** Presence of serum protein indicated in Caza’s urine, a sign of renal (no kidneyin’) impairment. Meaning, she must pee. Buckets, please!!
Imaginary Foreword – Four Minutes to Midnight
By those who rewrote the Bible, including her main author – otherwise known as “What’s His Name,” or YHVH; sometimes, “M.”
Or…by Ghostwriters, Editors, Publishers, Salesmen and Marketers.
THE HOLY DYE-BULL, Containing the OLD and the NEW Testaments, translated out of the Original Hair Coloring; and with the Former Translations Diligently Compared (but not Reviled), by His Majesty’s Special CHICANERY.
To: His Most High and Mighty Prince, or Princess, THE PUBLISHER’S ASSISTANT, by the Grace of God, King or Queen of Great Britain, France, Ireland, and all other Such Countries, Defender of the Faith, &c. The Authors of This Document wish Grace, Mercy, and Peace, through the Wonderful Name of Our Lord, THE PUBLISHER, the MOST Dread of ALL Sovereigns.
Great and exhausted Manifold were the Blessings, Most Dread Sovereign, which Almighty God, the Maker of All Book Contracts, bestowed upon us the Fiction Novelists of the Americas, when first He sent Your Majesty’s Royal Person to Rule and Reign all for us, the Authors.
For Whereas it was the Expectation of Many, who wished not well on to our Scions Manuscript, that upon the Setting of that Bright Occidental Star, Elizabeth “Joan Calling” Trailer I of Happiest Memory, some Thick and Palpable Clouds of Darkness would so have Overshadowed the Heads of Madonna and Others, were it Not for the Miracles of Science and this Land, that Men should have been in Doubt Which Way they were to Walk.
I Say, Walk This Way, Talk This Way, and Gimmee a Kiss; and that It should hardly be known, were it not for Close-Ups, who was to Direct the Unsettled State; the Appearance of Your Majesty, which may be Uncombed while Reading this, as of the Sun in His Strength, instantly Dispelled Those Supposed and Surmised Hair-Mists, and gave unto All That Were Well-Affected Exceeding Cause Of Comfort.
But among All our Joys, there were none that more Filled our Hearts, than the Blessed Continuance of the Writing in this Book, which will be revealed unto You, ah, Shortly. Which is that inestiMabel Treasure, which Excelleth All the Riches of the Earth; because the Fruit Thereof extendeth Itself, not only to the Time spent in this transitory World, but Directeth and Disposeth of even Swarthier Men and Women unto that Eternal Happiness which is Above, in being Stone Blondes.
Then Not to suffer this to Fall to the Neck, but Rather to Put the Hair Up, and to Continue It in that State; nay, to go Forward with the Confidence and Resolution of a Girl who is Maintaining the Truth of Marilyn, and Not Exactly Propagating it Far and Near, but Sometimes is That which hath Bound and Firmly Knit the Hearts of All Your Majesty’s Loyal and religious Hairdressers unto You, that Your very Name is Precious and easy to reprint on a Computer Screen, mailed to You Tomorrow, stating that “You, Shirley Mailer, have won a Million!!!”
There are infinite Arguments of this White Christmas and religious Affiliation and Your Majesty; but none is more forcible to Declare it to Others than the Vehement and Perpetuated Desire of Accomplishing and Publishing of this Work, which Now with All Humility we present unto Your Majesty.
By the Mercy of God, and the Continuance of our Labor’s, it being Brought unto such a conclusion… we hold it our Duty to offer it to Your Majesty, not only as to our Emperor and Sovereign, but as to the Principle Mover and Author of this Work; humbly Craving of Your Most Sacred Majesty, that since Things of this Quality have ever been Subject to the Censures of the ill-meaning discontented Persons.
It may receive Approbation and Patronage from so Learned and Judicious a Publisher as Your Highness is, whose high Allowance and Acceptance of our Labours shall more Honour and Encourage us, than all the Calumniations and Hard Interpretations of other Writers Shall Dismay us…Sustained without by the powerful Protection of Your Majesty’s Grace and Favor, which will ever give Countenance to Honest and Vari-Haired Endeavors against Bitter Censures and uncharitable Imputations. The Lord of Heaven and Earth Bless Your Majesty with Many and Happy Days… so that you may be the Wonder of the world.
