An oldie but a goodie...


Red Veins

Red veins
Aiming for my heart
Like Cupid's arrow
Once

The rusted blade
The failed attempt
May not be so failed
Now




And that's what Valentine's Day is all about, Charlie Brown!
Hugs,
Tom

(Originally published on Scars Publications' Website, Winter 2004.)

I am not a fan of fan fiction, but somebody asked in the Fantastic Four group who we think should be the villain in the next movie, and it got me thinking what I would do if I were hired to write the script. It's the third movie of the series, so Hollywood will want to cram as many characters in there as possible. So this is what I came up with:

Fantastic Four 3: Attack of the Frightful Four

The movie opens a few years after Reed & Sue's wedding. Franklin Richards has been born, but there are problems. His infant body is emanating high levels of energy, causing a danger to himself and the world around him. Reed is working around the clock to help his son. Meanwhile, the celebrity-starved world wants to know why they've not seen Franklin in public (ala Tom Cruise's Suri). The FF fear that Franklin's unpredictable powers will turn the world against them.

During one particularly dangerous surge, Reed uses an untested power damper on Franklin. Sue is furious that he would take such a chance on their son, and leaves him. No longer having faith in Reed, the Fantastic Four split up.

Johnny can't give up the celebrity life and becomes a racecar driver (much to Frankie Raye's dismay). Ben can't take being treated like a monster any more (and walking in on Alicia and a hunky male model won't help) and ends up hiding on a deserted island, where he meets the Mole Man, who makes be the Prince of the strange creatures in the Underworld. Sue runs to Victor Von Doom (who of course, has survived from the last movie and is back in Latveria) in hopes of helping Fraklin. But Victor wants Franklin's powers for himself. He begins to drug Sue.

Reed's college friend, Bentely Wittman, joins him at the Baxter Building in hopes of solving Franklin's problems. Secretly, this is the Wizard, jealous of his friend's success and using the opportunity to take over Fantastic Four Enterprises.

Johnny appears to die in a fiery racing crash. Reed and Sue get into a physical fight at the funeral. Sue is unusually aggressive (Ben, suspiciously, has not heard about his friend's death). Sue runs back to Latveria.

Reed buries himself in solving Franklin's problem, and when he finds a solution, The Wizard takes this opportunity to attack Reed, using his anti-gravity discs, defeating him and taking over FF Enterprises.

The plot is revealed, but the Wizard was not alone, he was working with who the press will soon call the Frightful Four: The Wizard, The Mole Man, Doctor Doom-- and their most dangerous member, Malice (aka Sue Richards, brainwashed by Doom). Their plan? To have the Mole Man steal the world's power plants and force the government to pay billions to power their countries (and we all know Doctor Doom plans to use Franklin's power to take over the Frightful Four).

Underground, Ben is growing suspicious of the Mole Man's strange constructions and begins to investigate. He stumbles onto Reed and Johnny imprisoned, and breaks them free. They must fight the Mole Man's army of monsters in order to get back to New York.

Then follows the Battle Royale at the Baxter Building, and I think the place should the thrashed. The last member standing will be Malice, and yes, it will be the love for her family that brings her back to Sue Storm (this is a Hollywood movie after all). And of course, Reed is able to cure Franklin (for now!). Happily ever after.

A funny tag would be the Wizard in prison, trying to "put the band back together" by interviewing new members of the Frightful Four. One gentleman named "Paste-Pot Pete." "The first thing we need to do," the Wizard will say, "is get you a new name."

You're just too good to be true. So for the past three months of our relationship, I've been waiting for that other shoe to drop. Little did I realize it would rain footwear as if somebody had ransacked Imelda Marcos' closet. (I know this is an outdated reference, and if you were truly twenty-nine, it would be lost on you. But I've seen your birth certificate and a fifty-something would get it.)

Turns out you were not the rich man you told me you were. I wondered why we only spent the weekends at my one bedroom apartment and not the luxurious Beverly Hills mansion you claimed to own. According to the private detective I hired, you rent a room from an elderly couple in Van Nuys.

