|
|
|
About the author:
Descended from old English money, Vidicon was raised by spiny echidnas in the mountainous rainforests of the North American Southeast. Lured back to society by time-traveling gray/reptiloid alien hybrids posing as renegade Jesuits, he has managed to maintain his outsider's perspective and an appetite for crunchy insects. Today, Vidicon is a world-class synchronicity surfer and an unlicensed quantum mechanic. He has a fourth-degree black belt in weird.
About his bi-weekly column:
Tales from the Third Lobe are the unfocused meanderings of the World's Smartest Moron. Topics range widely over the sciences, religion, philosophy, technology, modern culture, mysticism, Vidicon's personal history and viewpoints, and whatever pissed him off in the media last week.
View all articles by Laszlo Q. V. St-J. "Vidicon" Xalieri, 2HC Columnist...
|
|
Today's article written by Vidicon's dog Bacon, age 8 My name is Bacon. It's short for Tenzin Xibalba Galliano Khayyam Krajewsky Borges Bacon Bontecou Dingo Drax de Broglie Wonka Velázquez van Vermeer von Dürer Dechamp de la Hasselhoff. I am Vidicon's dog. I am maybe eight years old, but I am bad at counting. I weigh about a hundred pounds. I just started writing almost a whole minute ago and boy is it fun!
Vidicon says I am big and goofy. He claims I am part moose. His house has hardwood floors and I fall down a lot, especially when I am in a hurry. I can't wait for him to take the carpet off the stairs.
I like to eat. I like to try to eat lots of different things just in case any of them turn out to be food. I like to chew blocks of pine lumber more than I like to eat my dog food. I mug children for their food when bigger people aren't around. Occasionally I sneak a beer from the fridge when Vidicon isn't looking and sometimes I take money out of his wallet.
I don't see what he has against Furries. I guess dogs are just more open sexually.
My favorite thing in the world is a sheepskin that's been dyed pink. A least that's my favorite thing in the world since I went to sleep and woke up without my testicles. I have looked all over for them. Have you seen them?
He says I should write this because he has had a very long two weeks including driving back and forth solo to New York, releasing his first novel, starting a new job doing technical stuff I don't understand anything about except how to calculate the number of bits for the network masks, and recovering from getting married.
He says I should tell you things about him that no one else would know and that he wouldn't tell you himself.
I can do that.
He showers pretty frequently for a computer guy and I can tell you that's true because I have smelled a few.
He is exactly the same bastard in real life that he seems to be on the Internet.
His copy of Strunk and White's has an awful lot of dust on it.
He eats peanut butter straight from the jar with a spoon. He usually doesn't share even though he knows I love the stuff.
I am embarrassed to be seen in his car. I get the feeling it is embarrassed to be seen with him. I write ugly messages about it on the windows with my nose but he never notices. Nor does he ever clean them off the window.
When he sends text messages on his phone he spells out every word and supplies appropriate punctuation. I think he has nightmares about his high school grammar and composition teacher. If you ever hear him whisper the name "Mrs. Palmer" in his sleep it is probably not what you think.
I have never been able to find his drugs stash. People seem to think he does plenty of drugs but I have never been able to find anything more than ethanol, caffeine, nicotine, chocolate, paisley, and whatever the court order says he has to take to stop him from looking at the neighbors funny. Oh, and seersucker. That's a drug, right? He usually doesn't share even though he knows I love the stuff.
If someone was to replace him with a robot that followed me around the house chanting "Don't eat that. Don't eat that. Don't eat that" it would probably take me at least a week to notice.
I have never seen him make it past page eight in Finnegan's Wake. Around page six those little veins stand out big and purple on his neck and forehead and he takes tomorrow's dose of the court order medicine.
He has lots of shoes. More shoes than some women have. Lots of them he probably chose because they make him look taller. He only wears one pair at a time but still he doesn't share even though he knows I love them.
He and his wife make me wear silly clothes and then laugh at me and take pictures. I am sure they both know that Wegman has already done this to death. I hear they have also done this with his publisher so I guess it is all right then. Sometimes they are drinking when they do this. I hope they don't end up like the Fitzgeralds.
Sometimes when he is asleep I sneak up to his side of the bed and whisper the names of people and politicians he hates into his ear just to watch him twitch and make his forehead and neck do the vein thing. I believe he is beginning to suspect.
He still has both of his testicles. I want to steal them from him while he is asleep. Fair is fair. Will you help me?
[*]
Vidicon is sleeping. Leave his testicles alone. |
|
Pages: 1 of 1 Today's article written by Vidicon's dog Bacon, age 8
|
|
