Shaunessy and a Literary Death by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

10 – Infinite Jest

In Shaunessy’s case tomorrow brought two burials; one a funeral, more precisely described as a cremation service. The other was the placing of his valuable Brody discrediting tape safely underground, where only he could find it. Mercifully, the funeral was not his, but still one of those morbid things one rather not do on their day off; almost tolerable when on the clock. Margaret told him about it ten minutes after he woke up, maybe thinking that she was being funny. The type of humor attainable in a long term relationship is not worth attempting to describe, as those who haven’t been there can never understand, while those who have find it much too obvious to go on about.

Margaret was off on one of those psychedelic-type surrealisms of old; Jefferson Airplane, Barney Miller, and all of that stuff. It was easy for her in her now quite natural esotericism; Madame Blavatsky and her cohorts most supportive, primarily through their “enhanced photography” of ethereal presences.

Shaunessy finally came to dare saying; “All right. All right. I get your innuendo. Jeez, how could anyone miss it? I’ll

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bet that Youtube has a free showing of ‘Easy Rider’ this afternoon.”

“Well sure. But I feel it my right to once see it without you ruining it by laughing every time Jack Nicholson says something.”

“The visuals are outstanding. ...... You know the whole thing got waylaid when those concerned with lifestyle and dropping out felt a need to maintain ‘relevance’ through the inclusion of those with economic ‘issues.’ It was as if ice felt some need to engage bogus fire. Losers. Sad ass losers.

Conveniently ‘inclusionist,’ like a goddam leech. It took a foreigner to see that; Antonioni’s ‘Zabriskie Point.’”

“Thanks a lot. See, I know what will happen. I’d just like a trip back to when things were beautifully innocent; when the flunkies of the petit bourgeoisie driving the commode trucks just blew away the dissidents who tried to pass while waving the digitus tertius.”

“I think you’re mixing two movies. Archie Bunker was in the other one.”

“That shows I need an update.”

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“Okay. Do you have an idea of what I’m supposed to wear to one of these things?”

“I’m not up to date on funerial proprieties, either. But, you can’t go wrong with that cheap, dark suit your tightwad sister gave you one Christmas.”

“Shirt and tie?”

“Optional, though not one of those devil-may-care t-shirts the stars wear on Fallon. When in doubt it is always best to err on the side of caution.”

“Bare chested?”

“Only if your tits now warrant a b-cup and have no hair on them.”

“No outstanding warrants, hair last shaved when you got into that Bowie androg thing.”

“Moi?”

“Well ...... yeah! ..... No?”

“Hymmmm.”

“Hymmm yourself. I think I’ll go with the white button-down your overtly ‘normal’-lesbo sister sent.”

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“How can you be so sure that she’s a lesbo?”

“I’m not. It’s just that her having had zero boyfriends through age 55, her membership in that on-line LilithKillsMen.com club, and that she shares her apartment with that fat, old, butch dyke with the mustache prompts one to leap to silly conclusions any court would throw out as circumstantial evidence.”

“On her Goofreads profile she chose the female gender option.”

“As I said.”

“Off with you already! You’re going to be late for the funeral.”

“Cremation service.”

Shaunessy dressed in the appropriate attire and was off.

When his ignition key turned the engine of his Indian red Toyota Avalon Hybrid over, the radio came on. He must have left it tuned to the “Oldies but Goodies” station, as he heard Cream:

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Shaded path and “As You Said” by Jack Bruce and Pete Brown; property of the author, the latter under both the “fair use” and “transformative” doctrines.

Shaunessy and his engine happily hummed as he drove to the cemetery, he lowly singing three portions; “As you said. As you said. As you said.” Suddenly the sky darkened and his windshield was pelted with a cacophony of savage sounding water drops, near blinding his vision of the road ahead. “Damn deserts are just too often like that.” He adjusted the wheel’s stick setting and the windshield wiper came on, making its comforting bodunk bodunk bodunk repetitions, and providing enough visibility to allow him to more or less safely continue driving. That’s what he thought, though he realized that there was nothing he could do if another car’s driver was unable to properly adjust their stick setting.

The cemetery itself was his next problem. His four wheel drive vehicle handled the now muddy dirt road to the parking area, but that still left him with another three hundred feet of mud to go through on foot if he remained adamant about visiting the final service area. Shaunessy turned off the engine and glanced at his watch. He was late, and since he never had any good experience with having walked into movies already in progress, even “Lonely are the Brave,” he considered turning back. But duty called and besides, Margaret wanted to watch

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“Easy Rider” alone. He didn’t have any recollection of having joked over the Jack Nicholson dialogue, and his instincts suggested that it was totally out of character for him to have done that. His suspicions were that Margaret was either confusing “Easy Rider” with “Hell’s Angels on Wheels,” Jack Nicholson the common denominator, or that she just felt like being alone, or something else. Whatever the case, Shaunessy as semi-always took Margaret’s word as it seemed a most reasonable, over-riding request.

Shaunessy slowly slogged through the mud toward the canopy, apparently erected by the professional death merchants who had made duly diligent use of the weatherman to determine on an

“optimistically likely - most expected – pessimistically likely”

percentage basis which way the wind would blow; that sourced from the US Department of Commerce, National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, National Weather Service, Detroit/Pontiac, Michigan, also surreptitiously known as DTX

Coop; and regurgitated at every local level through the “funny, smiley, nice-guy-weatherman” on your local AM TV show. How Michigan knows New Mexico weather better than New Mexicans is another issue, best not raised this time as they gotten it right.

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He’d be soaked and his shoes and cheap trousers would be caked in mud, but Shaunessy didn’t care. He dutifully trudged toward the canopy, his most significant discomfort the cold water running down his back after his hair had reached the point of complete saturation. He thought; “I should have worn a hat,”

apparently oblivious to any consideration of a desert bound umbrella, being that it was akin to leaving Charlie the Tuna on a “socially distanced” beach with no sign of possible enforcement in that particular zip code.

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Burial service; property of the author.

Shaunessy stood at the back of the plain, pro tem pavilion perched on precarious poles, in a puddle of his own production, possibly puzzled by well-read proles as presently purported, previously popular pee parallelism. He was most interested in being able to view the attendees, whose backs, which were all to him, more or less blended in New Mexico’s “monsoon” blues. The gathering totaled near one hundred. Shaunessy was looking for something unusual. Anything. Anything out of sync; under the useful pretense of some ill-defined concept of sync. He easily picked out Anisette Rhona, as she was near the front and was wearing an all-encompassing veil which rendered Madame Psychosis’ infinitely jested approximation a dilettante’s delicacy; nothing unusual or revelatory/anti-revelatory there; either pro or the result of top-notch coaching. Emily Crain, CJW’s “local editor,” was facially uncovered as opposed to her head which was obscured by a black brimmed hat which she must have borrowed from Bogart. Emily seemed to be the most distraught of the group when one excepted the customary soiree of un-related attendees who “prove” their “caring humanity”

through public displays of an appropriate level of “feeling”

about things which they actually find foreign; easily detectable

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though unwise to mention. She was holding back tears in what seemed to be an unpracticed manner. Rolf Hoffius and Henry Battson were nowhere within the realm of regular sight; the former a household employee and thereby unexpected to be.

In progress, the eulogy was being given by fellow writer, and alleged CJW friend, Fenton Foxfussy. Shaunessy knew that only because the circling lights on the neon sign ensconced to his podium said so; in smaller letters adding “author of ‘Theme from an Imaginary Midwestern.’” Fenton seemed accepting and chirpy, perhaps excessively so, and he had apparently been going on a while already as the audience was regularly sneaking peeks at their watches. Foxfussy said;

“Like a lot of writers, but even more than most, Connor liked to be in control of things, even in small subtle ways most of us have not imagined. He was easily stressed by social situations and he never went to a party he had not been bound and dragged to. This was not a case of being ridiculously anti-social in particular. But rather it was result of his well-thought intense dislike of the human race in general. This ranged from lesser writers who suddenly sought to be publicly viewed as a ’friend’

after the breakthrough of ‘Interminal Gibbet Loop Capers,’ to those who wrote magazine articles about the man they never met, to the marketing slicksters who required tons of hello, hello’s

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and thank you, thank you’s and a smiley photo op before they’d get out of his face.

Connor loved details and said of them; ‘Every day we are bombarded with 500,000 factoids. Two of them might have some relevance.’ for their own sake, but details were also an outlet for the contempt bottled up in his heart; inevitably a way of disconnecting, on a relatively safe, disinterested, middle ground, from another human being. We writers do not choose to spend more time on our keyboards than we do with people as a result of yearning to be around and liked by them. Ha. Some people would like to think otherwise; a shyness, a defect, something curable through love and reassurance, that tired sort of worn claptrap. Connor told the liberating truth, often saying; ‘Just fuck off.’

By the way, I may have forgotten to note that after the service I’ll be signing the special limited edition of my best-selling novel ‘Theme from an Imaginary Midwestern,’ which my friend Connor very graciously helped me to do. Many have made note of

‘seeing’ Connor’s wit and wisdom in some of the passages.

His detached and abstracted insights have even made their way into the most hallowed halls of psychological learning. I quote from last month’s issue of ‘Psychology Today,’ a prescient

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article by Dr. PC McGrab. ‘Loneliness is indeed the most salient risk of aloneness. The very idea of solitude may evoke deep childhood fears of abandonment and neglect, and cause some people to rush toward connectedness. But I do not believe that loneliness can be totally banished from life, nor that it should be. In the words of Lee Michaels; ‘That’s how you come in.

That’s how you gonna go. Everybody.’ Let’s all take a few quiet seconds to ponder that insight.

One thing that made Connor an extraordinary interview was the formal structure and the sums paid by TV. The instances in which Connor berated his interviewers were entirely the fault of the interviewers for departing from the predetermined script to ask stupid questions.

Within that kind of confine, he could draw on his huge serving of misanthropic humor without worry of repercussions. When Connor was the subject, he could relax into the ridicule of the witless flunky host; doing it so well that the witless flunky host seldom realized that he was being ridiculed. As a journalist himself, he was most at home when he was able to find a technician who was thrilled to meet someone else disingenuously interested in the arcana of his job. The techie got overtime and Connor had an excuse to ignore the subject. He affectionately referred to these people as weinies. CJW loved

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details for their own sake, as details were also an outlet for the mocking disdain inside; a way of disconnecting, yet appearing the opposite, with another uncongenial and cynical human being.

This was approximately the definition of literature that he and I came up with in our correspondence; my stream-of-consciousness, rambling input dwarfing his precision by a ten to one margin; perhaps more. Despite not having personally met, I loved Connor from the very first letter I ever got from him. His marvelous sense of humor wrote three words; “Fuck off, asshole.”

Whenever I tried to meet him in person, he’d make a commitment and then fail to show up. Ostensibly, he thought that I would take his hint. I suppose I should have expected that, but at first I did expect the courtesy of a phone call. That’s the sort of behavior one expects from a handy man or a gardener. At any rate, after the first no show - no call, I always made sure I had a backup plan for the rest of the time I had allotted to being in Lord Peter Wimsey’s presence.

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Cover of “Whose Body?” by Dorothy L. Sayers; public domain.

Even after I did start cyber-hanging out with him, our communications were often stressful and rushed. Having loved him at my first spamming e-mail, I was always straining to prove that I could be funny enough and smart enough, and he’d space out pretending as if he had no interest. What a joker! This humor which he had mastered would have made me feel as if I were inadequate, were it not for what I could extract from him for use in my ‘Theme for an Imaginary Midwestern.” Not many things in my life ever gave me a greater sense of achievement or money than getting a useful idea from Connor.

My bell again rang. I may not yet have mentioned that after this dreary service I’ll be signing the special limited edition of my novel “Theme from an Imaginary Midwestern,” which my best friend

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Connor very graciously helped me to do. Many have made note of

“seeing” Connor’s wit and wisdom in some of the heralded passages.

But that “middling ground upon which to make a deep connection with another human being;” this, we decided, was what the fictitious bullshit of fiction was for. “A way out of loneliness” was the formulation we agreed to disagree upon; actually my phrase to which Connor made no objection. And nowhere was I ever more able to totally and gorgeously maintain control than through his written language. He has the most inventive rhetorical virtuosity of any writer alive. ........

Errr; never mind. Way, way out in a sentence deep into an extended paragraph of dark humor or turning in on his own self-consciousness, you could smell the freshly breaking wind whistling through the gingko branches with the melodic precision of his repatriating beat, his pitch-perfect shifting among ten different levels of turgidity using only the reach of his bazoo.

Those sentences and those pages were as happy a home as any he had during most of the two years I stalked and harangued him. I could tell you stories about the little road trip I once took, or I could tell you about my little apartment, or I could tell you about my awkward chess bot and the even more awkward Top Spin 3 tennis my lonely bahookie plays; the comforting structure

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of the games versus the weird deep rivalries bowling induces; but truly the main thing for me was the writing I could borrow from Connor.

For most of the time I knew him, the most intense interaction I had with him was sitting alone in my armchair, night after night, for ten days, and reading ‘Interminal Gibbet Loop Capers.’ That was the book in which, for the first time, he’d arranged the world the way he saw it. Although the quality of the humor was constantly high, it contained an indirectly spoken undertone of true misanthropy. My friend, Connor nailed literary post-modernism to death like nobody else ever had or will again.

