originally published January 17, 2008

this writing
is in the chapbook

Long Gone Blues
by Sam Martin

(a Down in the Dirt chapbook)

this chapbook is also available for sale for $3.50 (+ $1.00 shipping and handling per chapbook)

this writing is in the collection book Decrepit Remains (PDF file) download: only $9.95 (b&w pgs): paperback book $18.92 (b&w pgs):hardcover book $32.95 (color pgs): paperback book $75.45 (color pgs): hardcover book $88.45

SHOULDER SITTER

Sam Martin

    “Mmm. Let’s see. What now?” The Arbiter of Agony was, ironically, agonizing over his next move?to develop the common man, uh, teenager, into an even worse enemy of himself, in particular, and of the doomed human race, in general. “I’ve got it!” He snapped figurative fingers and spoke illiteral language.
    Of course, he “kept after it,” as a term of the time had it, and stuck closer than the devil to J. D. throughout the rest of J. D.’s “schooling,” to assure his ultimate, ignominious demise. But wait!

HIGH SCHOOL

    (Because even an Instruction Manual Of Bad Behavior couldn’t contain all of J. D.’s gaffes, but mainly because more than one more would spoil the reading, I’ll cite only one more.)
    J. D. had been sent to the Principal’s office to answer questions about a “rotten egg” smell in the Chemistry Lab that apparently involved real rotten eggs, but he couldn’t get in because a blonde woman was sitting in the chair across from “Skeeter” (the fond appellation assigned, by some students, to the Principal, due to his resemblance to, and reputation as, a “blood-sucking insect.”)
    Unhappily, J. D. ventured the first query: “Who was that good-looking blonde?” (He meant to say “pretty lady.”) Therefrom came the one general-public condemnation ever (up to that time, anyway) of a school official for granting unmerited mercy. “Id’a killed the little son-of-a-bitch.” reflects a typical expression of the appropriate professional response. “Skeeter” had only whomped J. D. enough for him (J. D.) to enjoy a brief hospital stay. Both men left school soon thereafter.

WORKING LIFE
     (So I lied.)

     J. D. managed to snag a job at the local service station, raising hoods and looking up skirts, until one day he was caught by a race driver’s wife, who, inexplicably, and quite surprisingly, invited him out to the race track in the nearby (rougher) town. Everybody is scheduled for at least one fatal error in this life. snickered The Demon.
    J. D. became a fixture thereat, and was eventually asked by his new friend’s husband to drive his street car (and his wife) to the track on Sunday.
    J. D. “He sees us.”
    Wife “No, he doesn’t! He’s gonna turn! Slow down!”
    J. D. “He sees us!”

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