3.15.2004

Writing exercise.

I was bored, so I came up with a little writing exercise. Waiting for a phone call I decided to see what kind of babble I could write before pausing for more than 30 seconds to think. This is why 1) the story stops in the middle of nowhere 2) it makes no sense and 3) the names are weird.

The names are a result of glancing at the copious amount of empty cans on my desk in a desperate effort to stay within my self-imposed pause requirements. Ed Feine is from "Lipton Brisk Raspberry Iced Tea" and "Mug Root Beer No Caffeine." Vern Nute is from "Vernors" and "Minute Maid Original."

Once typed, I did not allow any backspacing or editing, save spell-checking. This is more a result of trying to pretend I was using a typewriter than teaching myself to use proper revision techniques. It was fun, but also very depressing.

I suggest you all do similar and have fun. Also, go find out at match.com who you find attractive (link on main page). It's fun and interesting.



Lapedit Foods, Inc.®, owns several subsidiaries, most of them candy, snack or instant meal companies.

Known for their experimental flavors of ramen—Stuffed Turkey Dinner, Enchilada, Southern BBQ, and the ambiguous Triple-Decker—Señor Chong ® is Lapedit’s most popular line. Specializing in instant and microwaveable Hispanic/Asian meals, Señor Chong ® has found a particular niche amongst college students, young bachelors and graphic artists.

Ed Feine had the particular pleasure of belonging to all three of the above groups. Admittedly, the 27-year-old Feine was only a college student by circumstance—in his senior year Ed’s final required credit for his semiotics minor suddenly dropped off the course book when the esteemed and flagrantly homosexual Professor Vern Nute passed away after a three day orgy of sex, opium and sheep-sheering. As Ed was the only graduating senior pursuing that minor, in fact the only enrolled student that knew what semiotics was, the college did not see an immediate need to hire a replacement.

Ed could not be swept under the rug, however, as he was the grand-nephew of a very influential alum who had absolutely no idea that he existed. The college administration agreed to give him his diploma on the condition that, however unlikely, when a professor was hired who happened to have the necessary credentials, Ed would return immediately for retroactive full accreditation.

That was five years ago.

Ed Feine currently lived in a modest bungalow with a massage therapist and Tantric yoga instructor/drug dealer, both of them attractive men who nearly always spent the night at various “client’s” houses. In fact, Feine had entirely forgotten what they looked like after the initial roommate interview four years ago. They always seemed to be in the shower or locked in their rooms when he was home, which was nearly always, as “freelance graphic artist” was synonymous with “unemployed.”

It wasn’t a big deal to Ed. They weren’t loud, took care of the garbage and generally were messy enough to make him feel comfortable leaving his sketches lying about without being so sloppy as to have infestations. He normally got a couple assignments a month, left $300 on the kitchen table on the first of the month and was left alone.

Ed was alone a lot. He wasn’t socially awkward or introverted, nor cursed with any physical deformity or skin parasite. He simply didn’t really care about meeting anyone, though he would wander down to the bar every other night to chat up women, all of whom he would eventually learn had slept with one or both of his roommates. Cynicism kept him in.

One Wednesday in June, Ed was mulling over an ad layout for a local grocer and enjoying a Señor Chong's Tofun Bean Fiesta Burrito®. The grocer had expressed a desire to see, as she had put it “Extremely happy oranges jumping into a juicer with a crowd of vegetables and fruits cheering them on and getting splashed with the delicious juices.” It was for next Sunday’s insert in the local paper highlighting seasonal fruits and vegetables. The whole happy suicide/sadistic enjoyment with overtones of cannibalism theme was especially troubling for Ed, as all his sketches thus far looked like VegiTales does Elie Wiesel’s Night. It probably hadn’t helped that he had watched Schindler’s List the night before.

Finally Ed quit in disgust when he realized that he had scribbled a distinctive, close-cropped mustache on a prominent banana whose arm was extended mid-wave.

Tossing what was left of his burrito into the garbage, he opened up a cupboard that wearing a little "Hello, my name is ED'S FOOD, DON'T TOUCH" sticker and grabbed a Styrofoam dish of Señor Chong's Happy Pumpkin Ramen®.

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