You do not drive a Kia because your BMW is in the shop, you drive a Kia because that's the car you're currently leasing. Though according to your credit report, if you miss another payment, it will be repossessed. And you're in so much debt, your heirs will be settling your accounts long after you die.

Though you won't be having any of those. Your medical records declared you sterile. So much for those promises of settling down with me and raising a family. And you should have told me about your triple bypass before I prepared you my famous pulled-pork sandwich.

I should have suspected you were not an actor when I couldn't find you on IMBD. Though Google turned up a few police reports concerning you and lewd behavior, I assumed it was a different Boris Rayhourne.

Turns out you work at the local Jack-in-the-Box. My friend Sharon said she saw you there. AND you got her order wrong.

Your hairdresser also informs me that you are not a natural blond. And your dentist is certain you do not floss after every meal as you claim. Don't even get me started on what your optometrist had to say. 20/20 vision my ass. And color blind, too? So much for you compliments about me looking good in blue.

The past three months were nothing but a great big lie. You may have had me fooled, but no longer.

I'll give you one more chance, but you have to promise to tell the truth this time. No more lies.

OK?

Edwin Smithers did not notice the Grim Reaper standing in his kitchen.

Well, if he noticed that, he may have started noticing other things as he rushed around getting ready for work. He'd notice the reason his wife was eager to make him his morning coffee was to get him out of the house so the refrigerator repair man could come over and service her. He'd notice his son was a bully quickly on his way to juvenile hall. He'd notice his daughter was four months pregnant. But he didn't. So why notice the tall, hooded figure with a sickle who was standing next to the microwave oven.

He poured coffee into a travel mug, picked up his keys and exited the house. The Grim Reaper looked around in confusion. How did Edwin get by him so quickly? He was supposed to suffer a fatal heart attack that morning.

Edwin sped to work as he always did. He was an important business man and had tons of phone calls to make and meetings to attend that day. He couldn't let little things like stop signs and yellow lights slow him down. Time was money.

He talked on his cell phone while he sped around cars. The Grim Reaper in the passenger seat was as invisible to Edwin as the school crossing guard.

The Reaper held onto the "oh shit!" bar as Edwin took a corner at 50 MPH. It would not be wise to take Edwin's life while he was driving, there were too many innocent people at stake. The Reaper was already behind schedule, he was not going to give himself more paperwork by taking a few souls before their time.

As they entered the parking garage, the Reaper thought this would be a good time to snatch Edwin's soul. Before he could make a move, Edwin parked, jumped out of the car and raced toward the open elevator.

"Hold that door!" Edwin shouted at the passengers.

The Reaper tried to get out of the car, but the door wouldn't open. He had to vaporize himself and pour through the seams of the door. When he returned to his solid form, he ran toward the elevator.

"Hold that door!" the Reaper shouted, but it was only Edwin's time to hear him, and he was still talking on his cell phone.

The elevator door closed in the Reaper's face.



After climbing twenty-two flights of stairs, the breathless Reaper emerged into Edwin's department. In the lobby sat a large, half-circle desk. Behind it was a skinny, red-haired woman who was juggling phone calls and the intercom as if she were a circus performer. This had to be Edwin's secretary.

The Grim Reaper strode past her and tried to open the office doors. They were locked.

"Where do you think you're going?" the secretary asked him.

She wasn't supposed to see him, but the Reaper had no time to question this, "I'm here to collect Edwin Smithers."

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked him.

"I did this morning," the Reaper explained, "But I missed it."

"I'm sorry," she told him, "There's nothing open until a week from Wednesday."

"I need to see him today," the Reaper said, Edwin had to be six feet under a week from Wednesday.

"I'm sorry, sir," the secretary said, then acted as if he weren't there at all. The Reaper was accustomed to people not seeing him, but he found it very annoying to be ignored.

The Reaper vaporized and floated down the hall into Edwin's office. Edwin was simultaneously giving dictation to a timid young assistant, reading a sidewalk-long contract and talking on speaker phone.

"I'm looking for a sixty percent increase," Edwin bellowed.

His assistant wrote that down.