And now he is dead. You may be aware of that. Connor has taken his own life, and the rest of us are left behind to ask why. One could simply blame the brain chemical imbalance. This story is sort of true, safe, and also totally incorrect; a modern reduction of the entirety of ‘War and Peace’ to a bumper sticker slogan which says; ‘I heart zombies.’ If you’re satisfied with this story, you don’t need any of the stories that Connor wrote.

If you’re satisfied with this slogan, you don’t need any of the slogans that Connor wrote. However, this doesn’t mean there are no more meaningful stories for us to tell or slogans to stick somewhere. In that regard, don’t forget my ‘Theme from an Imaginary Midwestern,’ the special limited edition, signed in

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the parking lot after the burial is over; all major credit cards, debit cards, and paypal accepted. Sorry, no bitcoin. I know Connor would have recommended it.

It was a challenge to be CJW’s friend. People who like to be in control can have a hard time with intimacy. About five years ago, CJ settled into a good, stable situation here in Vista de la Seca. ....... Of course, please excuse me; Vista de la Feria.

I can’t imagine what I was thinking. Another huge part of it was meeting a woman who was right for him. Anisette Rhona and I managed to get him to Italy for a week, and instead of spending his days in his hotel room, watching TV, as he would have done a few years earlier, he was actually socializing with and eating octupus and octopi without stopping to consider them. In broad daylight, mind you. Here was a genuinely fun thing he might well have done again.

About a year later he expressed a wish to fully concentrate on his more frivolous, fun, and more lucrative style of writing.

And he had help. Ethan Weiner, Chief Editor at Esquire just loved Connor’s style, and constantly inundated him with requests for more articles. He was joined by Christopher Franks at the Paris Review and Stephen Crisp at the New Yorker. Between them Connor felt as if he was being constantly pitched, often, though not always comfortable with his chased ‘hustler’ position. I

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just know that Connor had a ball covering the Class 1A Boys Junior High School baton twirling championship event in San Francisco for Weiner.

He’d emerged from the old archives of abyss-mal Dorkey and very quickly produced momentarily entertaining shorts; lighthearted and thoughtless articles. They were light-years beyond what anyone else was doing in the early to mid net days, as you could not tell if he was being serious or joking.

He had a beautiful, yearning innocence, and he was trying. And then this. Why, Connor? Why? .......... Don’t forget my special limited edition of ‘Theme from an Imaginary Midwestern,’ signed in the parking lot after the burial is over; all major credit cards, debit cards, and paypal accepted. Sorry, no bitcoin. I leave you with just one of his many extraordinary phrases. Hear it. Hear the perfect symmetry. Connor James Wheaton is not dead.

No. He will always be remembered for having said; 'I smoke. I smoke. If you don't want your air fouled, get out my fuggin face. Get out my fuggin face, weinie.’ A Sierpinski gasket or a pyramid on acid, we will never know."

Shaunessy must have drifted off into an automatically piloted state, as when the silence aroused him, he also saw that

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the rain had stopped. “Whew,” he thought, glancing at his watch.

“’Easy Rider’ must be way over by now.”

In the slogging pack, Shaunessy drifted over to Fenton Foxfussy’s muddy-legged parking lot table, installing himself at the head of the line. He wasn’t in his cop uniform, and was thereby able to semi-engage in some conversation, as well as any could with a Nulibby white plagiarizing apologist.

Fenton Foxfussy; property of the author.

Shaunessy said; “I’d vote for the pyramid on acid.”

“That’s very interesting. Why is that?”

“The weinie ending.”

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“I guess you’re interested in my book.”

“Do you also live in Vista de la Feria?”

“No. Not even in a zip code with the same first number. New York City.”

“Just get here today?”

“Yes sir. Checked out of ‘Yadda Yadda’ early.”

“ .................. “

“It’s an artist’s retreat in Saratoga Springs. Not everyone is granted entry. Have you enjoyed any of my previous books?”

“Sorry I can’t say yes. I’m not much of a reader. This is actually an obligatory birthday present for the nasty, little, tomboy niece I hate. Could you make it out to Helga? ..... Or Butch. ....... No negative aspersions cast or intended. You are required to be so careful these days. ...... She just fancies crew cuts, and her best friends call her that when they’re playing ‘Moto Maniac Men VIII,’ XX, or whatever the hell number they’re up to now.”

“I think that it’s XXXIII. But at any rate, how old is she?”

“Forty, forty-five. I don’t remember exactly.”

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As Mr. Foxfussy wrote, he demonstrated his multi-tasking skills, by simultaneously reading along. “To Helga; my favorite little lit maven in Vista de la Feria.”

“Whoops. Perhaps I should have mentioned that Helga doesn’t live here.”

“Hmmnnffffff. Yes, perhaps you should have.”

“Don’t get all overworked over it. Actually, if you’d really like to know, I was just being polite. It was you who leapt to a conclusion and made an incorrect assumption.”

“Where might our bibliophilic Ms. Helga reside?”

“Fenton, uh; before we go any further let me point out that I didn’t describe Helga as a bibliophile. As far as I know she may not even be semi-literate. She has never particularly impressed me with her use of the language. Could be that computer speak everyone does; that ROTFL and IDK-type of stuff, but I don’t know. I didn’t make an issue of your ‘lit maven’

comment out of a wish to not be contentious with you over something so petty. In fact, given your well known, erudite use of sarcasm, I thought that my hated Helga might be insulted, and she’d blame you. Not my fault, you know. See, my getting a dumb book as an obliged present for a hated illiterate is a pretty good insult. No? Anyway, back on your wavelength, she might

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reside in Saratoga Springs, but I doubt it. Last I heard it was somewhere in Queens.”

Fenton furrowed his brows and crossed his eyes as he crossed out Vista de la Feria, and inserted Queens, leaving his deft “lit maven” mini-narration.

Shaunessy said; “You might have gleaned that I wasn’t sure that it is Queens.”

Furrowing issues as subsided and still spectacular as a lackluster tidal wave might appear to be to the uninitiated, Foxfussy reverted to an aging Beckett-type of corrected simplicity, and crossed out “in Queens,” augmenting the prior cross-out with an added scribble over “Vista de la Feria.” He closed and pushed the book toward Shaunessy, saying; “I considered asking how you would get the book to Helga, but was afraid you might answer.”

Shaunessy opened the book to the scribble and said; “This is kind of sloppy. I don’t want to hear any complaints from Helga; so can we start over with a fresh book?”

“ ................. “

Brightly sensing the introduction of an impasse, Shaunessy said; “Alternatively, we can make this damaged book half price.”

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“That won’t solve your potential problem with Helga.”

“Not in and of itself. And frankly Fenton, that is not any of your business. But coupled with your astute observation about a possible difficulty in getting the book to her, I have decided not to send it. If she complains my reply is; ‘I didn’t know where you were.’”

“Okay. Let me play the fool. So, why do you still want this book?”

“I was just trying to be nice to you. Besides, I can probably sell it on E-bay for more than a halved price, and pocket a couple of bucks, assuming that you have been successful in convincing everyone that you knew Connor. A gamble, but worth a shot.”

“Thank you. Don’t bother. You’re holding up the line of normal people. I’ll sell it on E-bay myself. Good day!”

“Good day.”

Shaunessy regarded his burial attendance as productive, as he had now identified another suspect in CJW’s demise. He would next have to verify that Fenton Foxfussy was registered at Yadda Yadda until this day as he had said. That was likely not 100%

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proof of his being in another zip code on death day; however coupling that with airline traveler records could prove a reasonable alibi. Through Fenton’s “eulogy,” which seemed to be more about Fenton Foxfussy himself, rather than his recently dead “pal” CJW, and subsequent marketing, Shaunessy thought he had detected court inadmissible clues. Though he knew that he was most probably wrong, it was his job to convert them to admissible ones or dismiss his instincts. More importantly, he had used the time spent being less than gracious to Fenton and stupid Helga, to multi-task with his right shoe; digging out an eight inch hole in the saturated soil, where he placed the Brody tape and covered it, making mental note that the spot was three feet west of the most attractive five foot rabbit bush you ever saw and ten feet in from the parking lot’s southern fence. More or less. Whatever. Things never change.

By the time Shaunessy returned home, Margaret had either become bored with the dated standard fare now available freely and easily ridden, or Jack Nicholson had dredged up too many memories of a “different” brief time in too sharp a contrast with the present. She immediately referred him to an on-line poll she found contemporarily “amusing,” saying; “Look at this, Shaunessy.”

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For the benefit of those who may be less up to date on US news, this poll is the result of some one or conspiratorial ones having raucously and famously cut the cheese on “Hardball” as Chris Matthews was interviewing Eric Swalwell. Both Swalwell and Matthews denied culpability. The media has named this event

"Fartgate" and the House Committee on Energy and Commerce is investigating the matter, ostensibly in continuation of their exhaustive attempts to find new bases of energy. Rumors of a 3.0

on the Richter circulate; attributed to the usual un-named sources. Corey “Spartacus” Booker had once again risked his political career by “breaking” the whole cheesy story and is suggesting a secret government program which provides affordable, alternative sources of energy only to the elite.

Those purporting to be operatives of InanePolls.com think he was again full of it. But, despite the imposed complications, the simple impacted question remained; “Who farted?”

1) Not me!

2) Trump is responsible for everything foul.

3) A feral Goofreads librarian.

4) Oprah.

5) I don't care. It was the best thing on TV this month.

6) Chris Matthews.

7) A Russian bot hacker.

8) Okay, if not Trump, it could have been Guiliani or some other overly eager Trump suck up. There are no other possibilities if you’re a doctrinaire Dem.

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9) Lets first find out who ate the beans. This is not indicative of any sort of outlawed racial profiling. That said, I’ll bet it was Cruz or his Kennedy-assassinating dad.

10) Eric Swalwell.

11) A backstage technician with no known political affiliation.

12) This is even too tasteless for a Goofreads Hater poll. I'm totally appalled.

13) I don’t know. I just hope that for his sake that Sonny Biden wasn't doing a Big Daddy Biden Ukraine “influence” special at the time.

14) Boris Johnson.

15) I don’t know, but how come we never get to know who the real heroes are?

16) An ISIS suicide bomber lacking complete faith.

17) The network marketing team.

18) Bernie Sanders. Codgers are known for this sort of activity.

19) Tommy Robinson.

20) The Antifa sissy Tommy Robinson knocked out.

21) Book reviewer, Steven Moore.

22) Obama’s entrenched deep state Muslim, surreptitious government.

23) Hillary pussy farted. “It’s talkin’ to ya, daddy.”

24) One of the LBGT&Q guys with a wide one.

25) This could go on and no doubt will.

Post a comment.

message 1: by Osvald

On the dog photographed near the horn Victrola they blamed it, but a Muslim terrorist it was. Only a crying to be set free, prisoned poo is a hastighed. Analysis evolutionary fart smell a deaf benefit.

message 2: by Rip1

Sounds like a shitty story to me, but I defer to your claimed fart knowledge for now. However, I think it only fair to point

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 173

out that news reports of this TV raspberry have yet to make any mention of aromatic qualities, only resonance factors. Where do you get your inside info? This is beginning to sound as if something stinks in Middelfart, Denmark.

message 3: by Osvald

English funny you speak. Farter foreign?

message 4: by Rip1

Zone no go.

Shaunessy stopped reading and said; “I think I’ll cut it right there. So many way out choices.”

“Always such an ass. It’s off.”

“Wait! Breaking news from the White House.”

“Ah, site’s on the blink.”

“It never ceases to amaze me how much we are on the same wavelength. Luvya babe.”

“Luvya.”

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11 – We Are Never Meeting in Real Life

The next morning Shaunessy arrived at the office a bit late. He had overslept as the previous evening he had gone to bed extremely late and tired. Margaret had supplemented her initial amusing web findings through a foray into www//EtcEtc.com/gov – type information, finding the World Health Obstruction’s “Manual for Suicide Attempt Surveillance” right next to their retractions and “corrections” of any possible misunderstandings previously generated regarding their web posts about how they weren’t China’s dumb flunky, hahaha, and all of that kind of stuff ostensibly not consistent with receiving further contributions from Schwartz György Soros’ “World Federation of Dupa Libbies.” Yes, the communiques were marked as if they were first posted in Finland.

Possibly still feeling tipsy from the angel dust, Margaret had said; “There’s a recommended way to watch them off themselves?”

Shaunessy said; “Evidently. Let’s be further enlightened.

WHO people spend many years at school to learn these things.”

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“Could be a waste of time, as we’re not likely to catch a real practitioner of seppuku in the act.”

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Bored pooch and “Never Mind” by Paul Westerberg; property of the author, the latter under both the “fair use” and “transformative” doctrines.

“Aha, and there is your mistake. RSVP’s habitually appear on the web. The ceremonial disembowelment is part of a more elaborate ritual and is performed in front of spectators. It traditionally consists of plunging a short blade into one’s belly and drawing the blade from left to right, slicing the

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belly open. If the cut is deep enough, it can sever the descending aorta, causing a rapid death by blood loss. Perhaps, there is some sort of protocol regarding how long one stays, or cheers. Opera glasses seem suitable.”

“You are becoming quite the maven on the subject.”

“All in all of a day’s work, babe. Let’s read more of WHO.”

