Gibberish

By RSilver

Gibberish

Here’s the story of two love birds sitting on a park bench holding each other tightly.

Joe and Jillian are on their first date and seem to be very much in love with each other.

“How about a kiss, Jillian?”

“Okay, but just a pack on the check, this is after all, our first date and we shouldn’t go to far.”

Jillian turns her head to give Joe a simple pack on the when Joe turns his head to face Jillian and gives her a big full mouth kiss on her lips.

“Hey, that’s not allowed. I didn’t say to do that.” Jillian protests.

“Hey, if we’re going to get married, then we’ll going to have to kiss like that.” Joe responds.

“I’m not that kind of woman. So, hold your horses.”

“We’re going to get married. The author wants us to do that. So, we might as well start now.”

“I’m not comfortable with this.”

“We have to do what the author wants us to do. He’s controlling the narrative.”

“It’s not how I envisioned our romance starting off. I thought we would start off very slowly.”

“The author doesn’t want to waste time with all the small stuff. He wants us married within a month, so he can get this book on the market that much sooner.”

“Let me think about it first.”

“Stop thinking and just do it. You are supposed to be a very loving and devoted wife to me. The author wants you to do whatever I tell you to do so we can be the happiest couple in the world. That’s not me but the author. That’s what he wants.”

“I might have known. Just what a man wants, nothing else. Men are such pigs.”Jillian complains.

“I would be careful about saying things like that about the author. He could write you out of this story.”

“I don’t know. I thought this would be a romance novel, not a how to story.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m going to be a famous character in this story. I’m going to make the author lots of money and myself very popular by all that I do.”

“I’m going to talk to my agent about this. I’m not sure what’s going to be till after I talk to my agent.”

“Well, don’t take to long. The author might get bored waiting for you, and I might find another woman to fall in love with. Let’s be honest, right now, Jillian, all you are is an ink spot on a piece of paper. You could easily be replaced.”

Let me start again. This time with a known couple that don’t need character development. Somebody like Lucy and Ricky A.K.A. Desi. No better not, they got divorced. Fred and Ethel Mertz, no again, they should have gotten divorced even if they didn’t. Now, I know, Olie and Harriet. I’ll start all over again with them.

Olie and Harriet are sitting on a park bench facing the ocean as the sun is setting over the water. The stars are beginning to shine in the night sky.

Olie whispers into Harriet’s ear “Isn’t this a beautiful setting. The sun going down over the broad expense of water. What do you think about that?”

“Boooring, boooring. If you’ve seen one sun set, you’ve seen them all.”

“But I’ve never seen a sun set before. I was only invented thirty seconds ago.”

“Yea, I’ve been around for a long time. I’ve seen sun sets that would shock you. I’ve seen sun rises that would put you to sleep.”

“Er, excuse me, I talked to my agent and he said that I should go along with what Joe and the author want me to do, so I’m back in the story, now.”

Olie jumps in “You had your chance and you blew it, now get out. It’s between me and Harriet.”

Jillian responds with “I was here first, before you and Harriet were even an idea in the author’s head.”

Joe then interrupts “When your agent told you to go along with me and the author, what did he mean?”

Jillian then starts to explain.

“He told me that if I ever want to work in this industry again, I’d better make compromises, but he told me, also that I don’t have to, or shouldn’t do anything that I find offensive, obscene and I don’t have to be graphic about anything I do. That any romantic scenes must be worked out with Joe beforehand and nothing gratous, gratcious, gratuitous.”

“So” Joe goes on “If I tell you to do something, you’re no going to complain about it. Is that right?”

“What do you mean. Give me an example?”

“Well, if I tell you to make me a juicy ten ounce stake for dinner, you’ll say ‘Sure, no problem, how would you like it done?’ and then, I say ‘I want a side of spaghetti’ you would again say ‘ sure right away’ and if I say ‘I want you to use ice cream instead of tomato sauce and use chill seasoning instead of Parmesan cheese’ you say ‘I love you so much’ and I want a glass of garlic juice to go with my dinner and then a bag of Oreo cookies for desert. And, you cook it to perfection, you’re fine with that?”

“If that gets me back in the story, I guess I can do that.”

Joe goes on “When it come s to television, I can watch all the sports I want to. Even if I must pay extra for the sports channel. And you must root for my favorite baseball team, you know the Cleveland Guardians and cheer for them to win the World Series and lose faith in the Cleveland Browns and agree with me that they should fire their head coach and maybe their G.M. too. Also, when it comes to politic, my opinion is the only one that matters. Can you sign on to that, so that we can be the happiest couple in the world, Jillian?”

“Hey, what about us?” Olie asked.

“Yea, what about you, Olie. The author screwed up and now he can’t fix it because he has written too much to undo his mistake.”

“What do you mean?” Olie inquired.

“When you were admiring the sun set and Harriet was telling you ‘boooring’ it’s because the forgot to call you Ozzie not Olie. Ozzie was a character with Harriet on television many years ago. Ozzie would have found the sun set just as boring as Harriet because he would have seen just as many suns sets as Harriet. You, Olie, just came into being by mistake, so you and Harriet are not really a couple.”

“I love Harriet and she loves me. That’s all that counts.” Olie shot back.

“Harriet has life experiences that you don’t have. You’re only by now two minutes old, maybe three, if you’re a slow reader.”

“I’ve got an idea.” Olie said. “Maybe the four of us could be together in this story. Maybe the author could somehow make us a foursome. Friends from school or college or neighbors.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Who said that?”