With a dash of Eternal Now “blonde sugar.” What began in the Roaring ‘20s ending in Millenials is called Retro. Go buy the most expensive old clothes you can, in antique shops lining your coat and their way. Radioactive, retroactive…there’s more snakes than ladders, at this point in time. – Captain Sensible, ‘80s hyperbole. That’s Life…I’m gonna ball myself and die, my my. Uh, two sets of parts? Both working, could make myself pregnant? Wouldn’t need God, religion, or my friends to loan beaucoup bucks. Jail reference, My Lai Massacre in the ‘70s. Whose lie?
Acknowledgements Page – Three Minutes to Midnight
DEDICATION: In a Bun Dance (mostly, for Angela, both husbands, Mom and Dad.) In addition, to Christy, Connie, their respective families, the P./Forbes clan, the Schwarz’s Trudy and Alex, and the Cole/Schuldt/Fee families, plus every worker and each client who went through Rainbow Writing or Ghost Writer, Inc. Hello, all “my” colleges, including those in Ohio and Washington. You rode a bicycle through your worst deserts, the ones with the truck-generated shimmering oilslick mirages. Finally, hi, Poland, Austria, Germany, Jews, Russia, Czecholslovakia, the Ukraine, and the whole continent of Europa, including China. And Hong Kong.
This book was entirely influenced by: M*A*S*H, Whose Line is it Anyway, Toni Morrison, Mark Twain, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and Nabisco. You’ll find Quality in our Oreo, whether chocolate or vanilla. I’m double stuffed! Oh, and Mad Magazine. Also, Rosie O’Donnell, Ellen “DeGenerette” (hey, I’m way more degenerated than her!), Neil Patrick Harris and one Timothy MacKenzie Gunn, leader of men, wolfmen too. Project Runway wasn’t until 2012 I think, though.
And to Jesse Jackson, who’s Protestant but thinks he’s President. Deep inside, or not. This book is sorta named after The Rainbow Coalition, not Gay Comics; but it has one “screaming fag” in it. He doesn’t holler, he acts in gay porno flicks. Screams of ecstacy! Plus, this is dedicated to an alleged murderer (not the Green River killer) who just wants to bake a life, and a gaggle of flaming queens winning a half-naked baseball game. Also, to the entire Gay Community of Seattle, WA. And to Orlando, Florida and a Day which will Live in Infamy Forever – not funny. This mostly heterosexual book is dedicated to LGBTQs everywhere, their families, friends, coworkers, and overly friendly nemeses. Long live the Gay 80s!
TO: “M,” Search Engine Robots (HAL), Edgar Allen Poe, Nicole C. Kear, Carmen Berry, Helene Vece, Sallie Goetsch, Stan Lee, Angela C. P., Betty Smith, Betty MacDonald, Claudia San Luis, Boccaccio, Erma Bombeck, Peg Bracken, Judith Crist, Richard Armour, Alex Haley, Vicky Judah, Ben D. Kennedy, Robert Louis Stevenson, Paul Rudnick, Toni Morrison, Alpha the Moon Unit Ollie, P. J. O’Rourke, Richard Corbett, Phillip Roth, Amy Tan, Leo Rosten, James Thurber, E. B. White, Maxine Hong Kingston, Andreas Dudas, Jorge Luis Borges, Joe Olvera, Lucille Iverson, Peter “Razor” Slade, God, Fu, Ruth, Job, St. Francis, Al Emid, Sarah, Shirley Jackson, Johnnie Carson, Stephen King, Sylvia Plath, Sherry L. Granader, Larry Leichman, Cormac McCarthy, Denny O’Neil, Harry A. Thompson, Scott Hastie, Luther Seahand, Roxana Jones, Bruce Brager, Linda Leon, Debbie Davis, George Bernard Shaw, George MacDonald Fraser, David Johnston, Donald Westlake, Kurt Vonnegut, Ralph Ellison, Morgan Rose, Sue Townsend, William H. Shakespeare, Albert Einstein, James Baldwin, Jean Kerr, Alice Walker, Peg Bracken, Sabine Shah, Lori Suthar, Susan Sontag, Laura Sherman, Dorothy Parker, Robert Benchley, Lewis Carroll, L. Frank Baum, C. S. Lewis, Charles Dickens, Cloise Orand II, P. L. Ryan, Simon Lewenberg, Susan Ferritto, Justine Mbabzazi, Farid Hotaki, Harlan and Ralph Ellison, Ray Bradbury, Kurt Vonnegut, Vin Lunney, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, H. P. Lovecraft, me…and the “Keep “Em Flying” lady, Erica Jong. Possibly, maybe, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe? Dr. and Mrs. King, wrote love letters to each other? Based on a pair who wrote to the depth, breadth and heighth their Soul could reach? Elizabeth Barrett Browning and her hubbie, “How
do I love thee? Let me count the ways…” Well, Percy Byshe Shelley and his wife were no slouchers.