“Improved surveillance and monitoring of suicide attempts and self-harm is a core element needed in all countries. ‘The Practice Manual for Establishing and Maintaining Surveillance Systems for Suicide Attempts’ aims to provide a tool for countries to use in setting up a public health surveillance system for suicide attempts and self-harm cases. A well-regulated program can prove as financially worthwhile as any other mass audience sporting event, excepting the allegations anecdotally rendered by promoters of the US Super Bowl.

A short synopsis of the manual follows. This practice manual aims to provide a tool for countries to use in setting up a public health surveillance system in lieu making the fat required, up-front investment in the superior entertainment made available to the point of overwhelming disgust in every fascist, did I say every fascist white dominant and supremacist abomination ever seen in sad perpetuity by the prophet,

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Mohammed, PPBUH, praise and peace be unto him. Any other translation of the PP is the work of the white devil, and subject to a righteous fatwah issued by any of a number of the competing ayatollahs farcically claiming relevance.

Increased surveillance of suicide attempts and self-harm is a core element needed in all boring, shithole countries yet to have achieved the Adept level in extracting monetized sympathy from the white devil. ‘The Practice Manual for Establishing and Maintaining Surveillance Systems for Suicide Attempts,”

downloadable here at minimal cost to bruthas, aims to provide a tool for countries to use in setting up viewings and even making it into a lucrative spectator sport.

It is estimated that, for each suicide, there are likely to have been more than twenty suicide attempts. Despite the majority being as phony as Ru Paul’s tits, it is also statistically true that having engaged in one or more acts of attempted suicide or self-harm is the single most important predictor of death by suicide. Consequently, long-term monitoring of the incidences, demographic patterns and methods involved presented at hospitals in a country or region provides important information that can assist in the development of suicide prediction, filming, and capitalization strategies. The practice manual includes a section on training.”

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Margaret, perhaps still somewhat tipsy said; “It’s seemingly irrelevant in my particular case, but I think it not the best of ideas to train people about how to do it.”

Shaunessy hid a chuckle while retorting; “I fully agree.

The teacher coterie may disagree, but it seems to me that you either know how to do it or you never will, re-enforced by that old adage; ‘If you don’t know how to do it, teach it.’ But, one’s ability to market the event is an ever changing acquired taste. Taking another approach, are you sure that this wasn’t first posted on ‘The Onion?’”

“Sometimes you’re as objectionable as Trump. And you’re so ignorant, the correct thing to say now is ‘The Rag.’ Now, everyone either posts it on Fecesbook or pays-through-the-nose-per-click to put it on AmawayOnSteroids.com.”

“Hmmnnn, hymmnnn. Sweet Jesus, I hope you’re not looking or listening. You know, those AOS people aren’t dumb. They have an army of crowd-sourced-indie clickers who spend all their day click-click-clicking in return for their unsupervised right to delete or maim site users who provide less than $500 per annum to AOS.”

“Slick. Full time work for less than thirty cents an hour.

Super coolie! But I would expect that the funeral, casket, and

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burial industries would make their presences known, insisting upon a profitable, un-weinie-disturbed advertising rate, no matter the AOS impediment. I mean, most of them hold high governmental office.”

“Aye, my sweet love. The crux of the biscuit may have virus-like mutated into the perils of a ‘novel’ weinie-master-silently-colluding-DFW porous border; further details publically forbidden through the definitional, web-based inability to pinpoint the source, as well as an economic necessity, un-mitigated by any sappy forays into nostalgia. ...... In other words they get what they are offered and quickly learn to tolerate. Even a few of the sciency aristocrats opine that humanity’s temporary earthly dominance is not a function of superior mental capacity, god’s will, or ability to make weapons of mass destruction; but rather an unsurpassed ability to adapt to whatever kind of substance, inclusive of those realized in the defecatory position, is put in their faux-collective faces.”

“What has this crap to do with murder and suicide?”

“A perhaps incorrect, but given some odds, worthy of a small wager, suggestion or suggestive, of a continued dynamic of one clear rule; ‘Don’t eat the yellow snow.’”

“I’m confused.”

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“You think you’re confused? You’re the one who is supposed to be able to understand all of this.”

“Been listening to Bob Dylan 1990 lately?”

“Depends on what you mean by lately.”

“Recent enough to inaccurately recall.”

“With the standardized smidgeon of doubt PCP required this month.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

“Then that wasn’t an answer.”

“Let’s start over.”

“Pick your favorite spot.”

“Gee, so many possible choices.”

“An infinite supply, it would seem.”

After too short a nap, Shaunessy was awakened by his smart phone. He saw that it was Striker, but he pushed the button anyway, opening with; “Did any neighbors see anything?”

“I don’t know. I never asked.”

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“Did you check everyone with a view of CJW’s portal?”

“There aren’t any of those. Perimeter foliage and bushes near the portal prevent that.”

“There are a few two stories which have a view from their upper level.”

“Shaunessy, look. You’re new here. CJW was Vista de la Feria’s most prominent resident. Everyone knew of him. Everyone was proud of him. And everybody knew that he was suicidal, having attempted twice previously.”

“I suppose you mean that to be a reason not to do the full investigation standardly done for obscure residents. And exactly what made him so ‘prominent’ anyway?”

“I guess you’re not much of a reader.”

“Have it your way.”

“Okay, be informed. CJW was not only a writer. He was the writer. Everything he said was scrutinized, and some things he never said were attributed to him, in the attributor’s attempt to call attention to himself. CJW often wrote of suicide.”

“Thank you for bringing me up to date on local mythology and its possible broader implications. I might note that half of

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the writers address suicide as either a ‘to be or not to be’

type of primacy, a path toward supplying ‘ideas’ of reader interest, or both. So my question remains.”

“NM is a tolerant state. We’re even accepting objectionable immigrants from New York now.”

“Did you call just to antagonize me?”

“Yes. I heard a good joke.”

A Chinese guy had some problems with his eyes. So he went to see an eye doctor. The optometrist tested him and said; "I know what the problem is. You have a cataract." The Chinese guy said "I don't have Cataract. I have Rincon Continental."

“Say good night, Gracie.”

“Good night, Gracie.” Click.

“That wasn’t half bad.”

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12 – Radical Chic and Mau-Mauing the Flak Catchers To his semi-imagined, tending toward his real “Visions of Margaret,” Shaunessy said; “I came across some excerpts from CJW's conversation with some lit weinie which made me think that CJW could have been bipolar; creative and productive when manic.

But the downside of that is that the depressive aspect can be staggering. They seem to confirm CJW's obsession with loneliness and death as a subject for his fiction; and maybe something that was a large part of chronically manic depressive natures. I’ll read it to you if you’d rather nap.”

"In most other cultures, if you hurt, if you have a symptom that’s causing you to suffer, they view this as basically healthy and natural, a sign that your nervous system knows something’s wrong. For these cultures, getting rid of the pain without addressing the deeper cause would be like shutting off a protest while the riot’s still going. But if you just look at the number of ways that we try like hell to alleviate mere symptoms in this country, from fast-fast-fast-relief antacids to the popularity of lighthearted musicals during the Depression; you can see an almost compulsive tendency to regard pain itself as the problem. And so pleasure becomes a value, a teleological

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end in itself. It’s probably more Western than U.S. per se. Look at utilitarianism; that most English of contributions to ethics, and you see a whole teleology predicated on the idea that the best human life is one that maximizes the pleasure-to-pain ratio.

The interesting thing is why we’re so desperate for this anesthetic against loneliness. You don’t have to think very hard to realize that our dread of both relationships and loneliness, both of which are like sub-dreads of our dread of being trapped inside a self (a psychic self, not just a physical self), has to do with angst about death, the recognition that I’m going to die, and die very much alone, and the rest of the world is going to go merrily on without me.

Fiction’s job is to aggravate this sense of entrapment and loneliness and death in people; to move people to countenance it, since any possible human redemption requires us first to face what’s dreadful, what we want to deny.”

Margaret interrupted Shaunessy’s monologue saying; “Is this anywhere near through or a point?”

“If you were listening you might have had some idea.”

“I wasn’t.”

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“This is important?”

“Not to me.”

“ ........ “

Margaret failed at trying to sound perky when she said; “No offense intended, but just for a second, try looking at it from my diaphanous point of view. Another someone is dead. He has loads of company including yeztruly. Everyone other than you say it was a suicide. Even on the tiny chance it was a murder, the murderer is not the type to do it again. Conclusion; there is no point in obsessing.”

“A lack of diligence only encourages other creeps, and it’s my job.”

“So quit your job. You don’t need it.”

“It’s not a matter of this particular Vista de la Feria job and the benefits attendant thereto. It’s a conceptual matter of being conscientious and painstaking about seeking justice for the victims of, at the very least, capital felons.”

“Have you been sneak reading Coover lately?”

“Cervantes.”

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“In ‘One World News’ today, the conspiracy theory industry has posited that tax-dodging Greta Thunberg and her cohorts developed and are spreading the ChinaBatPoo II virus, as well as the Palestinian Camel Poo Virus II; she and her rookie cohorts apparently still angry that the Boomer codgers have had the long term audacity to make their little world warmer. Whatever the case yet to be empirically determined, one thing is abundantly clear; there is inhuman shit all over the place.”

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Greta Thunberg flanked by part of her headless entourage, making double evil eyes at the

“stupid,” geriatric warmers in the audience, and “Instant Karma” by Greta Thunberg, as adapted from John Lennon’s “Instant Karma”; property of the author under both the “fair use” and

“transformative” doctrines.

Margaret refrained from bopping long enough to breathlessly say; “Look, it’s gotten so popular, that it has spawned imitators.”

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Person, ostensibly standing in otherwise un-rowed dory on the River Styx and Bob Dylan’s

“Silvio;”; property of the author, the latter under both the “fair use” and “transformative”

doctrines.

Politely having waited for the natural conclusion of this particular presentation, ostensibly finding that in the

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efficient pause, Shaunessy said; “Perhaps rather than an imitator, a regurgitated re-release, a throughback?”

“Assuming you meant throwback, I can deal with that, in your point of view. However, in mine, before presenting that as a criticism, I’m now inclined to blend those purported sorts as dates meaninglessly and changeably amorphous in aggregate perspective.”

“Slut on a personal level?”

“You still have to ask? Just substitute normal for judgmental slut.”

“Question marks are vague, but entertaining ploys.”

“Synonymous with foreplay?”

“More or less; you still have to ask?”

“Yes and no. Where were we?”

“In the middle, I think.”

“And if we’re not?”

“Not what?”

“You know.”

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“No, I don’t. Tell me.”

“Preach perimeter to get the nomination, and then race to the middle to win the election.”

“I didn’t know of any exceptions. Can you name one?”

“I don’t know. I’ve lost my train of thought.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

Margaret ambled to the computer, motioning Shaunessy over.

She said; “I’ve not been ignoring your Wheaton obsession. I found this.”

“Edited excerpts from today’s New Yorker article; ‘The Incompleted’ by Triton Tohaccian.

With the kind recommendation of Henry Battson, highly regarded publisher, former editor, and now President and Publisher at Farr, Simon, and Moreau; now part of the McVirago group; Anisette Rhona Hunter Wheaton, Connor James Wheaton’s grieving widow, has engaged the writer to write CJW’s biography. This article will serve as an entrée into the yet un-named work to be soon published by Farr, Simon, and Moreau.

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Connor James’ wife, Anisette Rhona Hunter Wheaton, came home to find that he had hanged himself on the portal of their house, in Vista de la Feria, New Mexico. For many months, CJW had been in a deep depression. This condition had first been diagnosed when he was a college undergraduate. Ever since, he had taken medication to manage its symptoms. During this time, he produced a lengthy and great novel, was on the verge of a second; and had written countless articles for magazines. Depression was often a character in his ‘fiction.’ He once wrote; ‘Paxil, Zoloft, Prozac, Tofranil, Wellbutrin, Elavil, Metrazol in combination with electronic convulsive therapy; Parnate both with and without lithium salts, Nardil both with and without Xanax. None had delivered any significant relief from the pain and feelings of emotional isolation that rendered the depressed person’s every waking hour an indescribable hell on earth.’ He never published a direct word about his own mental illness; though private letters and quotes from family and friends are herein quoted.

Early on, in his college days, doctors had prescribed Nardil for Connor’s depression. Nardil, an antidepressant which was developed in the late fifties, is a monoamine oxidase inhibitor that is rarely given for long periods of time, because of its side effects, which include low blood pressure, bloating, and

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suicide. Nardil can also interact badly with many foods. One day in the spring of 2017, when CJW was feeling stymied, he and Anisette Rhona ate at a Persian restaurant in Vista de la Feria, and afterward he went home ill. A doctor thought that Nardil might be responsible. For some time, Connor had come to suspect that the drug was also interfering with his creative

‘evolution.’ He worried that it muted his emotions, blocking the leap he was trying to make as a writer. He thought that removing the brain overlay produced by Nardil might help him see a way out of his creative impasse. As he recognized even then, maybe the drug wasn’t the problem; maybe he simply was inherently distant, or maybe boredom was too difficult a subject to make humorous. That summer, Wheaton went off the anti-depressant. He hoped to be drug free. Wheaton planned to finish ‘Boundless Monotony – a Chucklesome Novel’ with a clean brain. He entered this new period of life with what friend and fellow author, Fenton Foxfussy termed ‘a sense of optimism and a sense of terrible fear.’ He hoped to be a different person and a different writer. ‘That’s what created the tension,’ Foxfussy recalls. ‘And he didn’t make it.’