Edwin glared at him sharply and snapped, "I wasn't talking to you!"

The assistant frantically crossed it out.

The Reaper couldn't wait any longer. He reached across Edwin's desk to administer the Touch of Death--. Before his skeletal finger could touch Edwin's chest, he shot out of his chair.

"Let me see what you have there!" He shouted at his assistant and pulled the notebook out of his hands.

The Reaper fell flat on Edwin's desk. Even invisible, he felt embarrassed.

"No, no, no," Edwin berated his assistant, "This is all wrong! What are you an idiot or something? I'm telling you what to write and you can't even get it right. I'll type up the letter. You go file something. I doubt even you could screw that up."

What an asshole, the Reaper thought. He pushed himself off the desk and turned around to find the office empty.

He stepped into the hallway to see Edwin begin marched down the hallway by three heavy set me in business suits. They were off to a board meeting.

The Reaper chased them into the foyer, but again lost them at the elevator. At this point, he was tempted to make the cable snap and take them all out, paperwork be damned.

"Are you still here?" the secretary asked.

"Obviously," the Reaper replied bitterly.

"It's no good I tell you, he's in meetings all day," she told him then answered the phone.

The Reaper had never let board meetings stop him before. He especially loved when a CEO decided to commit a spectacular suicide by leaping out the window during a presentation. But he was too behind schedule for such a spectacle. People would grow suspicious if nobody died in the world for a few hours.

"I'll be back," he told the secretary, who was again ignoring him.



The Reaper returned to the office well after seven o'clock.

"You back again?" the secretary asked him. She looked defeated after a day's work. Her hair was as frazzled as her desk.

Edwin made his employees work late into the evening. If he were one to notice things, he'd notice all his employees were faxing out their resumes on a daily basis.

"I'm going to wait right here until he leaves," the Reaper informed her. He'd worked double time to get ahead of his daily list of deceased. He was not going to let this one get away.

The Reaper took a seat in the lobby and looked through all the old magazines. When he read articles about recently deceased, he reminisced on their meeting, "Oh, she was very sweet ... He was so surprised ... That guy was a jerk."

The secretary dimmed the lights and left. One by one, his staff quietly slipped out the door. A few times, Edwin called them back before they could escape.

Finally, the Reaper saw Edwin's assistant leave. It was nine o'clock.

The Grim Reaper marched into Edwin's office.

"Edwin Smithers!" he bellowed, "Your time is up!"

"Clean around me," Edwin said without looking up from his desk.

"What?" the Reaper was flabbergasted.

"And make it quick," Edwin snapped, "I'm trying to work here."

"Not anymore."

The Grim Reaper reached out and administered the Touch of Death--. Edwin's body collapsed on his desk. His soul stepped out of his body and continued to organize the paper work on his desk.

"What are you doing?" the Grim Reaper asked him.

"Just finishing up some stuff."

"But you're dead!"

"I need to fax something to Tokyo."

"Dead men don't fax," the Reaper tried to explain.

"It's only seventeen pages."

"Oh I give up!" the Reaper said and stormed out of the office.

The next morning, Edwin's assistant discovered the body. So much work had been done that evening, they assumed he'd stressed himself into a heart attack. His wife didn't notice that he had not come home, Edwin often worked until after midnight.

The office closed on the day of Edwin's funeral. When they reopened, the staff assumed they would find piles of work waiting for them. Mysteriously, everything had been done.

From that day forward, many tasks completed themselves in the office. Things were filed immediately. Faxes never sat around. The copy machine always had toner.
Occasionally, a foreign office would get a phone call: "Edwin? I thought you were dead... yes, yes, I got the fax..."

Edwin's staff never questioned these strange occurrences, it gave them less to do so they could leave at five o'clock. Though sometimes at night, the cleaning crew would talk about the ghost who wandered the halls, unable to stop working, even in death.

Originally published in The Writers Post Journal, August 2005

"My tits are quite warm," said the witch to her friend,
Who felt he could touch them for days without end.
"No warts on my face," she went on to say.
"Though I do need some help from Oil of Olay.