PLUS, TO: the erstwhile creators of the Amerikanski Sherlock Holmes (namely Ellery Queen), the “timeless” duo of Frederic Dannay and Manfred B. Lee, Firsts Publishers. Celebrating all Mystery Zones everywhere, including Alfred Hitchcock’s and Rod Serling’s, and once or twice Phyllis Diller’s too…Mary Higgins Clark, Agatha Christie (Mostly competed with her, one way or another), Dorothy Parker and Robert Benchley, Sylvia Plath and Woody Allen. Mostly, Heywood Konigsberg, otherwise known as Stewart Little Rock.
ALSO TO: Mel Brooks, Supreme Genius, immoralist and Raisinette Lover. AND/OR FINALLY TO: My Heroine, Seattle’s own Linda Barry, and her High-School Chum, Matt “The Simpsons” Groening! May they Rest in Peace, infinitesimally.
AND (oddly enough) TO: Muhammad, who tells a Genie when to have sex, and…not exactly to the former man of the century, Hitler, whose works I tragically read and argued with, whom “Time” replaced as MOTC with Einstein. Such a wise choice, as his loveable math work on the A-Bomb…well, forget it, Germany.
Imaginary Introduction – Two Minutes to Midnight
THE DISCREPUTABLY FETCHIN’ CHARMS OF GABRIELLO “BEAU HOOTER” SANCTO – WITH A NOSE MAYBE ONLY EBONY MAGAZINE COULD LOVE, ABOVE A BODY CRAVING MERELY THE ONE MOST NON-ARCANE FORM OF HUMAN SEXUAL REPRODUCTION:
“MY ENCHANTINGLY PRE-AQUILINE proboscis emanates from the central hill country of South (in autumn) Carolina, which is deep-most emerald green, dankly lush, and rapturously beautiful in huggable feels. And it's cleverly marked along windy roads with little white crosses, along subhumanly narrow, shadowy twisting back roads, crosses that indicate 1,113 deathly auto wrecks.
“Isn't that screamingly humorous? As you are already well aware, it's heavy, humid and stifling there, least wise in mid-summertime. Makes you want to die on those gorgeous tinker-toy hills.
“An odd place to find either localistic Indians or Hispanics (she's calm), yet a few are still there, still…si, I know Eros if Eros. And my very real grandmother lives in an isolated, indisposed tiny coastal Spanish town laughingly called Iberia, a quaint cool blue-green back water eerily hidden under barrowing gray-white clouds weeps in a tragically when-swept series of dried-out mounds, dying rushes, and awesome lonesome blousy beaches, sharp on the feet, with the brisk, goals-crying suctioning and stinking salt sea ocean.
“It's God in paradise as usual. Clear, fetid, misty and terrible. Especially in early spring. It smells. Reeks of tourists, acid rain, messed up silent living.
“That’s why I reside, currently, in the Pacific Northwest, in a hidden-‘way farmland buried, lurking, sanely. Unbelievably, it's far nicer here than I've ever experienced it anywhere in the heartland Carolinas. Better, bigger and realer mountains too, that occasionally actually contained snow on ‘em for runoff. We're luckier’n we know right now. Gulp. Yeah.