Henry Battson, publisher; former editor, now President and Publisher at Farr, Simon, and Moreau; now part of the McVirago group; has kindly made an excerpt from the soon to be released

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‘Boundless Monotony – a Chucklesome Novel’ available to this writer-reader, which is reproduced here.

‘The writer writes because of having been blessed with an imperfect indifference which in turn has not yet been cursed; that demonstrated through the fact that it still has foolish aspirations of becoming perfect hatred, among other blessed deficiencies and it can be done in bed under the covers, the writing not either of the hatred or blessing parts. Reflect on that a while and you’ll know exactly where I’m at, or used to be at, contradictorily intend to make you think I’m at, or think you think I’m at over my Taco Bell Customized Chicken Quesadillas or my Taco Bell ‘Let Us Do It For You’ Nachos Supreme, both and either accompanied by a Mountain Dew Baja Blast every Tuesday and Thursday. You get over the sickly green color after a heave ho or two, which the surly flunky has to clean up. Hehe. Make sure you get all that creamy jalapeno sauce, boy. Before the weinie is through mopping, the manager is expressing concern. I have a gift for reading people’s motivations into the situation, so I figure that the manager, who was recently promoted from the sizzling fries pit, cares as much about my health as I do writing, but has to pretend otherwise because he would like to avoid a ‘food poisoning’

charge so soon into his watch. I realize that the manager’s

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worries have their bounds; ipso facto he’s on my side until it is in his interest to not be. Since this a standard replay I figure the best thing I can get out of the immediate situation is a couple of free coupons for the supreme and crunchy Chalupa Cravings Box. Yum. So, I take them, thank him profusely, and assure the manager that my vomit was not likely the result of anything on Taco Bell’s menu, but rather the result consistent with my long term bout with nauseating depression. Having sat through some college existentialism on his path to glory, he half understands that, though he is not trying to replicate the cupcake professor’s outlook, as almost dictated by the syllabus he was Nazi instructed to use. Most Collaborationists do what they can to present themselves as being one of the founders of the ‘Resistance,’ which was most adept at hiding their existence until after what was to be resisted had disappeared. I’m getting somewhat off-topic, and while I really don’t care about that, I care even less about Collaborationists and Resistors, especially insofar as the indifferent poseurs are personally understandable when the qualifying noun, poseurs, is back burnered. In the seeking of the something I don’t deserve, endemic to the ‘human’

population, I basically assured the manager that I’m fine in three different languages, then adding that the flunky, who was still cleaning the floor as leisurely as if he had some sort of Union protection, had shown his antagonism toward me with

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contorted facial expressions rather than displaying a concern for my possible illness or injury, which no doubt had contributed to any sense of illness or injury I might have had, adding too overtly that this type of employee was not conducive to the successful operation of a private business enterprise. As I expected, the rookie manager, to date, most accomplished with fries, took that as either a veiled threat or a ‘reason’ for an EEOC approved remediable situation on the clock. Being an optimist or a calculist, he opted for the safety of the latter with deference to the former, and said; ‘Jorge; tondele, tondele. Clean that good and then report for drive-in-window duty.’ Jorge didn’t know exactly what the manager said; but understood drive-in-window, and looked forward to having the opportunity to gob into the Taco Bell Customized Chicken Quesadillas or the Taco Bell ‘Let Us Do It For You’ Nachos Supreme, both and either accompanied by a Mountain Dew Baja Blast when ordered by a pig cop.

Of course the first place I went after leaving Taco Bell was my attorney’s office, and of course I told him a different story, to see what I might ‘legally’ get out of being publicly vomity.

Please don’t quit here as the rest is not so challengingly intellectual. I’m expected to say that and really don’t care, but if you’ve been paying any attention and don’t have terminal

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ADD you know that already. If not so situated, ignore this paragraph.

Rather it is ‘down to earth,’ a stupid response to the stupid assertion that some forms of language not understood by the earth-bound advertiser of severe limitation, floated here from Venus and Mars, an oft used phrase overused by the most retarded of on-line book reviewers, ersatz wishfully ‘funky’ people I most find humorous rather than hate; their ‘antics’ null. Don’t get me wrong. I’m the first to empathize with those whose sack has been physically burdened by the added weight of an extra chromosome. Appear to criticize the obscure, be told; ‘Pick on the biggies.’ Criticize the biggies and be accused of jealousy.

‘Dare criticize the indies’ and be told to stop bullying the little ones. That’s a joke, reader. Are you not now LOL

(laughing out loud) or ROTFL (rolling on the floor laughing)?

...... I’m supposed to ask that. Hehe. Take a wild guess as to how much I still care.

The uneven, wide board, pine floor gives a familiar grunt and instantaneous curt return as I get up to head to the bathroom; a relatively small space in which I feel safe; first going the roundabout route where the glow of the fridge light almost blinds me as I reach in and fumble around for a bottle of water.

Forgetting the primary mission, I go back to bed for now as I

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plop down on the mattress and hear a groan from the springs.

Looking at the bottle I can’t help but think, what is this for?

Maybe I won’t piss myself overnight once more. But more likely I will in less time than it takes to drain the bottle of water, to wake up extremely wet in seven hours to get ready to make the trip to work. Maybe if I do piss myself I could call in and say that I’m sick again. The phone call would just be an awkward stammering of words trying to give some version of the story that involves me giving up on life and just wanting to stay in bed instead of slaving away in my office trying to chip away at a stack of infinite meaningless bullshit. You know, that horse shit the dumb Libbies always go for.

Rising from bed again at the sound of a beeping, I know it’s time to finally be awake. These smart phones work better than Eastern gongs, having eliminated any need for imprecise human participation. For real this time, almost as if being awake for anything other than work is just a false start, or a practice lap. The routine calls for a quick shower; the water in this apartment is spotty at best and I’m never sure if today's jaunt will be hot, cold, or somewhere in the middle. I’m praying that when my foot lands outside of this tub that I’m not going to just become part of the accidental death statistics involving slips in the bathroom. What if one day it wasn’t a slip and I

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was just found not-alive in here, I guess I’d become another statistic.

Breakfast goes something like this; I head into the kitchen looking into the fridge for the almond milk. Do I have enough left, or should I have gone to the corner store before going to bed last night? If there’s enough milk I’ll grab a bowl, open a cabinet and make a maddening leap of faith at pouring whatever cereal I have in my hand to some level that seems keen to me.

Will I be able to survive on this amount of food until terrorist attacks shut down the subway? I don’t know, but I hope I can. My back-up plan is oatmeal; whatever. Oatmeal is always in the cabinet, an when I’m not being all that picky, I always seem to just grab a variety of oatmeal hoping to never have to use it, but thinking that I should probably eat this instead of a sugar frosted nutsack. Is no hyphen required?’

This biographical writer thinks this is entirely telling, though he will proceed to elaborate; that his un-consulted yet

‘chosen,’ job, if one is oblivious to the point of view seemingly obvious.

By the way, ‘Boundless Monotony – a Chucklesome Novel’ by Connor James Wheaton is expected to be released this month. $49.99 in beautiful hardback with a disposable artistic dust jacket

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designed by Bonanzio of FecesBook trending ‘Cool Asylum Designs,’ and contains an Afterword by Henry Battson, publisher; former editor, and now President and Publisher at Farr, Simon, and Moreau; part of the McVirago group, who details the process of how he tirelessly and expeditiously completed CJW’s unfinished book, thereby bringing it to his many fans, prior to them having moved on to the next media hyped tragedy.

At the undergraduate level, CJW had joined the debate and glee clubs, and smoked a lot of pot with friends. One day, though, toward the end of his sophomore year, he sat alone, slumped over his gray suitcase, a Chicago Bears cap on his head. ‘Self, I have to go home,’ he told himself. ‘Something is very wrong with me.’

It is said that his professor parents were surprised by his return, and about as happy about it as later Millennial progenitors would be after rejoicing over the long awaited departure of the darling progeny, only to be shortly confronted with an ‘I’m back,’ followed by the litany of circumstances, both onto and epistemo-logical, the latter stem-stem problematic and a sub-discussion within its bounds, which may have produced the results, replete with complaints deftly extracted from the archives of ‘Dr. Spock’ and ‘Psychology today.’ ‘We neither pressed nor impressed him,’ his mother has reportedly said. ‘We

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figured if he wanted to talk about it, we could find an excuse to delay; like a sudden and urgent attack of last night’s laxative, a member of the insistent and irresistibly powerful citrate of magnesia family as opposed to that of the mild, enematic, intrusive squirts of soap derivatives; much like an irresistible force relative to a measured response, of and with no protection from ‘Depends.’

It is uncommonly common knowledge that for a short time Connor drove a xanthic local school bus, which he carelessly described as yellow or near yellow, getting a kick out of the button which produced the flashing red lights coupled with the rear end sign which stated the penalty for passing. It was power, though the thrill was short lived. ‘New and improved,’ like a can of Ajax eventually found to be not all that different from its predecessors other than its container’s come-ons of ‘new, reduced, and 30% more,’ cleverly not specifying the items to which these relative comparisons had been made, and found a psychiatrist-‘managed’ psychologist more than willing to authorize the dispensation of valium and antidepressants. During this time, he traced his breakdown to his not really wanting to be a philosopher or a mathematician; to then his dual undergraduate majors. ‘I had kind of a midlife crisis at twenty,

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which probably doesn’t augur well for my longevity,’ he allegedly later told Fenton Foxfussy, self-styled confidante.

He began to write fiction with all the enthusiasm of one who still considered this as being one of the fictional genres.

During this time, young Connor wrote several short stories, one of which will soon be published by esteemed Farr, Simon, and Moreau. ‘The Planet Detachaphone’ appeared in the ‘Welcome to New Pages.com’s prestigious annual review issue. The autobiographical story captures the intense pain of the depression he suffered. CJW had written:

‘I’m not all that incredibly interested, but since my professor requires something in writing to pass this required course which I detest, I’ll proceed to tell the poor, misled reader what I think Detachaphone is like. .... Imagine that every single atom in every single cell in your body is disgusted .... inconsolably disgusted, to the point of a fully body, chunk, chunk barf.

Further imagine that every proton and neutron in every atom ....

in your head is semi-imprisoned on the planet of Detachaphone, where unthinking conformity rules all, but a few Quebecois separatists; predominately residents of a group home where death threatening the China BatPoo II virus has been seditiously introduced by a Nulib operative named Wang. Throat clogged, you have lost any ability you once had to throw up, in a futile, but

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inanely popular, pro-active demonstration; an attempt to relieve the awful feeling. Every electron is nonplussed, twirling off balance and all erratic in the funhouse mirrors that are just thickly warped and woozy. Quarks and neutrinos are out of their minds and dancing, half correct in what they believe to be a charade, disgusted, many sick all over the place, producing a Dominoe’s-like floor as the possible result of disinterested, minimum wage ‘help’ who punch bed-ridden and defenseless old timers. If you are still there, further imagine the unimaginable; that you are required to make up crap like this to just pass a required course given by an out-of-date Libby codger with a grin you’d like to smack right off his tenured face.’

One night Connor and his older sister Lethille watched “The Karen Carpenter Story,” a sappy TV movie about the anorexic singer, who died young of heart failure. When it was over, Lethille, who was working on an MFA at the time, told Connor that she had to drive back to Herzing University in Milwaukee.

Connor implored her not to go, saying that Herzing degrees can be obtained on-line, to no avail. After she went, he tried to commit suicide with pills. He survived the aspirin overdose, and checked himself in to a psychiatric facility, where he was given electroconvulsive therapy, touch and go surviving that. Connor’s

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mother remembers that he emerged ‘as delicate as a newborn bunny rabbit.’

After another breakdown upon returning to school, CJW went to the psychiatric-services unit at the university. There he was prescribed the drug Nardil for the first time. ‘We had a brief, maybe three-minute audience with the psychopharmacologist,’ his mother has now said.

Wheaton was released and sent to a halfway house. ‘It is a grim place, and I am grimly resolved to go there,’ he wrote somewhere yet to be relocated. He had become semi-serious about fighting his addictions. He participated in alcohol and narcotic rehabilitation programs. He replaced pot with cigarettes and vodka with aged ‘Houdini’ wine. But he found that he had more or less lost all interest in fiction, substituting avant-garde, classical foreign film. He wrote to Fenton Foxfussy, with whom he had recently become a reluctant correspondent, ‘Right now, I am a pathetic and very confused young man, for lack of trying a failed writer at twenty, who is so begrudging, so pale, and yet sneeringly envious of you and Bill Holehead and Mark Inaner and even David ‘Fuckwad Plagia Devise’ and any young man who is right now producing pages with which he can command extraordinary sums, assuming for the moment that applies to Holehead and Inaner, and even approving of them as the result of

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some lack of conviction regarding the project’s stated meaning and its inevitable culmination.’ He added that he considered suicide ‘a reasonable if not at this point a desirable option with respect to the whole wretched problem,’ the confirming papers in transit.

Some might say that is more or less, tentatively revealing.

Read of more revelations in this writer, Triton Tohaccian’s, effort yet to come, who through the kind recommendation of Henry Battson, highly regarded publisher, former editor, and now President and Publisher at Farr, Simon, and Moreau; now part of the McVirago group; Anisette Rhona Hunter Wheaton, Connor James Wheaton’s grieving widow, have engaged the writer to write CJW’s biography. This article will serve as an entrée into the yet-unnamed work to be soon published by Farr, Simon, and Moreau.

