---

From: "Mark Willom" <willmar@apprentisetoday.com>
Subject: For Bob
Date: Sat, 19 Nov 2005 17:31:18 -0500

News Bio Novels Stories Nonfiction Books Articles Podcast Email Join List RSS News Themepunks Part 9Part nine -- the next-to-last part -- of Salon's serialization of my novel-in-progress, Themepunks, went up today (Previous Installments). In today's installment, Andrea hits the road to see how the rest of the New Work folks live, and runs into her arch-nemesis, Rat-Toothed Freddy: She was in the middle of receiving her key when someone grabbed her shoulder and squeezed it. "Andrea bloody Fleeks! What are you doing here, love?" The smell of his breath was like a dead thing, left to fester. She turned around slowly, not wanting to believe that of all the hotels in rural Rhode Island, she ended up checking into the same one as Rat-Toothed Freddy. "Hey, Freddy," she said. Seeing him gave her an atavistic urge to stab him repeatedly in the throat with the hotel stick-pen. He was unshaven, his gawky Adam's apple bobbing up and down and he swallowed and smiled wetly. "Nice to see you." "Fantastic to see you, too! I'm here covering a shareholder meeting for Westinghouse, is that what you're here for, too?" "No," she said. She knew the meeting was on that week, but hadn't planned on attending it. She was done with press conferences, preferring on-the-ground reporting. "Well, nice to see you." "Oh, do stay for a drink," he said, grinning more widely, exposing those grey teeth in a shark's smile. "Come on -- they have a free cocktail hour in this place. I'll have to report you to the journalist's union if you turn down a free drink." "I don't think 'bloggers' have to worry about the journalist's union," she said, making sarcastic finger-quotes in case he didn't get the message. He still didn't. He laughed instead. "Oh, love, I'm sure they'll still have you even if you have lapsed away from the one true faith." "Good night, Freddy," was all she could manage to get out without actually hissing through her teeth. "OK, good night," he said, moving in to give her a hug. As he loomed toward her, she snapped. "Freeze, mister. You are not my friend. I do not want to touch you. You have poor personal hygiene and your breath smells like an overflowing camp-toilet. You write vicious personal attacks on me and on the people I care about. You are unfair, mean-spirited, and you write badly. The only day I wouldn't piss on you, Freddy, is the day you were on fire. Now get the fuck out of my way before I kick your tiny little testicles up through the roof of your reeking mouth." Comments (2) | Posted on November 7, 2005 08:15 AM Themepunks Part 8Salon has published part eight of my novel-in-progress, Themepunks (previous installments). In today's installment, the shanty-town finds itself under siege, and shots are fired: He pulled out the megaphone and went to his window. "ATTENTION POLICE," he said. "THIS IS THE LEASEHOLDER FOR THIS PROPERTY. WHY ARE YOU RUNNING AROUND WITH YOUR GUNS DRAWN? WHAT IS GOING ON?" The police at the cars looked toward the workshop, then back to the shantytown, then back to the workshop. "SERIOUSLY. THIS IS NOT COOL. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" One of the cops grabbed the mic for his own loudhailer. "THIS IS THE MIAMI-DADE COUNTY SHERIFF'S DEPARTMENT. WE HAVE RECEIVED INTELLIGENCE THAT AN ARMED FUGITIVE IS ON THESE PREMISES. WE HAVE COME TO RETRIEVE HIM." "WELL, THAT'S WEIRD. NONE OF THE CHILDREN, CIVILIANS AND HARDWORKING PEOPLE HERE ARE FUGITIVES AS FAR AS I KNOW. CERTAINLY THERE'S NO ONE ARMED AROUND HERE. WHY DON'T YOU GET BACK IN YOUR CARS AND I'LL COME OUT AND WE'LL RESOLVE THIS LIKE CIVILIZED PEOPLE, OK?"