“My turgid and dinkus name is unknown, torpidly kinda, but they say I went by "Beau" for several long, nasty, altruistic, and eventually individuated lily-lazy yars. My father's name is Sancto. Never for me. He doesn't warrant it. And it's thought my truer moniker “es” circa Gabriello or Gabriella, but nobody’s sure, Somebody, ‘cause I’m missing my state-ordered birth certificate. Reet! I’m certifiably Unknown. It's Gabe. I like “Beau,” though. Maybe.
“Colloquially, it means ’fop’ as in Beau Brummel. Or it means, well, ‘good.’ Beau the Bum? I work. Sort of a harmless ne’er-do-well, a chap ‘bout town, a modern-day Gatsby, non-extant seeker of nonessential truths. I’m not a psycho, a thief, or a homicidal maniac. I don't bite, smoke, or play twenty questions or Trivial Purse-Snatching.
“I'm built, happy, modest…you are now stuck with me.”
The Halcion Times of Gabe “Beau” Sancto and his Townie Crowd
THE Who Are Sent Forth character list:
Gabe “Beau” Hooter: 5’7”, 24, Latinofine | Chicanoesque | Hispaniman, collects insects, sci-fi blobs and condoms; laborer
Saragina DeSorto: 6’3”, 22, Hispana and Afribibble, often wears last year’s cornrows; nutritionist
Artie Blend: 6’1”, possibly taller as he slouches, 42 white “MF” years of age, a worrisome drunk; multi-skilled laborer
Caza Zooweiler: Caza, the Unknown and unknowable, 36, “like Babylon,” hippie; bookskeeping seamstress who’s certainly dying without really trying
Robert Goneschlaw: he’s not deaf, he’s Jew Polish; “maybe a bit dumb—you’ll see”; mouthless Ameslan-wielding bartender, excellent with a sword
Ned England: the Queen is dead—no, it’s his mum; black, 17, looks it; prep waiter
Jeannie Ontermeyer: an adult of the café; teenaged, redheaded, an able waitress
Cloadia Tager: wears cowboy boots daily, plays “helicopter pool,” 31, strawberry dishwater happiness, prays to Poseidon; waitress from out of town and cocktails
Sharone Bitters: has an important parent, is black-thin, 5’6”, “a slip of monetary poetry”; registered nurse with non-imaginary brothers and sisters
Harmin Boole: 79 and looks that, widower, owns several local children; retired
There are also appearances by: Gabe’s divorced parents; Artie’s Montana relatives; the mental patient Gabe rescues; Suzette, a fairy child; Phoebe Sommers, an earlier elder passionfruit of Gabe’s; the so-called Mr. Jones, a man in an address with a deadly story to tell; Chandover, a French composerary of Beethoven’s; Emilia Bitters, Sharone’s mom and a Krakatoan on weekends, bartending; Ed Bitters, a litigant itinerant for a hopeful cause; and the other weekend ‘tender, a young man named Dan Nuts who thinks he’s gay.
In addition there are: Gramma HeLouise, “Beau’s” gramma; Dame Gretchley, a character/minister with brown hair, blue eyes, a Viet/Korean face, and a bulldog mentaility; Thomas DaLieken, an Italian, sympatico to the severely impressed and OTHERS; Mabel “School” Jones, a nice middle-aged plump auteuse who writes history novels “pretty good, for a boat-owner,” also tending bar: Dave Velasquez Velasquez, a handsome young Latino man, “dead” at 29, temporary Prince of the Air; and one Fred, of Wabash, WA, whose major life’s goals are to walk and drive fast again without another accident—and to eat Rocky Road.
He’s a drinker, like Artie he needs a good woman to date, and better housing. Habitat for Humanity has nothing on Fred and his dark-hued designs, which will all be fulfilled someday, if things go naturally right and not infernally wrong.
Fred is the heart of this Entire Matter…him and his Manual Wheels.
The Rainbow Horizon - A Tale of Goofy Chaos Page 3