Also, be on the lookout for ‘Boundless Monotony – a Chucklesome Novel’ by Connor James Wheaton, which is expected to be released this month. $49.99 in beautiful hardback with a disposable artistic dust jacket designed by Bonanzio of FecesBook trending

‘Cool Asylum Designs,’ with an Afterword by the well esteemed Henry Battson, publisher; former editor, and now President and Publisher at Farr, Simon, and Moreau; part of the McVirago group, who details the process of how he tirelessly and expeditiously completed CJW’s unfinished book, thereby bringing

Shaunessy and a Literary Death

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it to his many fans, prior to them having moved on to the next media hyped tragedy.”

Shaunessy and a Literary Death

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M.T.A. train and “M.T.A.” by the Kingston trio; property of the author, the latter under both the

“fair use” and “transformative” doctrines.

Shaunessy said; “Interrupted by some supposedly surreptitious segue into unrelated advertising?”

“What did you expect?”

“An eloquent closure of some sort?”

“There was a closed parentheses squiggly.”

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 217

“Thanks. That was really interesting. Do you know if Triton Tohaccian ever met CJW?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t ask.”

“Okay. Forget it. Thanks for the effort.”

“Ooooh, look at this. Vista de la Feria made the net again.”

“New Mexican Donut Shop Ending Police and Military Discounts in Support of Protests by Hyman Rosenzweig

Vista de la Feria, NM - A donut shop in north Vista de la Feria, NM announced that it is discontinuing its discount for the military or law enforcement officers in support of the police brutality protests.

Maleek’s Donuts took to social media on Saturday to say it will no longer be offering its discount to police or military officers after an Albuquerque McDonald’s Fries Expert was allegedly pulled over by local police just for having 53 wide screen, high definition TV’s in his truck after having lost his sales receipt.

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 218

The Fries Expert had participated in a recent protest/riot and shared his experience of allegedly being racially profiled by officers.

The donut shop took to Fecesbook saying, “We’re fed up. Until local police take action to solve problems with racism and injustice, Maleek’s Donuts will choose to stand with the people of our great state. We will no longer offer military or police discounts. Thank you for your patronage, and shame on you for your silence.

This reporter interviewed Abe Silverstein, preferred street name Brutha Maleek, owner and manager of Maleek’s Donuts, and received an amplification. ‘Look, honky’ he said. ‘We people have had enough of this drek. You nowumsayin. That wasn’t a question, white boy. It’s time to stand and take a knee for

............. Whatever, nowumsayin. Shtup the imprisoning details. Just shtup em. You hear me. That wasn’t a question either. Maleek’s Donuts will have no preferences for the oppressors. From this moment on cops and military will pay exactly what the schvatzas do. We all must do our part. Besides, not too bad for the old auntershte shurh. DONUT PRICES MATTER, mufugga. Oh, you might be interested to know that I’ve ordered some bumper stickers which will be soon available here, both in the sanitized clean and more relevant dirty version.’ This

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 219

reporter turned to leave while assuring Brutha Maleek that I’d be back to check the bumper stickers out. He held up a reddish kruller which bore an uncanny resemblance to an old used brick and said; ‘Well, you gonna buy anything? That was a real question. For today and today only, we got special on sprinkled and cream filled krullers.’

Under the militarized circumstances, yeztruly thought it best to take a couple dozen of the ones which gave no external evidence of having been chucked. Open Society Foundations was paying all my expenses anyway.”

Shaunessy said; “Wotcha reckon?”

“False flag operation.”

“If not?”

“I’m flying right there. I love those sprinklers.”

“This was dated yesterday.”

“Oh yeah. In that case, on the lesser level, I don’t think that we’ve been making any sense for a while now.”

“I was wondering whether Striker’s lousy jokes finally did us all in.”

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 220

“That doesn’t make any sense either. I mean like Striker’s Fecesbook account hasn’t even received a hundred likes since inception.”

“The righteous have righteously lowered their bar.”

“That too doesn’t make any sense. Goggle can’t pursue every little byte put out there.”

“Evidently, the sciency nerds on the web seem to think they are now able through some inflated notion of artificial

‘intelligence.’ Personally I think it a bluff designed to maximize their imagined popular image of ‘importance.’ Whether or not that is true, it is simple to screw them up. Just keep searching, clicking on, and liking things you don’t.”

“So deep; deep without a meaning.”

“No meaning! Au contraire, my brain challenged one in distant and idealized etherealization. ........ Apologies.

Retractions. Resignations. Please allow me to mimic the popular and burgeoning bullshit club. Take one step back to that archaic fascist requirement of sensibility. It is just so mid-20th century Hitlerian, that for your sake, I hope you refrain from making any reference to it when in mixed company. My level of appall no longer knows any bounds, but that’s what partners are

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 221

for. ........Wanna shtup? I’ll stand or take a knee. Whatever your heart desires this moment.”

“I’m much more in tune than you seem to be able to realize.

That knee thing is now all the rage. Go for it! We can fantasize being Millennials thinking it new.”

“Hot. ................. Ummmmmnnnnnnnn.”

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 222

13 – A Visit from the Goon Squad

Powerful radio signal detected within our own galaxy for first time.

One week ago, scientists detected the powerful signal SGR

1935+2154 within the Milky Way and say it could finally solve the mystery of fast radio bursts.

Gotta be Aliens! There is a powerful radio signal coming from within our galaxy

This is not a dead star!

The SGR 1935+2154, a dead star that is around 30,000 light-years away from earth, registered for the radio observatories around the world with a single and millisecond-long burst of incredibly bright radio waves.

Vishna Mathur

Comment #1 - Personally, I wouldn’t get too excited until the Aliens invented TV.

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 223

Last updated: tomorrow, 9:49 AM

Share this

There is a very powerful radio signal that is doing rounds in our galaxy, and astronomers are perplexed because this is the first ever fast radio burst (FRB) originating in our own galaxy.

And this has happened as recently as April 28, when SGR

1935+2154, a dead star that is around 30,000 light-years away from earth, registered for the radio observatories around the world with a single and millisecond-long burst of incredibly bright radio waves. Astronomers say this radio signal is so powerful, it is possible it can also be detected in nearby galaxies.

The activity on the SGR 1935+2154 was registered by the Swift Burst Alert Telescope, the AGILE satellite and the NICER ISS

payload. The burst had a double-peak structure with two components ~5 ms wide separated by ~30 ms (see URL below). The spectra of the two components show differing band-limited structure, which we caution are not corrected for the telescope sidelobe response or instrumental bandpass. However, we do not expect the telescope's spectral response to change significantly on a timescale of 30 ms (the separation of the two bursts), which suggests that the two peaks indeed had different spectra.

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 224

There is clear evidence for a scattering tail of similar magnitude in the two peaks, The Astronomer’s Telegram had reported its findings.

new sly surreptitious ID#1

welcome to our expanding family #16,543,790

my pleasure

we know stoop

look

Libtard = Fascist = MSM

Pasty-faced LFM has been pushing for bullshit about racism for years, when under Trump, blacks had the lowest level of unemployment (3.5%) and highest level of income ever recorded.

Now, you got it mufuggas and you may not survive.

Fact. Under Obama black unemployment was in double digits for 6

of his 8 years, peaking at an outrageous 16.8%, and averaging 12.2%. But, Obama is your hero.

What's the hidden deal here? Your need for a black population much less able to support themselves? Your need to use blacks as effective pawns for your own agenda?

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 225

ITS ABOUT THE ECONOMY, STUPID.

Trump’s a racist

just look at this

[image error]

yo mama’s bahookie

[image deletion by GFR feral non-management]

friend

like me on fecesbook

Don’t even like you here. Pardon the piss out of me. But I don’t give two fucks whether Trump likes me or not, and if he has any sense he feels the same way. Point is, Libtard game player, that if the Man can get me a mufuggin job to get me out of this ugly, unsafe ghetto, he’s fine with me. What I don’t need is one of those friendly-friendly, Libtard bozos who talk shit and then stick me here in this shit, dependent on them for the mufuggin welfare that can’t even pay the rent in fuggin Illegaltown. Fuck your pussy ass, bitch.

current codification eradicated

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 226

we have your name

blue screen

courtesy of renegade gfr librarian

acting alone in concert

don’t have to say why

new sly surreptitious ID#2

welcome to our expanding family #16,545,611

my pleasure

we know stoop

friend

gotta click

if

no friend

Something like this has never been seen before, Shrinivas Kulkarni, astronomer at Caltech, told Science Alert. The consensus seems to be on the fact that this FRB signal may have originated as a result of massive, shifting gravitational forces

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 227

causing a starquake or magnetar flare, that caused a disturbance in the magnetic field surrounding it. As gravitational force tries to keep the star together; an inward force; the magnetic field is so powerful, it distorts the star's shape. This leads to an ongoing tension between the two forces, which occasionally produces gargantuan starquakes and giant magnetar flares, Kulkarni explains to Science Alert. Astronomers believe that a magnetar can possibly produce even larger outbursts. The SGR

1935+2154's burst did not require much energy, they say, for a magnetar and the star could easily handle a burst a thousand times stronger.

At this time, astronomers are still observing the source of this signal for any follow-signals, which could indicate further activity on the SGR 1935+2154.

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Tags: aliensastronomyEarthfast radio burstFRBLifemagnetarradio signalscienceSGR 1935+2154space

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Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 229

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In other US news, while the cops were trying to watch demonstrations elsewhere, south Chicago reported a record number of murders and shootings, quite a high bar to hurdle. Libtard apologists say that requires "nuance." Their “nuance” is that it was the first hot day of the year and that people have been cooped up. This writer thanks them for the information, as he ignorantly thought that situation was not unique to south Chicago.

Someone willing to risk the charge of "racism" might ask why BLM

did not live up to their chosen name and intervene. But, I'm risk averse.

Bottom of Form

click here to see images

(image error)

Fine. I’m now certain that you’re always in error, and will act accordingly most of the time when I feel like it.

Most computer owners don't know this clever security trick (do it now) Security Savers Online

The formula is:

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 230

Hours since death = 98.6 - corpse core temperature / 1.5

This approximate rate of heat loss continues until the environmental temperature is attained, after which it remains stable. That sounds simple enough.

Unfortunately, it's not quite that straight forward. The 1.5 -

degree-per-hour factor varies, depending upon the environment surrounding the body, the size of the corpse, clothing, and other factors. For example, a body in a temperate room will lose heat much more slowly than will one in an icy, flowing stream.

And a body in a hot environment, such as an enclosed garage in Tucson, Arizona, in August, where the ambient temperature could be 145 degrees Fahrenheit or more, will gain heat. The key is that the corpse will lose or gain heat until it reaches equilibrium with its environment.

Corpses are environment friendly.

Once the body reaches ambient temperature, all bets are off. But even if done correctly and soon after death, body temperature determination is subject to several sources of inaccuracy.

One assumption made in the calculations is the initial body temperature. The normal 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit is .........

Even I got bored a this point.

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 231

In my loooong “expert” experience, did I say loooooooooong

“exxxpertttt” experience, the usual procedure definitely involved taking of pictures, cordoning off the area with police tape, informing the investigator of the gore detail, covering the deceased with a police tent, and not black plastic cover as in the movie.

How To: Reduce Sagging Jowls (Do This now) www.zitzbeooty.com.

Flash Poll: will you vote for Biden? Democratic Governors Association.

Can’t trick me. If I say no, I’ll lose my job to an EEOC

supported bum. So, yes, of course. Yes, of course Johannesburg Joe brings needed progress. My actual ballot is still supposedly confidential.

Next Story

Complicit deep state government affiliate pre-empted by the remnants of US goggle, the miniscule segment not yet relocated to Beijing.

Brop. Bop. Brop. Bop. Brop. Amber alert. Amber alert. Kiev Joe Biden has been reported missing by his keeper; big, black, fat, loud, loser, and allegedly lesbo Stacey Jemima Abrams. He was last seen in a pillaged Minneapolis mall wearing oversized pants

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 232

sporting eighteen Rolex watches, all set to the wrong time of day. His sparse white hair had now been done in cornrows, as it were. This man may not know his way home, and that’s stating it PCP “kindly.” If you have any information about his whereabouts please call the disbanded Minneapolis Police Department in futility, Nancy Pelosi, Stacy, his hoary old mama, or disregard.

Brop. Bop. Brop. Bop. Brop.

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Crack Antifa operative buried under his own shattered glass and “Third World Man” by Donald K.

Fagan and Walter Carl Becker; property of the author, the latter under both the “fair use” and

“transformative” doctrines.

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(image error)

Surprise fucking surprise, MSM libtard

This properly edited form of transparency BS will never end Ignorant Alt-right dupe

Eat shit and die.

Hate speech! Hate speech reported.

Oooooooh, I’m so scared. Please please don’t. Pretty please?

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Fix you racist.

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Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 244

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I don’t hate anyone that much

Cyber bullying is a prevalent activity around the world — from the trivial trolling on social media, to more serious acts of targeted posts, anonymous stalking and the likes, online activities that can be objected to are a regular occurrence.

However, contrary to public understanding, the Indian judiciary does have plenty of provisions to hold these acts accountable and dole out punishments. In light of the recent controversies around 'bois locker room' and 'girls locker room' chats on social media platforms, News18 caught up with N.S. Nappinai, lawyer at the Supreme Court of India, and founder of Cyber Saathi — a digital rights, awareness and em Time of death

Defining Time of Death

There are several times of death. Let me repeat that there are several times of death. Time of death seems to be a simple and straightforward term that obviously means the exact time that the victim drew his last breath. Unfortunately, it's not quite that simple.

