and draws up short. PETEY spots the giant bottle of golden whiskey resting on the counter and his eyes grow wide. Just like Grampa drinks! Petey pours four fingers of Grade 'B' Whiskey into his apple juice and proceeds to get Sauced Off His Ass.

What Happens Next? Petey raises his head from the bearskin rug, pink frosted vomit hanging in tendrils from his lower lip. Suddenly a voice fills the room, enormous, distorted, echoing like rolling thunder, familiar and yet alien: "OH MY GOD! THE FUCKING MATISSE!" Mr. Bishop rushes over and plucks the donkey-tail from his Most Prized possession then collapses, folding like a house of cards reposessed by the bank for nonpayment of mortgage in the middle of his daughter Steffie's Birthday Party. Mr. Bishop begins to weep. Isabella the Maid gently herds the frightened children into the Sun Room, where they can finish their juice and soak up a few rays before being picked up by their parents. Petey's Grandfather Otis fastens Petey into the front seat of the family pick-up truck and then rattles off down the road.
GRANDPA OTIS: "Well, I don't suspect you've done anything really wrong... why, when I was your age we used to get drunk and ruin valuable paintings all the time. Of course, it was World War II and we were looting all the great homes in Europe... plenty of booze, plenty of paintings, plenty of dames." Grampa Otis sighs. Petey vomits more pink frosting out the window and passes out, dreaming of a bearskin rug come to life. A week later Mr. Bishop, deep in the depths of a darkest depression, is fired from his job. Eight years later Steffie Bishop gets knocked up beneath the high school bleachers and takes the bus by herself to Tijuana for an abortion. When she gets off the bus she realizes she can't do it, no way-- she cannot go through with it. She heads further into Mexico and hooks up with a peasant's son named Ricardo: tall and tan with surprisingly white and brilliant teeth. They build a hut on the beach and every night dance with their baby around the bonfire. Mr. Bishop gets a new job, a better job and buys another Matisse. He sits in his living room with his feet up, sipping Grade 'A' scotch and staring at his painting. Now and then he wonders about his daughter: how is she? What is she up to? Where is she? LOCATION QUERY: CONFIRM. One fine June Morning Mr. Bishop gets a postcard: the next day he is flying to Mexico to visit his daughter, his daughter's husband and his seven grandchildren. And Li'l Petey? He becomes the nation's #1 Art Restorer and he never drinks again.


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