Pauline stared out of the window of the bus, primed for a new experience, but wonderfully bored at the moment. The road was without curves, without pitch, as even a pothole would be a blessed turn of events. At a point in her life where the world was hers, she randomly picked a town and decided to investigate it firsthand. The uncertainty of the situation was uplifting. The hope that one day she would feel as if she belonged somewhere gave her tiresome life meaning. She longed to grow roots but had yet to find suitable soil.
The only thing that caught her eye along the way was an abandoned car. It did not seem particularly interesting to her, as it was unattended, though a bit of smoke still emanated from the interior, slowly creeping out of the driver's open window. Pauline decided to turn her attention to the back of the seat directly in front of her, as anything would be just as entertaining as what is happening outside. She studied the cracks in the portions of the seat that housed old, sun-baked vinyl, making objects come to life in her mind. A frowning face, a crooked star, a guitar and so forth and so on.
Recently in Tom Weaver Category
Inspired by the recent accumulates post, and awaiting my next burst of literary chi flow, I have decided to post the yet-to-be-released short stories that I have finished.....in blurbs that really make no sense. Each paragraph is a different story, so take it for what it is worth, and that is very little. As an update of sorts, I have a few more stories to finish, but may opt to hit the main portion of the book very soon. I seem to add to the miscellaneous section every few days. I'll have to re-read SAS, because I tried to post something during the Great Firewall Scandal of 2006.
To be brief, I'm writing a book. It is probably the main reason that I haven't posted anything new in ages.
Here is the next installment to either enjoy or loathe. Here, Thomas meets up with a travel buddy on his way into the city, where his punishment awaits for the whole bribe incident. Things get a bit weird towards the end of this piece, but what else would you expect?
Here is another older script of mine, and as far as a departure from "Soda Jerks" as you can get. I was reading some Kafka, and decided to write a script in his style, just for the hell of it, really. Most of his themes are present, and the absurdity knob was turned pretty high, as well. Take it for what it is worth, just a different way to tell a story, nothing more. The exposition needs work, I know that already, but I think the actions are pretty clear to the reader (crosses fingers). And if I really get the urge, I have two follow-ups to this, not story-wise, but in this style. The Doctor (10 pages into it) and The Chemist (just in my head) may see the light of day by 2010, because I'm bound to get distracted by a shiny object or something equally amazing.
Here it is, the conclusion of Soda Jerks. I think that everything comes together here at the obvious wedding climax that we were leading up to to end this trainwreck. IF YOU DO NOT KNOW THE SONG, "HOLY DIVER", BY DIO, LISTEN TO IT IF POSSIBLE BEFORE READING THIS SECTION. Knowing the song just amplifies the one joke quite a bit. Anyway, without further interruption...
A small section here in comparison to the previous posts. The day after the stag and prior to the bad-ass conclusion that awaits. The final "Immigrant" appears here, along with a few secondary characters, like Clarissa. The co-writer did all of her dialogue throughout the script, by the way. I also noticed how many CUT TO's were misused while reading this again. The entire script, not just this section. This part shouldn't take too long to read. Don't worry, it is almost over...
These lyrics were discovered inside of a half-buried tackle box somewhere in rural Mississippi. It is presumed that they are from the mid-1950's, as the lyrics were written upon the inside of an empty box of Maypo. The search for Pappy was a short one. When asking around the area about an old man who was tempermental and shot things with great frquency in the 1950's, about 25 different names were given. So, this particular Pappy shall forever remain anonymous, due to the fact that most men in 1950's Mississippi were like this.
This is a very fun portion of the script, with Ronnie James in prime form. Many of the characters combine here for an interesting cohesion. The broom, puddle and hole in the wall scenes have actually occurred in real life; the first two are written as I was told they happened, and the third one I tweaked a bit due to architectural limitations. I believe the mighty Frog has witnessed this one in person.
Grab a drink, or perhaps a severed limb, and read on!
Their bodies succumbed to the blind horrors of biology. He could not feel his legs, but his heart had a pulsating warmth within it each time he thought about his wife. Although her time was set, she still found herself smirking each time she looked in the mirror and noticed that her wig was askew. Their eyes looked younger as each day passed, in spite of their unwilling stubbornness to seek pity. Nature's wrath and financial circumstance kept them from bearing children, but they were given each other, and that was more than enough.