"I don't own a cauldron, just a pot for fondue.
I've no eye of newt, just bullion for stew.
I do have a cat but Whisker's his name,
I've never met Aslan, nor shaved off his mane.

"I don't ride a broom, but a Swiffer for style,"
She showed him the package and turned with a smile.
"The spells that I cast are meant to do good,
I care for our Earth like all people should.

"It took half my life to discover my niche;
Who knew all along I was born to bewitch."
"I've known for some time that you're not one to hex,"
Said the man to the witch, "All I want is your sex."

I don't usually write blogs about my personal life, because who really cares what I had for breakfast (a bowl of Kix cereal if you must know), but a few strange things happened to me last night that I thought I'd share them. Be warned. It gets a little PG-13.

What I should've been doing last night was watching the Cure at the Hollywood Bowl. But Robert and the boys were not ready with the new album, so they postponed until May. So I did the next best thing, I went to see Stacey Q perform at a local gay bar. For those of you unfamiliar with the Q, she's an 80's one-hit wonder. Her hit "Two of Hearts" ("Two hearts that beat as one."), is a staple of the 80's club.

After her four-song, lip-synched performance, she had a meet and greet. My friend, another gay Tom, was excited to meet her and asked if I would take their picture. As I was focusing the camera, I mentioned that I'd met the keyboardist on "Two of Hearts" at a party about a month ago.

Stacey perked up. "Rick West! You know Rick West!"

"He was dating a friend of a friend," I told her.

Next thing I know, her (I assume) PR man was taking down my information in hoped of getting in contact with Rick. Just to make sure I wasn't making a fool out of myself, I called my friend who called her friend who called me and told her Rick would love to work with Stacey again. So I gave Stacey's people his phone number and told them I expected front row seats when they played the Staples Center (yeah, I know, but you gotta give these fading 80's stars some hope).

On the way out, we ran into this very cute young man who was excited to have Stacey Q sign his arm so he could have it tattooed. I noticed he also had "Sing Your Life" tattooed on his arm. I asked if that were a Morrissey reference, and he was impressed that I picked that up. So impressed, he gave me the rose that Stacey Q gave to him. I was flattered, been a long time since a man gave me… anything!

Then he asked for my phone number. Kind of surprising, since a boy like that is usually out of my league. But I gave it. And before he left, he leaned in for what I assumed was a peck on the lips.

"Kiss me like you mean it," he said. The next thing I knew, his tongue was down my throat. Not that I minded, no siree, Bob!

After that, Tom wanted to check out the gay bar down the street. There, we were joined by a lesbian named Maria (How do you solve a problem like Maria?), who, when trying to poke me in the stomach because I said something silly, exclaimed: "My God! You have great abs!"

She must have been very drunk, because even though my abs may be a little tone thanks to yoga, they are still covered by a nice, thick layer of fat.

I'm hosting a fashion show here in March," she told me. "And I want you to be one of my models."

I looked around for the camera and asked, "Me?

"You're the cutest guy in here," she told me.

She must have been drunk and farsighted. Granted, the bar was pretty empty, but it wasn't deserted.

Next thing I know, she's dragging me into the ladies' room (yes, they do have those in gay bars, and it was still nicer than the men's room). She styled my hair and told me all the ideas she had for me to show off my body as I modeled her clothes. Drunk, farsighted and sadistic towards her future audience.

She gave me her card and said, "You're going to call me, right?"

Of course, I will. It could have been a hoax or the ravings of a drunk dyke, but it was a surreal end to a surreal night. Who knows, you may see me backstage at a Stacey Q show with a hot boy, or working the runway in the SFV. Just make sure you have lots of alcohol in you, and leave your glasses at home.

Wash my hands. Don't wash your hands. If I don't wash them, I'll catch a virus and die. You already washed them, they're clean. Wash my hands. Don't wash your hands.

I can't do this, regardless of what Dr. Sommers thinks. You can do it, and you will. I've been doing these things for most of my life, there's no way I can stop it in one day. You've got to try, or you'll never stop. Why do I have to stop? Because it's unhealthy and you know it. I suppose I do….