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 245

There are actually three different times of death: The physiologic time of death, when the victim's vital functions actually ceased.

The legal time of death, the time recorded on the death certificate.

The estimated time of death, the time the medical examiner estimates that death occurred.

It is important to note that the estimated time of death can vary greatly from the legal time of death and the physiologic time of death.

The only absolutely accurate determination of the time of death, more or less as it were, is the uncommon circumstance in which a person died with a physician or other skilled medical professional present. The doctor could make the determination and mark the time, and even this is assuming his watch or the clock on the wall was accurate. But that little inaccuracy aside, a death witnessed in this fashion is the only time that the three above times of death would correlate with one another.

Otherwise, it is impossible to determine the exact time of death. But what if someone witnessed the fatal blow or gunshot or what if the event was recorded on a timed surveillance

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 246

camera, wouldn't that accurately mark the time of death? The answer is a qualified no and/or yes. If the witnessed event led to immediate death, then the witness would have seen the actual death. If not, the witnessed event is simply the trauma that led to death but not the actual moment of death. People can survive massive and apparently lethal injuries for hours, even days or years. It's a best guess.

This likely means little to you, but you must realize that this is free stuff on the net. I mean, what did you expect?

The changes that a body undergoes after death occur in widely variable ways and with unpredictable time frames. There is no single factor that will accurately indicate the time of physiological death. To help with his estimation, the Medical Examiner / Coroner utilizes various observations and tests, including:

Body temperature. Of the corpse that is, not the Medical Examiner’s/Coroner’s own. That’s kind of silly, but required in documents purporting “scientific” merit.

Rigor mortis – A/K/A degree of stiffidity.

Livor mortis – lividity – A/K/A the color of death. Often blue, the precise shade somewhat variable.

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 247

Degree of putrefaction. The icky stuff. Usually performed with a quick “windshield” estimate.

Stomach contents.

Corneal cloudiness.

Vitreous potassium level.

Insect activity. Kafka-esque fantasies aside, these little buggers take some time to get going, especially indoors.

Cockroaches and waterbugs rule.

Scene markers.

nsa-interpol black override

next waterboard

try picture

just like this

[image error]

back to futile

subvert

rebel rebel

che approves

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 248

[image error]

stupid review

really have enormous bomb

Girls always say that.

Nonetheless, the most important and most commonly used of these are body temperature (of the corpse), rigor mortis (stiffidity), and lividity (color).

Body Temperature

Normal body temperature is 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit. After death, the body loses or gains heat progressively until it equilibrates with that of the surrounding medium. None of these un-named have proven to be any more accurate than the current formula for heat loss of 1.5 degree per hour.

Tic cover might contaminate evidence. If it was found to be an unnatural death such as suicide, accident, illness etc. but not crime related then a police van will be activated to take the body back to the hospital for Medical Examiner/Coroner examination if they don’t have their own office. Then further effect will be made to identify him and contact him family.

However, it will be (an) entire(ly) different story if (the) crime related (was) such as murder. (English translations (of)

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 249

shithole (foreign) language(s) (is) a gift (most?) rare.) If discovered it was a murder e.g. obvious injury, head missing, parts of body chopped off then (the) immediate condoning (cordoning) of (the) area (will be) required. Asking for backup in case the murder was just committed and the murderer might be in the vincinity (vicinity, not to be confused with lividity).

Condon area widen as initial search for weapon or evidence be conducted also prevent onlooker get too close. (You might have correctly surmised that the translator quit one sentence back, under vague government orders orders, as well as also also in legitimate fear of contracting contracting the China BatPoo II virus.) On Scene Investigation Squad, the Crime Investigation Department, high ranking management officer will all be informed. Fingerprint will not necessary be taken if there is no evidence around but if needed, usually will be left for the on site SIS or CID to conduct as they have higher technology although technically patrol officer can do it and have done it before. Photograph will have to be more detail securing a story and evidence. Medical Examiner/Coroner only be asked to come down if necessary, if not the body will be sent to them. When the CID have arrived then the scene and authority will be hand over to them.

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 250

Most suicidal hangings from lower heights, the victim dies from suffocation and lack of blood flow to brain. The victim typically a Vee-shaped bruise on the front of neck. Tiny broken blood vessels seen in the eyes and mouth.

If the victim dies from the strangulation, less bruising will occur from the rope. The Medical Examiner/Coroner call this a homicide.

A hanging by the neck with a fall of more than six feet is capable fracturing neck. There’s fair body evidence on this since hanging is utilized as capital punishment in many west libby country. Throwing a victim off second floor balcony is very likely cause fracture. Few suicide would choose method.

Hanging from intermediate height; such as forcing victim to stand chair then chair removing look like suicide. If the victim drunk and/or taken sedatives, like recent US “victims” brutality pole-eeese she could be unconscious this, making it easier control her. It not unusual suicide take pills sedative and/or alcohols.

Hanging (continued)

While accidental hanging rare, anecdotal substantially, and homicidal hanging even anecdotal more, hanging the third most common form suicide account 16% of all male, and 13% of all

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 251

female suicide. Most people commit suicide by hanging, jump from chair or ladder, choke to death slow. Rarely the neck is broke.

In order to broke neck, drop six feet or more required, which rarely happen except in execution hanging.

Hanging, whether done with rope, electrical cord or belt, always leave an invert V bruise on hangee neck, and is easy tell from ligature strangulation (murder), which leave a straight-line bruises. Hanging compress veins, but arterial blood flow continue, causing small bleeding sites on lips, inside mouth, and the eyelids. As with ligature strangulate, the face and neck congested with blood becomes dark red.

Ligature (bind something) strangulation are always almost homicide and the victim is always almost woman. Often the murderer uses more force than necessary to kill the victim, causing deep bruises and abrasions around the neck. The victim will usually struggle, which results in damage to both the interior and exterior structures of the neck and throat.

Accidental strangulation is rare, but does happen, usually when a tie or a scarf gets caught in power machinery. Consider causing a murder that looks like an accident by catching a woman's scarf into machine gears. Or hanging a man by pushing

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 252

him off a chair and making it look like suicide? The police would have a very tough time proving it wasn't.

Don’t anyone ever again dare tell me that free web dwelling information is useless.

Please click the Greta Thunberg icon on the lower left of your screen to register your valuable like.

Ummnnnnn. I didn’t say that I liked it; just that it was not entirely useless.

Please click the Greta Thunberg icon on the lower left of your screen to register your valuable like.

You deaf?

Dumb question. To continue, please click the Greta Thunberg icon on the lower left of your screen to register your valuable like.

If you insist on remaining in this loop, subjecting me, I’ll sign off; swear to God.

Chill. OK? Police and law enforcement begin suicide investigation before arrive place the suicide take place. The 911 call (if one placed) preserved in case there a trial in future.

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 253

Suicide scene treated as crime scene. If suicide took pace in home and if people present in home when body discovered governing authority (Medical Examiner/Coroner) immediately separate all people in house and they questioned as to what took place prior discover body. There answers not be exactly same; however, they should be certain amount consistency between story.

In case child take own life parents separated (not like pre-divorce maneuver) as are siblings (not like illegal alien turnover to DYFS or ICE) and they asked questions multiple which later discussed with other law enforcement officers.

The police search for note and all victim clothing of the victim wrapped in plastic clear considered evidence forensics examine and stuff all that diligent most.

During time Medical Examiner/Coroner interrogate witness they look reactions specific. People at time of trauma will go shock.

They pace and they and they cold to touch. They repeatedly ask go hospital to be with victim and they ask if they love one still alive. This can be expression hope, ignorance necessity breath, or fake job.

The police will ask how victim behave prior suicide and whether victim has mental history illness.

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 254

Regardless of hour day of weak police will notified victim school or place employment and go through paper personal (pp) or school work look for signs depression.

The interrogate of family, friend, school official, employer, and physician used to put to put together psychologic autopsy (meta considerate matter) look for a history of mental illness, bully, or emotional and mental issue, isolation, depression, lack of friend, or family support and suicide threat or suicide behavior such as attempt, threaten suicide prior suicide and drastic and consist change what consider normal behavior of suicide week before suicide occur.

Police be train what look for and although no two suicide same there is consistencies. Police take look quick but not touch body. They are look for bruise and wound on body see if there struggle before death.

Police be know if something not routine immediately as they attend to hundred if not thousand suicide. Police also will call in detective if feel the death is suspicious, Medical Examiner/Coroner permit.

Person who take life by suicide has a life time unresolved pain.

Final act, such a fight with loved one not reason people take lives. It a fight or breakup does happen just prior to suicide

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 255

fight oft instigate be suicide to push loved one away. If beak ups cause suicide we have lot more people corpsed because of break up,

Last act that of suicide should not be legacy of one die by own hand, despite hoo ha popular. They live and they were un-love.

Although it rare anyone charge with contribute suicide, it happen and is becoming more frequent, especially in the case of bully and video tape evidence that support fact someone try talk someone take life.

Woman who allegedly goaded boyfriend into suicide panicked after cops would read her texts

Of course they do. I have been a police officer for 40 years, and I spent 12 years in Homicide. In Homicide we spent far more time investigating suspicious/unknown deaths and suicides than we did murders. The other fellow is right, the Medical Examiner/Coroner rules on the manner of death (homicide, suicide, accidental, natural or undetermined). Like another fellow said, there are no "obvious" suicides. There are only deaths which appear to be suicides. They must be investigated thoroughly to eliminate the possibility of the death as actually something else; a murder or even an accident.

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 256

I have investigated hundreds of suicides. I found that they are particularly difficult cases, because often the family members are in denial, and don't want to admit that a loved one took his/her own life. It is easier for them to accept a murder.

Also, for insurance purposes, many family members try to hide signs of suicide, including notes, and even the weapon itself.

Conclusion

no care

phhtttt

you know what is really going on

here

no and neither do you

i’ll tell you anyway;

lucky me

you still here

[click here] to translate this page

I’m not clicking any muffuggin place

wanna see

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 257

you can get arrested for that

[image error or wardrobe malfunction]

yankee sabotage

[auto detect]

[auto detect]

[auto detect]

current codification eradicated

we have your name

experience

disappointed

[error]

experience

disappointed

[error]

we can fry your machine

experience

delighted

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 258

signed out

please sign in

can’t make me

wanna bet

no

have another enormous bomb. hit you.

would you just get outta here already

this space intentionally left blank

this space intentionally left blank

this space intentionally left blank

this space unintentionally left blank

this space and its predecessors intentionally left blank in the US; probably accessible in europe to members of the AmawayOnSteroids.com prime exclusive club

courtesy of torrentialcriminalpiracy.com

[click here] to watch free

enjoy your virus

Shaunessy and a Literary Death

Page 259

hahahahahahahahahahahahaha and ha

this was a joke

funny no

My thoughts; property of the author.

It should be noted that the final determination of suicide is made by the Medical Examiner/Coroner after all the facts are evaluated. However, the investigation at the scene and an inquiry into the background of the deceased may indicate the presence of life threatening behavior or activities that suggest suicidal intent. Of course, the Medical Examiner/Coroner is supposed to avail him or her of the input of the investigators, who were present at the scene and conducted the death investigation.

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 260

A NOTE?

It is a common misconception, that

I’m not common

Zip-a-dee-doo-dah on you. But continuing on, after law enforcement officials have checked out a murder or suicide crime scene, they are not responsible for cleaning or removing the body. After they have left the scene, the body will still be there, along with any chemicals, dust, or remnants of the investigation the officials may have left. The home is now not only dirty, but dangerous.

Connor James Wheaton Autopsy

Semi-author Connor James Wheaton bound his wrists with duct tape before hanging himself from a patio roof rafter in the backyard of his Vista de la Feria, NM home, according to an autopsy report released today. The 46 year old writer was discovered by his wife, who cut the black belt from which Wheaton was hanging.

The autopsy report notes that Wheaton had nailed the belt to a wooden patio support and that “there was a lawn chair that was knocked over on its side next to the decedent.”

Excerpts from the report can be found here.

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 261

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Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 263

Comment #1 – Don’t tell me. A visit from DYFS and another anorexic kid.

News18 »Tech

1-MIN READ

Realme Nardo 10 Specs: MediaTek Helio G80 SoC Confirmed by Company

The Realme Nardo 10 appears to be directed at the budget segment of devices, and is likely to advertise some scale of gaming credentials.

News18.com

Last Updated: last Wednesday, 1:59 PM IST

Share this:

Realme has confirmed via Twitter that its upcoming smartphone, the Realme Nardo 10, will be powered by MediaTak's recently unveiled Hellacious G80 SoC. While the Hellacious G series is typically aimed at gaming devices, the Hellacious G80 is seen as a processor that may cater to the budget and mid-range gaming segments of smartphones, This gives users a fair idea regarding what may be expected of the Realme Nardo 10 smartphone.

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 264

In terms of capabilities, the Hellacious G80 SoC comes with MediaTak's HyperEngine gaming mode that will boost the peak performance core of the processor in order to give the best possible gaming performance to the best of its abilities. The Hellacious G80 also has a dedicated AI co-processor, which has pretty much become the norm for any smartphone processor in the market at the moment. However, the Hellacious G80 will not be able to support displays richer than full HD+ resolution, which is what the Realme Nardo 10's display resolution would be. The Hellacious G80 can also record up to 2K videos at 30fps, which clarifies that the Nardo 10 will not feature 4K video recording.