Okay, third installment, and this part is getting a more adult rating, so kids, get your parents' permission on this one.
I didn't write the bar scene, and was REALLY opposed to what went down because the circumstance was way overdone, but the dialogue around it didn't bother me, so I reluctantly put up no fight. The basement scene and beyond is my "work", so blame me for that stuff if you hate it.
And things are now starting to come together with the characters.
Okay, this is a pretty big slab of script, but where I cut it off makes sense, and you get some more Ronnie James at the end, which is always good. A bunch of new characters are introduced, and it may seem a bit chaotic at this point, but believe me, it all comes together quite well. Patience.
The pudding character thing is wrong, I admit that already, and we get an appearance from another "immigrant". Truth be told, most of the ice cream scenes happened for real to/including the co-author of this piece. And a few others I have witnessed or been told about by very reliable sources.
And now, more Soda Jerks...
In regards to the sudden onslaught of Dio-related postings, I bring to you a script that I co-wrote about 2 years ago. It took me 6 days to write the first draft, and the draft that we were content with was finished in about another week. I did write about 95% of the script, so if you can find the 5% that is not Weaver, pat yourself on the back and treat yourself to a hoagie. Who knows what formatting blunders wills occur...
I'll post it in parts, just for the sake of the reader's time. I know that it is full of errors that I no longer do whilst writing, but enjoy it nonetheless. There are many moments in here that I'm sure that you'll appreciate. Dig in!
I stand before the congregation condemned, though eager for forgiveness. Humility is nonexistent, though I am shirtless in the presence of so many. I am not thirsty, though the sun screams into my wan complexion as it tends to do so close to the buckle of the Bible Belt this time of year.
Here are 3 short stories for your perusal. The first and third ones were lucky enough to make it onto Pork Pony, though they are somewhat disturbing, so viewer discretion advised for them. The middle one was written sometime between the death of PP and the birth of Unloosen. Ever notice how short my short stories are? I simultaneously rule and suck. Enjoy!
This fat guy, wearing mauve Capri pants and a sombrero was chasing me on roller skates. I was on foot; he had the roller skates, just to clear things up. What made this weird, if not the idea of me being hunted by such a person was strange enough, was that we were traversing through patches of grass and up cement steps in an unfamiliar college campus-like setting. The fact that he was shirtless didn't bother me, somehow.
Don't you wish a magical Scott Baio poster would sweep into your bedroom on occasion and wipe away your stress and sorrows? (CL)
Nunchucks. Yes, nunchucks. This, the final episode of Time Canyon, not only features everyone's favorite martial-arts weapon, it also tells the tale of a man who uses the Canyon and wins. Weaver's in prime form once again. (CL)
For God's sake I wish Weaver wrote for TV and movies. Here, he parody's The Wizard of Oz by casting an ebony lizard in the role of the left-behind comrade. Both incredibly funny and poignant, this stands as one of Weaver's greatest hits. READ IT! (CL)
Weaver wrote two Time Canyons, this one and another that involves nunchucks. I honestly forgot how good this one was. Weaver and I talked seriously for a while about pitching Time Canyon as a TV show, but soon realized just how hard it was to write a good story about the Canyon. One episode idea Weaver imagined didn't even deal with time travel; instead, it covered an Evil Knievel-type stunt man jupming the Canyon on his motorcycle. If only TV could be so entertaining. (CL)
Everyone has something to hide. A past trouble or a current involvement, it doesn't matter. The illegal or criminal mysteries don't interest me. Save that for your TV movie of the week. Speaking of movies, I'd better return my rented copy of "They Still Call Me Bruce". What intrigues me are the small things, harmless and for the most part accepted and tolerated by the law of the pack. The fact that these secrets are never to be found out and kept hidden by their performers is what strikes my fancy like no other.
Drinking Buddy ranks among my five favorite Pork Pony stories. Weaver's tale of two ancient warriors venting had me laughing out loud in the true sense, not that cheesy, LOL-type (God, I hate those abbreviations, but that's another story for another time). Enjoy. -CL
Pancakes was the first story posted on Pork Pony in its debut December 24, 2001 issue. Weaver, a friend of mine from high school, quickly became an integral part of Pork Pony, writing many of the site's best stories. He's since penned numerous movie scripts, the kind of stuff that makes Hollywood quiver. -CL