Must wash the cereal bowl. The cereal bowl is clean. But there could be microbes on the surface that will make me sick. You know that's ridiculous. I know, but just to be safe I should wash it. No, you won't.

I'm never going to make it through the day; it's not even eight o'clock yet. You'll make it.

Must shower again. Don't shower again. I have to fold and unfold my underwear three times. No you don't. I have to walk around the bed before putting on my pants. Just put your pants on now. And I suppose you want me to button my shirt all at once, not wait four minutes between buttons? That's exactly what I want.

That wasn't so difficult; you're dressed and nothing bad happened. Not yet, but it's still early; I have too much time before work. You could watch television. But then I'd have to flip though all the channels once before deciding what to watch. Read the newspaper? Do you know how many times I'll have to wash my hands if I do that?

Why don't you just leave for work now? I'll be early! So, the idea of this exercise is to break your routines. Fine, we'll leave, and I suppose I'll have to leave my Windex here. Yes, I'm sure your car windows did not get that dirty overnight.

I can't believe I'm outside so early. And you only need to lock the door once, not lock it and unlock it multiple times. But somebody may break in, I have to make sure it's locked. It's locked, you just locked it, that's all you need to do.

Can I at least check to see if I remembered my wallet? As long as you just do it once. One check. Is it there? Yes. Let's go. Maybe I should check my wallet again. No, it's there, you know it's there, it's hasn't gone anywhere in two seconds, now let's go to the car.

I'm just unlocking the door and getting inside. Great, you're making progress. Wish I had my paper towels to grab the seatbelt. Use you're hands, it's clean. But if I put the belt on wrong, I may smash through the windshield if a car hits me from behind. Nobody's going to hit you from behind– besides, the car will let you know if the seatbelt is not secure.

I need to run the car for ten minutes. No you don't, just back out now. After I adjust my mirrors. No, they were fine yesterday, they'll be fine now. I'm still going to back out slowly. Fine.

It's so strange leaving at this time, all the cars on the road are different. That doesn't matter, you're still going to the same place. But I'll throw off the other drivers and cause an accident. No you won't.

The light is red and there's nobody at the stop line before me, but I still need to stay two car lengths from the stop line. No you don't; that's why the stop line is there, to stop. But I may hit somebody in the crosswalk. There's quite a distance between the stop line and the crosswalk; besides, nobody's crossing the street right now. Then they may come running out of nowhere. They won't. I wish I had such confidence. You will.

The light is green; I must look from right to left six times before I proceed. You just need to do it once, the intersecting street has a red light now. Fine: left, right. Go! I'm going!

What was that? Something hit us; a car ran the red light! I told you this would happen! Pay attention, we're being pushed onto the sidewalk. There are people there. We aren't going to hit them. I can't believe you anymore… if I had looked six times, I would have seen the car coming… I knew something bad was going to happen… I knew it.

I must get out of the car, but the door is crumpled into the seatbelt release. I can't escape.

People outside asking if I'm okay, I can't make eye contact with them or something else bad will happen, I know it. They want me to unlock the passenger side so they can help me. No. I can't open that door and let them in—those strangers and all their germs.

Why can't they just leave me alone? Why can't everybody leave me alone?

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there was a magical bird with plumage of fire. This firebird was both a blessing and harbinger of doom to its captor…

"I'm burning up, burning up for your love," Galvin Keegan sang along with Madonna as he vacuumed his apartment. He was giddier than he'd been in years, grinding his hips as he pushed the Hoover over the carpet, and Simon was to blame for that.
Galvin met Simon at a party the weekend before, and since then they'd already had two successful dates. The first went so well, Galvin brought Simon flowers on the second. And for date number three, Galvin offered to cook dinner.
Galvin had had many false hopes when it came to relationships, but he felt differently about Simon. This could be the one.
Gavin lit the candles and waited for his love to arrive.