The Realme Nardo 10 is already confirmed to feature a 48-megapixel quad rear camera setup, a 5,000mAh battery and a physical fingerprint sensor at the back. The display size will be 6.5 inches and feature a waterdrop notch to house the front camera. All of this lines the Realme Nardo 10 to be a fairly run of the mill smartphone. However, given how competitive the budget and mid-range smartphone space typically is in India, it remains to be seen if the new “Nardo” series of devices manage to find footing in the country once lockdown protocol is lifted, and smartphone sales resume in India.

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 265

Comment #1 – I can no longer contain my excitement. I just hope that I can refrain from getting all vomity and stuff all over my archaic waterdrop.

Comment #2 – I’m having some trouble in determining whether or not this is the RealMe.

Comment #3 – So, I’m supposed to care about your problems/inadequacies?

Share this:

Not a chance

That’s cold and hating.

What’s in it for me, loser?

You’ll feel good supporting the daily wage earners who have been hit the hardest by the COVID-19 crisis. Click here to contribute to the cause. #IndiaGives

You have to be kidding

The daily News18 Coronavirus COVID-19 newsletter - Get your copy here.

Subscribe to News18 Outbreak. Follow us on Twatter, Fecesbook, and on Goofreads

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 266

Remind me later

Special Offer: Subscribe to Shekelcontrol PRO’s annual plan for $1/- per day for the first year and claim exclusive benefits worth $20,000. Coupon code: PROSUCK365

Code expired or something.

First Published: today, 1:59 PM IST

Tags: MediaTakmediatak hellacious g80realme nardo 10realme nardo 10 featuresrealme nardo 10 india launchrealme nardo 10

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Eat Uber

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Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 269

“In an apparent attempt to put an end to the many conspiracy theories surrounding the death of John Fitzgerald Kennedy, his body was exhumed. The expert Medical Examiner/Coroner concluded from his test, with all the degree of accuracy approved by the W.H.O., that he died from the China BatPoo II virus, any other noted injuries as ancillary as those of a ridiculous ‘George of the Jungle’ cartoon.”

Barack Obama and Joe Biden went kufi in hand to discuss the burgeoning amount of US debt held by China with Xi Jinping. When entering the palace they were confronted with a gardening project which produced mud. They rolled up their pants and went through it, eventually taking a seat in the waiting room. Biden said; “Roll your pants back down.” Obama answered; “We owe him that much!!!??”

Q: Why is the coronavirus like pasta?

A: Because the Chinese invented it and the Italians spread it.

Q: Why is China’s production level so far down?

A: That’s what happens when your work force becomes teenagers.

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 270

Q: What happens when a Mexican woman and a China man make a baby?

A: A car thief who can't actually drive is born.

When US Representative Andy Barr questioned him, Barack Obama said; “Now hol’ on there Andy. ......... Treason? ... I’m not even a US citizen.”

Most people are not shaking hands because of the coronavirus.

I’m not shaking hands due to the shortage of toilet paper.

Do not call the coronavirus Chinese. That’s racist. Call it

“Uninspected Undocumented Immigrant.”

I got thirty days for protesting the shutdown. Luckily, I have plenty of room there, as they released all the murderers and rapists in fear that jailbirds might contract coronavirus.

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 271

Q: Who is taking all the toilet paper from the stores?

A: Assholes.

If you need to be told not to drink Clorox, then ...... you just might be a libtard.

If you think that the China BatPoo II virus isn’t China’s number one export, then ...... you just might be a libtard.

If you pretend to think that Joe Biden is playing with a full deck, then ...... you just might be a libtard.

If you think that under-qualified terrorist Teddy (Lips) Adhominem Beelzebubus did not assist China in their export of the China BatPoo II virus, then ...... you just might be a libtard.

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 272

If you think that the likes of Fecesbook, Twiddle, Goofreads, and Goggle have the right to censor and delete comments, then

...... you just might be a libtard.

If you think that any post on Fecesbook, Twiddle, Goofreads, and Goggle does not violate their stated terms and conditions, then

...... you just might be a libtard. Note the very selectively enforcement.

If you know or care what the ever expanding term lbgtquia now stands for other than weirdo, then ...... you just might be a libtard.

If you think that your pork fried rice take-out is not really bat fried rice, then ...... you just might be a libtard.

If you watch CNN or MSNBC discussion groups and don’t recognize the spun political agenda, then ...... you just might be a happy libtard in sync.

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 273

If you think that human rights and equality are better in your loved Muslim countries, China, or Mexico than they are in your deficient, hated USA, then ...... you just might be a supremely ignorant libtard.

If you’ve never said that Adam Schiff is a fish-faced, bug-eyed sissy, then ...... you just might be a libtard.

Another mysterious radio burst in space is repeating a pattern.

This one occurs every 157 days

By Asshead Strickland, CNN, 22 mins ago

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Beans can kill ya if you don’t fart

Shaunessy and a Literary Death

Page 274

Another mysterious radio burst in space is repeating a pattern.

This one occurs every 157 days

For the second time ever, astronomers have detected a pattern in a mysterious fast radio burst coming from space.

Alleged space burst with seemingly disproportionate receiver; property of the author.

Fast radio bursts, or FRBs, are millisecond-long bursts of radio waves in space, and astronomers have been able to trace some radio bursts back to their home galaxies.

They have yet to determine the actual cause of the bursts.

Surprise, fucking surprise.

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 275

Individual radio bursts emit once and don't repeat. But repeating fast radio bursts are known to send out short, energetic radio waves multiple times.

Previous observations showed that usually when they repeat, it's sporadic or in a cluster.

That all changed earlier this year when astronomers found that FRB 180916.J0158+65 had a pattern in bursts occurring every 16.35 days. Over the course of four days, the signal would release a burst or two each hour. Then, it would go silent for another 12 days.

Now, they have detected a pattern in a second repeating fast radio burst, known as FRB 121102. During this cyclical pattern, radio bursts are emitted during a 90 day window, followed by a silent period of 67 days. This pattern repeats every 157 days.

FRB 121102 has been known as a repeating fast radio burst since 2016. Now, they know it has a pattern.

"Until now, only one other repeating FRB was known to show such a pattern in its bursting activity," said Kaustubh Rajwade, lead study author and postdoctoral researcher in astronomy at the University of Manchester, in an e-mail. "Finding such a pattern reveals important clues as to what could (be) the progenitor of

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 276

FRBs. A periodicity tell us that object is producing FRBs is probably in orbit with another astrophysical body."

The study was published Sunday in the journal Monthly Notices of the Royal Astronomical Society.

FRB 121102 was the first repeating fast radio burst to be traced back to its source, linked back to a small dwarf galaxy more than 3 billion light-years away in 2017, distance indeterminate as of yet in 2020.

The fact that this repeating fast radio burst pattern is at least 10 times longer than the one repeating every 16.4 days shows the potential large range for such activity, the researchers said.

What's behind the burst pattern?

So what could be the cause of FRB 121102's extended pattern?

Researchers believed these powerful bursts could be due to the orbit of a massive star, a black hole, a dense neutron star, or a shithole alien “discovery” of yet to be controlled, incoherent radio waves.

One potential explanation for repeating fast radio bursts has been the precession, or wobbling top motion, of a highly magnetized neutron star's axis. But that may not explain what

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 277

astronomers are seeing for this particular burst because it lasts so long, the researchers said. That model may be more suited to bursts that repeat over a few weeks.

Moving forward, the researchers want to find other repeating fast radio bursts, determine if they also have patterns and see if these two represent the range of patterns. They also want to observe FRB 121102 more and see if the patterns change over time.

"Answering these questions will take us closer to the true source of FRBs," Rajwade said.

Bottom line, it’s eating beans. Trust me on that one.

The burst pattern in this study was detected while using the Lovell Telescope at the Jodrell Bank Observatory in the United Kingdom over four years. The telescope is sensitive to faint radio signals and capable of regularly monitoring repeating fast radio bursts that have already been identified. Fast radio bursts were only discovered in 2007, followed by the discovery that some of them can repeat in 2016. Now, researchers know they can have patterns as well.

"This exciting discovery highlights how little we know about the origin of FRBs," said Duncan Lorimer, study co-author, associate dean for research and professor of physics and astronomy at West

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 278

Virginia University, and general raconteur of fundably useless assholery. "Further observations of a larger number of FRBs will be needed in order to obtain a clearer picture about these periodic sources and elucidate their origin."

Connor James Wheaton, who left behind a suicide note, had a

"history of depression with two prior suicide attempts," his wife told a Medical Examiner’s investigator. Wheaton, best known for his much heralded novel of a decade prior, "Interminal Gibbet Loop Capers," had last seen his psychiatrist two weeks before his death, and was prescribed several drugs. The report also notes that Wheaton had previously undergone 12 electroshock therapy treatments. (4 pages)

blah blah

If God didn’t want there to be ethnocentrism, he wouldn’t have made different ethnicities.

That’s rude and inappropriate

Flag me

Burnt

Up your shockhole

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 279

BSOD Error "Hardware Malfunction, System Halted and Contact you Hardware Manufacturer/Vendor..."

Original Title - blue screen of death BSOD

Shaunessy and a Literary Death

Page 280

14 – Interview with the Vampires

The following lit stuff was posted on the Dorkey website, allegedly reproducing a conversation CJW recently had with a few associates. The “Charlie Rose Show,” from which it supposedly part emanated has been deleted and/or web mangled. Mark Leyner, Tom LeClair, Fenton Foxfussy, Steven Moore, William Vollmann, Michel Houellebecq (hypothetically a male, but from France), William Gass, and Crapaton Milkwart got well deserved subsidiary billing. A good time was had by all. More or less.

Connor James Wheaton; property of the author.

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 281

CR: “Are you still a writer?”

CJW: “Some make such charges. I’d personally say more of a reclusive celebrity pop star.”

CR: “What’s popping now?”

CJW: “The errant trajectories of batons.”

CR: “Might you elaborate?”

CJW: “After Esquire publishes it. I fear anticipatory hack imitation.”

CR: “Movie potential?”

CJW: “What doesn’t have movie potential?”

CR: “Is it fiction?”

CJW: “I think so, more or less, depending. Some will say no.”

CR: “So, most will say that it’s real life?”

CJW: “Try paying some attention, Charlie. I think not, more or less, depending. Most will say yes.”

CR: “Who is the main protagonist?”

CJW: “It’s an ensemble piece. The many erratic baton twirlers and their fanatical parents in the stands.”

Shaunessy and a Literary Death

Page 282

CR: “You’re not personally involved?”

CJW: “Truly, only in the sense of erratum from the bleachers, while, simultaneously realizing that others will expound in both directions.”

CR: “Being misunderstood must be so depressing.”

CJW: “I really don’t know. If any, it’s others problem of choice. They can try to deal with it and leave me out.”

CR: “Will there ever be another novel?”

CJW: “Maybe, if I can find a semi-competent ghost.”

CR: “Awesome.”

CJW: “I’m totes a mufuggin’ saint.”

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 283

Mark Leyner; property of the author.

ML: “You abandoned the Midwest and moved to the Southwest?”

CJW: “Sí senor, hace muchos años.”

ML: “I didn’t know that until it appeared on the prompter.”

CJW: “I’ll ignore your unintentional straight line, and just say that it’s perfectly understandable as I sent out no announcements or invitations to weinies.”

ML: “Must have been a culture shock.”

CJW: “Perhaps had I mingled. Sun’s consistent.”

ML: “I meant the literary scene. Tony Hillerman and all that reservation-type exotica.”

CJW: “Didn’t make much note. Hillerman is supposedly dead.

Right?”

ML: “Really? Didn’t know that.”

CJW: “That’s quickly becoming one of your habits.”

ML: “As opposed to your eternally remote fountain of creativity?”

Shaunessy and a Literary Death

Page 284

CJW: “Evidently, as seen by lesser nags who mistakenly think that they are still in the race.”

Fenton Foxfussy; property of the author.

FF: “We’re all friends here. Are we not?”

CJW: “Peace and love to you my friend, Donovan.”

FF: “Twas then when the hurdy gurdy man ....... etc. etc.”

CJW: “Far fuckin’ out.”

FF smiled and raised two fingers, not necessarily from the same hand.

CJW: “Pray tell. How’s the Oprah-defiant, family reunion, rebel business going?”

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 285

FF: “Families are not a business.”

CJW: “I’ll advise Vito of that the next time we have clams at the Indigo Crow.”

FF: “Ha ha, and another ha. You’re such a jokester. Have you seen my new collection of essays; ‘How to be Inundated with Parasites,’ published by Farr, Simon, and Moreau; now part of the McVirago group? A few hard cover copies are still available through all physical and metaphysical retail sources, as well as those in-between for only $19.99 plus tax; shipping free in the US?”

CJW: “Sorry, must have slept through that one.”

FF: “Your loss. It’s my multi-viewpoint elegy to our diminishing environment.”

CJW: “How timely. The reciprocated Greta Thunberg endorsement will no doubt do it wonders. Kudos.”

FF: “You sound a tad cynical today.”

CJW: “I prefer to use the most misunderstood, happy word

‘languid’ myself. The Southwestern late afternoon, hot weather, announced and undelivered storms can produce that sad effect.