“Who said, ‘who said that’?”

“Who said, who said ‘Who said that’?”

“Don’t get the author upset or he might just can all of us and start with two unknows who are willing to be abused and mistreated just so the author can make a lot of money and be rich and famous.”

It’s a week later and the author has moved on from these four characters.

It’s Sunday in a church that just got a new priest. He has been there for two weeks studying what to do as a priest. He’s been called upon to deliver a sermon. As he’s getting up to speak for the first time, he’s shaking.

He opens his mouth and says” Thank you for coming to church today. God bless you all and have a nice day.”

As he is standing at the entrance/exit waving good bye to everyone, a no named patron comes up to him and says “That was a great sermon you gave today, Father. Right to the point. No wasting time with stuff we don’t pay attrition to or ignore. Just what I wanted to hear. Have a nice day.”

With that, Mr. No Name walks out of the church.

After that a woman named Mrs. Blabbermouth started talking to the priest.

“That was no sermon you gave. You need to go on about sin and everything to do with it. I could help with that if you need me to. I’ve been a member here for many years, so I know who’s done what. Let me know if you need my help.”

With that she walked out.

Now the priest is alone. The church is empty. He’s thinking to himself “What did the author do to me. Making me a priest without even sending me to the Seminary. What’s more, my grandfather was an orthodox rabbi. The author thought I could fill in as a priest, when I know more about Judaism then Catholicism. The author miscast me because he didn’t have anyone else who knew anything about religion. So now I’m stuck trying to be a priest when I don’t have a clue what to do.”

Monday came, and it was time for the seniors to go to confession.

The first one entered the confessional and started to speak. “Forgive me Father, by the way, what is your name?”

“Er, er, John.”

“Forgive me, Father John, for I have sinned.”

Father John thinks to himself “What do I do now. I’ve seen enough television to say, ‘What have you done’ so I’ll go with that.”

“What have you done?”

“Well, there’s this girl, tall, blond, big, big, er good figure, great dresser, you know, and we started kissing really hard and when I say hard.”

“Stop right there. I have to talk to the author about this.”

“I don’t want to hear details, graphic or not about what he did with this girl. Okay.”

The author agrees. The story continues.

“We had inappropriate relations, but she’s still a virgin.”

“What do I say now.” He thinks to himself.

“Next time keep your pants on.”

“My pants never came off.”

“Say ten Hail Marys.”

“Mary wasn’t her name.”

“Just don’t do this again, okay.”

“Okay”

“Now send in the next one.”

With that he leaves and the next one enters. He sits down and starts with “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”

“What’s your sin?”

“This girl, tall, blond, big, er, you know, good figure, great dresser, well we had inappropriate relations, but she’s still a virgin.”

“Oh, boy.” Father John thinks to himself.

“Next time keep your pants on.”

“My pants never came off.”

“Say ten Hail Marys.”

“Mary wasn’t her name.”

“Just send in the next one.”

With that he leaves the confessional and the next one comes in.

“Forgive me, Father for I have sinned.”

“Go on.”

“My girlfriend, she’s tall, blond, bigger, bustier, good figure, great dresser.”

“Stop right there. You had inappropriate relations with her.”

“How did you know?”

“She’s still a virgin, right?”

“Yes”

“Your pants never came off?”

“How did you know?”

“Her name is not Mary?”

“Right”

“This girl gets around a lot. I know who they’re talking about. This girl is everybody’s girlfriend. I also know her mother, she comes to church every Sunday. But I can’t say anything to her mother. That I know would be breaking the rules.” He thinks to himself.

“Okay, you can leave. But don’t send in the next person.”

He got up and left. Father John wrote a note to pin on his confessional door. The note read “I know what you’re going to say. Just don’t do it again.”

Father John and the author had a long talk and it was decided that this was not a good fit for his character, being he wasn’t Catholic.

It’s been another week and the author has decided to go in a different direction.

The author wants to be a working person’s author, so he came up with this story.

Two boys aged ten, were going to school one day when garbage was to be picked up.

Joe says to John, his friend “I remember when my grandfather used to be a garbage collector.”

“Oh, yea. When was that?”

“A long time ago. When he came from the old country. He needed a job really bad. They were hiring for garbage collectors with a promise to make them journeymen garbage collectors.”

John says “There’s no such thing as a journeyman garbage collector. You just made that up.”

“No, no. That’s true. There is such a thing as journeyman garbage collectors.

“What does it take to throw garbage into a truck. Real hard to do that.”

“There’s more to it then that to garbage collecting. You have to know how to drive the truck also. Plus, there’s different kinds of garbage that you have to know what to do with it. It’s not easy. My grandfather put a lot of work into his apprenticeship, so that he could get his journeyman’s card. It took him four years of hard work to do it. So, ha.”

John replied “Big deal, my grandfather was also a journeyman. His trade was in executing criminals.”

Joe shot back “What’s so hard about that?”

John asked, “What do you mean?”

Joe replied “You point a gun at someone and pull the trigger. How hard is that, unless you’re blind.”

“My grandfather had to learn all the ways to execute someone. He spent many hours studying all the ways to execute criminals.

Joe asked “How many criminals did he execute. One?”

“Not a lot. It was a lot of work to do that. It took him four years before he got his journeyman card.”

By now they had arrived at their school and the bell rang. They went into their classroom and the author put down his pen.

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