The firebird loved flying though the night sky, illuminating the darkest places in the land. She had so much fire within her, she wanted to share it with as many as she could…

Galvin turned off the light and pulled his blankets over him. He told himself he would not cry himself to sleep tonight. He'd been sobbing into his pillows ever since that Sunday morning Simon told him he no feelings for him.
It came out of the blue. For the past six months, Simon called him everyday, spent every weekend with him and even told him he loved him.
"I mistook lust for love," Simon tried to explain. "But you did all the right things: the gifts, the dinners, the poetry. But I'm just not ready for a boyfriend."

The Tsar had seen the firebird perched on a branch of his favorite apple tree, eating his treasured fruit. Her eyes sparkled like crystals, her wings alight with golden flame. The Tsar had to have her to light his castle…

Galvin sat alone in his apartment most Saturday nights and watched old movies on the Turner Classic Movie station. The melodramatic stories of lovers who surpass multiple obstacles to live happily ever after made Galvin's heart soar. Oh, how he wished he had somebody there to snuggle with him.
It was time to get back out there and start searching for Mr. Right.

The Tsar sent his son, Prince Ivan, to far off lands to capture the firebird. After overcoming great difficulties, Prince Ivan returned to the castle and offered the Tsar the firebird, ensnared in a golden cage…

It was a year of bad dates, flakey men and awkward sexual relations. None of these men were worthy of flowers or a home cooked meal. He didn't even want to spend the night with them.
Galvin decided to focus on his friends and his work. He got a great promotion and was able to buy a beautiful house in the suburbs. He entertained his friends most weekends, but still found himself waking up alone every morning.
He knew he was blessed with so many good things, but he still wanted somebody special to share it all with. Somebody to spoil with his romantic nature.

The firebird longed to be free, to once again fill the darkest places in the lands with light, but she could not. All she could do was sit in her cage and light the four walls of that castle around her. Hoping someday, that some kind soul would unlock her door and allow her to soar.

Below is an excerpt from my play, Little Black Book: A Little Black (No, Blue!) Comedy.

Young actor, Justin Ross, has recently passed away. His mother has organized his funeral, but accidentally used his "Little Black Book" to call people to the memorial service. Turns out Justin was quite promiscuous—with both men and women!

Setting: A funeral home lounge.

APRIL: What're you some kind of sicko who comes to funerals to make up things about the deceased? If you think I'm going to sit here and let you badmouth the man I love...
SETH: And that's this man right here?
(SETH points to one of the framed headshots. APRIL reluctantly nods.)
This man who came to my apartment last month to perform acts that were illegal in some state up until 2003.
APRIL: No, no... he was dating me last month.
SETH: Not exclusively it seems.
APRIL: You're a liar.
SETH: Would a liar know Justin had a clove shaped birthmark on his–
APRIL: Oh, Chirst!
(gasping, remembering where she is)
You saw his...? You saw it!
SETH: I did more than see it.
(They sit in silence for a moment. As things sink in with APRIL, she begins to cry.)
APRIL: How could he do this to me? I thought we were building something. All this time he was out there... out there...
SETH: Sodomizing?
APRIL: (breaks down) With the same... I let him... Oh, Christ!
(SETH obviously has no idea how to react to a woman crying.)
SETH: Maybe you did know Justin was gay, but stayed with him because you felt safe.
APRIL: You think I knew about this?
SETH: There had to be some hints. Did he take you to Pottery Barn on dates? Rent Funny Girl? Ask for your brother's phone number?
APRIL: I don't have a brother.
SETH: Did he have problems getting it up unless you were laying on your stomach?
(APRIL stands and glares at SETH.)
APRIL: (whispers): I never had trouble making him, or any man, hard!


See how it all turns out on Monday June 18th (7:00 p.m.) at the United Methodist Church in Hollywood (the church with the big red ribbon on Franklin @ Highland).

You'll laugh. You'll cry. You won't believe we're saying such things in a church!

I am the poltergeist of love.
Dead relationships
Haunt me,
Disturbing my life,
When I least suspect it.

I've tried to exorcise
These demons,
But they are resurrected
In a familiar song
Or movie quote.

I guess I should be happy,
That love I once had
Is still near;
Though I cannot touch it
Or feel it.

It keeps me company
On cold, lonely nights,
Remembering the phantom
That once kept me warm
In his arms.