Sigh.”

Shaunessy and a Literary Death

Page 286

Michel Houllebecq; property of the author.

MH: “Your books Francais sir, available they are?”

CJW: “I not hope. Say you so. Bother to check, I never.”

MH: “A question, believe I that was.”

CJW: “Care, I not do.”

MH: “But a market for potboilers American is Francais.”

CJW: “Rules censoring and EU anyway ban it would. See you, gay character, looking good and likeable no role had, besides.”

Shaunessy and a Literary Death

Page 287

MH: “English you speak like one long distance in US.”

William Vollmann; property of the author.

WV: “Great piece of writing. The surreal sequences blend so well with the epistemological ‘facts’ that one is challenged to further examine the textually introduced aspects of the event as well as that of its narrator.”

CJW: “If you’d like to get nasty, be forewarned that I can play that game too.”

WV: “Unlike your false denials, most literary critics agree that fiction cannot be reduced to mere falsehood. Characters in books become as real as Pinocchio. Pornography causes orgasms. The charade that things are the way one wants them to be will bring it about. With supernaturalism, the author and reader yearn for

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 288

seeing winged beings fly across the sky. For if they could only do that, then why not us?”

CJW: “It might have something to do with the wing parts. You know, like the birds and bats served in China.”

WV: “Great literature opens the door to anything?”

CJW: Sure, for someone headed for the loony bin. But, outside of the screwballs, so fucking what?”

WV: “Comment amusant. Though, what was the significance of your duality of selfs?”

CJW: “I failed to notice that particular duality. It might be your perception only. What is the significance of your cross-dressing and calling yourself Naomi?”

WV: “The correct anticipation of a growing market trend. What did you expect?”

CJW: “Such conflict in your narrative arch. The books themselves are your muse. No?”

WV: “Such a conflict, you should only know.”

CJW: “Channeling the weinies. The pathetic. The losers. The sad.”

Shaunessy and a Literary Death

Page 289

WV: “The space between.”

CJW: “I never found it particularly interesting to mention the inevitable.”

WV: “No? You’ve not done that?”

CJW: “Of course I have. I just didn’t think it was particularly interesting. Such a conflict, you should only know.”

WG: “A modern day Sartre is stalking right here in the lessers’

midst.”

William Gass ready to drop one; property of the author.

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 290

CJW: “There must be some kind way outta here say the joker to the thief.”

WG: “You are much too modest, sir.”

CJW: “Look for my soon-to-be-released, 380,000 word ‘Ode to my Chair.’”

WG: “Might that be subtitled; ‘I Sit on It?’”

CJW: “Rotfil. What’s next on the wordsmith’s agenda?”

WG: “Hatred, Part 24.”

CJW: “Should have known. Weinie level commerciality is best served through providing their ‘fandom’ with continued ugly un-challenges.”

WG: “I’ve been with the professors and they’ve all liked my looks. Of greater personal significance, the eggheads give grants and pay for speeches to their cracked constituents.”

CJW: “Good gosh and golly. Whooda thunk academe so bounty insular?”

WG: “A quicker picker-upper is yet to be found.”

Shaunessy and a Literary Death

Page 291

CJW: “Classical Gass. Would I be incorrect to sub-categorize it neo-bop?”

WG: “Don’t forget ‘progressive.’”

CR: “This can go on to the boundary of infinity. May we hear a few words form the official arbiter of un-popularity?”

Steven Moore; property of the author.

SM: “Au contraire, mon dieu. The bigger the better.”

CJW: “I thought that this discussion concerned books.”

SM: “Tsk, and coming from one so deft in the use of metaphor.”

CJW: “Didn’t your review say allegorical.”

SM: “If it did, I must have been using the word metaphorically.”

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 292

CJW: “Might you have something to say to those critics who claim confusion?“

SM: “Please stay that way. Allow the learned to grapple with these issues. You’ll be better off. Between us more or less Dorkeys, allow me to say that, look, it’s simple. To establish an ‘artful’ display, using synapses, generalized disconnecting devices, pictures, and blank pages is anti-literary; and moreover the writer’s failure to recognize that humanity knew nothing until they established words. Indeed, prior to that they didn’t even know how to think and dream.”

CJW: “Still with old man Hegel, I see.”

SM: “Old man Heidegger too.”

CJW: “I appreciate the deficiency admission, but I’m about today; the school of what’s happening now. Cut and paste.

Hashtags. Irreducible identity non-politics. Memes. Snappy www talk. Blam-O.”

SM: “Recognized. You might recall that my published review-blurb of ‘Interminal Gibbet Loop Capers’ was very quotable in the positive sense of Blam-O.”

CJW: “This is not personal, and they all are. I don’t care, and that was ten years ago.”

Shaunessy and a Literary Death

Page 293

SM: “Your inability to subsequently produce any ‘artful’ books, or books of any sort for that matter, is not my problem.”

CJW: “Fine. I just wish you’d stop trying to take some credit for ‘Interminable Gibbet Loop Capers’ order and editing.”

SM: “If you’ll please excuse me, a Gaddis book I have not yet annotated is calling at the utmost volume.”

CJW: “God bless us deaf.“

Tom LeClair; property of the author.

TLC: “Anyone for tennis? .... Table.”

CJW: “Ah, you had me going for a minute. But, thanks and sorry.

The tabled varieties never got my interest.”

TLC: “Thought I might fool you. ...... “

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 294

CJW: “As clever as we’ve all come to expect. Continued kudos.”

TLC: “How’s about we paint up some signs, and carry them as close to Trump Towers as they allow?”

CJW: “Splendid. I’ve always relished the new unconventional.”

TLC: “We could write a book about the unique experience!”

CJW: “I’m new-fangled hip. But, no offense intended, I think I’ll pass as trying to establish new genres is never conducive to income. Yuhnowhumsayin?”

TLC: “Luddite?”

CJW: “Maybe. Your call. But, to me it seems more of a mixed genre, as a result of Mellor, not that one with the ‘s’

appendage, having been married to Caishen. That remains undocumented. However, please take my word or not; there are no racial prejudices here. More or much less, they only exist in the minds of the prejudiced.”

TLC: “Ha. You must be joking, as no noted writer of fiction has any conception of reality. Their only interest is in their

‘accidental’ disclosures and their ‘artful’ ability to manipulate words.”

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CJW: “Perhaps your low-income posture has conveniently blinded you to the gods of mammon; whatever name they have currently adopted. If you read the lit mags you might have easily inferred that I am doing whatever I know how to do to escape the categorization of ‘noted.’ ...... Redundantly, is this personal?

....... Don’t feel challenged. That was semi-rhetorical.”

TLC: “Noted.”

CJW: “I don’t suppose that is an indication of a disallowed infinitesimal movement away from the Identity confines of vanity publisher ‘Dorkey Archive Press?’”

TLC: “You may have anticipated that I can honestly respond to that in a myriad of ways. Let me oblige that thought. First, is that you might have confused me with your surreptitious buddy, blurbomatic Steven Moore. Second, is that insofar as a $35,000

contribution allows the contributor to ‘sponsor’ one book for a year, they indirectly portray the status quo. And isn’t that what we’re all about when we strip away the layers? Third, meaningless accolades are invariably attached to the less than mediocre Esquire essay.”

CJW: “Formidable farce set to eleven. Whoops. My turn, I guess.

Pardon me. It wasn’t any ADD as far as I know, but I got distracted while trying to goggle ‘blurbomatic,’ and missed the

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rest of your well-taken statement. If it is of any solace, my results with ‘blurbomatic’ came up null too.”

TLC: “No wonder you are diagnosed as a genius. In addition to your unique abilities to ignore the assessor, that attribute, daringly feigned only by the small contingent of those who eke out a semi-living, though evocation of the commendably true and real in another sense, thereby being painfully obvious, through the attempted dissemination of freelance bestiality porn, the spelling of which I will never understand, and unsolicited adult diapers TV ads, you also bring something to those who would otherwise sink into a pooped pants type of depression. You are the most modern of anti-heros and I fully and humbly recognize that I am most blessed to be in your kind and generous presence.

I’m as overwhelmed as I was upon first becoming aware of the cop killing of that arrest resisting, drug addicted, armed robber, penitentiary dependant, chop-chop martyred saint, for which I was and remain so sorry.”

CJW: “Thank you from the gravest of my sincerity, more or less muchly. I’d like to say that I find it a rare gift for one so unfairly considered as irrelevant to bestow others with jaundiced complements. Thank you once more. The insistence of resentment, sarcasm, and distrust can so easily prevail. It is an indication of dogged adherence to the cause, rather than any

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 297

deference to lower considerations. Those who say; ‘Haha. Loser.

Asshole,’ are referring to themselves. Will you be my best Goofreads friend and/or marry my sister?”

TLC: “I’d truly like to, but still have difficulties or issues in dealing with my many prior rejections. The pain of dashed hopes exceeds my desire for new relationships. I hope that you understand.”

CJW: “Gotta stay fresh, baby. Gotta stay fresh. I’m considering doing a systems review. ....... Surprised? It would be a ‘new’

challenge to learn the processes in which the underlying book participates rather than to dictate its circumstances; to try to understand information rather than cause the eventual review to happen. I’m still wrestling with my conceptual problem of getting paid for my understanding in lieu of a written document.”

TLC: “Same here, I think. Looking for a collaborator?”

CJW: “Maybe after I see how the ping-pong match works out.”

CR: “What are you working on?”

CM: “Things. Ah, sorta like ...... ah, stuff; you know.”

Shaunessy and a Literary Death

Page 298

Crapaton Milkwart ready to drop one; property of the author.

CR: “Please forgive my literary ignorance. I don’t.”

CM: “You know, like knocking off Bunuel, Scorsese, and Kurosawa, making them less boring and adding humor. There is 28 lifetimes worth of material there. More or less copying is kind of good for one’s output; ya know. If you don’t believe me, just ask the slant-eyed flunky of your choice.”

CR: “I keep assuring you that I don’t consider you literarily plagiaristic and ignorant. Just like 2% of the middle grade market, you act as if you think that I’m funning you.”

CM: “Not intended in the least. I most appreciate the opportunity to appear on your prime time show. It does so much for sales. Tell me, have you seen my ‘Clown Town?’”

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CR: “I presume that is a book. The postal snail must have stolen the ARC. Damn.”

CM: “I can send another in return for an honest laudatory review, or at least a few blurbs which could be construed as complimentary.”

CJW: “Allow me to introduce some clarity, weinie. Charlie is politely not saying that he thinks your anti-literary ‘humor’

sucks big time. How the fuck would he know anyway? In addition to your inability to have recognized that anti-literary is a minor and declining subset of literary since sometime prior to 1962, you have continually gone over the top with a broad

‘humor’ most appealing to recent pubescents primarily in the terminal-acne-stricken-nerd category. You still seem surprised that your consistent ‘popularity’ decline is reversely proportional to advancements in over-the-counter medications.

........... Whoops, I see that you may not be aware of the progress. A full beard under that bald head might cover the pizza supreme .... in most locations.”

CM: “Yo mama.”

CJW: “A prelude to “The Wit and Wisdom of CM?”

CM: “Butt plug.”

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CJW: “I thought you had already written a gem with that title.”

CM: “Partially correct, an improvement.”

CJW: “Charlie, I’m curious. Since when have you been booking weinies with 500 book sales?”

CR: “Since the budget cuts. These weinies actually pay us for the ‘exposure.’”

CJW: “’What We Talk About When We Talk About the Ontological Aspects of Septic Pumping,’ an excerpt.

‘Shit's all over the floor.’

‘Pretty much.’

‘Want it removed?’

‘Why else would I have called?’

‘Gonna cost ya.’

‘So how should I know?’”

CR: “Astute observation. Everything except weinie writers do.”

CJW: “I’m appalled. Absolutely as appalled as an advertising brand which discovers that one of their employees has Twattered something which might be deemed racist. Make a statement! Fire

Shaunessy and a Literary Death Page 301

the bugger! Next thing I’ll be hearing is that there are mercenary considerations in our hallowed literary world. On a more personal theme, I’d like to point out that my contract specifically states that I will not have to share the stage with low end weinies. I gave you the benefit of the doubt in the close calls with Leyner, LeClair, and Gass; but Crapaton Milwwart is way over the line. I’m out of here.”

Connor James Wheaton voraciously spat chunks of old, previously embedded substances as he walked off stage. The ensuing silence roared like a gibbeted swoon.

Margaret said; “Whoo. The boy has a temper.”

“Had in your sentence. A coldly rational disinterest in being subjected to a severe level of stupidity in mine.”

“Then why would he engage with the others at all? It’s inevitable.”

“Charlie Rose pays the non-weinies very well; better than the book publishers.”

“Then why walk off and hurt his chances of repeat performances?”

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“It doesn’t hurt his chances. It actually may have enhanced them. If Charlie bans him, he’s left with a program which would best try to emulate ‘The $1.98 Beauty Show.’”

“Which one has or had more viewers?”

“I don’t know. But these ‘lit’ weinies always find some personal ‘pride’ in thinking that they’re being relevant; with the invariable opposite effect on everyone else.”

“That’s funny.”

“That’s standard lit weinie. Here’s another thing I found.”

“Trans-Atlantic Journal – HEALTH OR THE LACK THEREOF

Study: Writers Are Twice as Likely to Commit Suicide Lindy Danseur