I'm tired. I'm tired and I'm hungry. I'm tired and I'm hungry and I'm sleepy AND I stupidly said that I was going to write the update for this week "early" so that A* would have plenty of warning if I needed to bail out on doing it again like I did last week, leaving her to do all the work. I mean, it IS her site, but still!
...anyway, to make matters worse, I'm tired and I'm hungry and I'm sleepy and my ass really hurts. I could glamorize things (barely) by saying "my lower back hurts" instead (back pain is fashionable, at least in the young!), but why be intellectually dishonest? I mean, other than for amusement and as a way to make up for various insecurities. Duh! So yes, my ass hurts. My ass hurts and yet I must write this entry, which sort've sounds like it could be the title of an overrated work of science fiction written by a sexually deviant midget writer whose very existence has these days been reduced to an urban legend about being shot down cruelly by a tall blonde and a terse acknowledgement in the end credits of a movie about a KILLER ROBOT. Yes, the internet is alive...and it hates everyone!
Ahem!
As I was saying, I almost wrote last week's update. Although I don't really want to go into the details of what happened (lucky you!), suffice to say that the situation could be accurately summed up by words like "misunderstanding", "disagreement", "fight" and "debacle", most likely in that order. Of course, given the fact that I'm now writing this week's entry instead - you on the balcony, don't make me come up there! - you can obviously add words like "resolution", "agreement" and "compromise" to that list. I'm not entirely sure where this paragraph is going, but seeing as I've given you a sophisticated lesson in negotiating strategy (or the basis for a beginner-level crossword puzzle) already, who are you to complain? Please, don't write in and try to answer that question. It's a waste of everyone's time, unless you're an underage virgin no more than partially allergic to the traditional barnyard animals. If you are, please contact the New Talent department to submit 8x10s and contact information. Thanks!
So, I'm writing this (or attempting to) a couple of days earlier than usual to give A fair warning in the event of another last minute bailout of the sort that can no longer make James Bond movies even marginally entertaining. (Ha ha ha, the car goes invisible! And hey, there's Madonna! What's that stuck in the space between her front teeth? OH, IT'S AN ENDLESS ABYSS OF BANALITY THAT'S CONSUMED ANOTHER HUNDRED MILLION DOLLARS. HEY ART, GO FUCK YOURSELF.)
...which brings us (or me, with you following a few feet behind carrying torches and pitchforks) to the point where this week's story gets discussed. More specifically, this brings us (see last parentheses) to the point where I say "This week's story, TITLE OF STORY HERE," and then something about it. Or it would, anyway, if this week's story actually had a title at the moment. Inkeeping with the fact that A has recently been forced to learn the hard way that things like medical science and the structure and functions of the human brain won't (necessarily) conform to her every whim, the story's original title was invalidated in one fell swoop by a google search which seemed to say "NO, it doesn't work like that! LOL@U...OWN3D."
(Now, the more reckless among you may be wondering why I didn't abstain from writing the last paragraph in favor of inserting the story's eventual title once it had been determined. Although I applaud your willingness to subject the worlds of the past and future to the horrors of time travel, please bear in mind that some of us are of a more responsible breed. Besides, I have an outstanding wager with other members of the infamous Hell Street Gentleman's Club that I can refrain from subverting the process of history for a period of at least three days. You'll have to attend that bar mitzvah without me, I'm afraid. That and it's filler, of course.)
As far as the story itself goes, I don't want to say too much. This is partially due to laziness and feeling inarticulate (alright, mostly) and partially due to the fact that I think analyzing something before people (you) get a chance to read it might influence their (your) reaction to it...in a potentially sinister fashion! Okay, it might not be quite that exciting, but do you really need to fill up your limited cognitive space with another thousand words of me saying what A and I like or think could be improved about this story or any other? What's that? You do, or you'll die? Oops. Okay, here's a little: we both liked how this one came out.
...for those of you still or holding on to respiratory functions with their last few ounces of strength, this week's story, AS YET UNTITLED, features Kir doing what she does best: drinking and being angry. Although the reasons for her frequently revisiting such territory are only hinted at here, you'll have to take our collective word for it (which you can tattoo on your forehead or chisel into some stone tablets if you like) that we've spent LITERALLY YEARS AND YEARS making that and a lot of other stuff up. The fact that this site is exclusively full of material only meant to be practice is a subject I should probably get around to addressing in more detail eventually, but for now you'll have to be satisfied (or otherwise) with the knowledge that the content presented here represents a tiny fraction of the work that we'll one day hopefully be motivated enough to complete. The updates on the site are intended to be much more like excerpts than stories, so all the major events and ideas that are implied in the writing available here will be covered in a more, uhm, extended format, let's say. I'd feel pompous(er) saying anything else before we actually get off our asses and do something.
And hey, if we don't, maybe we can start a gambling and prostitution ring instead! We've already got the logistics covered, including a PayPal account! Applications for unpaid internships to the usual address, please!
To read Kir's latest foray into the world of bitterness and regret, go here. To revisit past traumas and realize nothing about your life has ever been worthwhile, go through the Band section before jumping off the Fiction bridge.
* I'm aware that the monoalphabetic nomenclature might make it seem like we've given ourselves codenames of a sort that would only be appropriate for those involved in espionage. To those people who find themselves feeling amused or derisive should bear in mind that sometimes a marriage (creative or otherwise) needs this kind of thing to keep it interesting. That kind of thing as well as a knife and some duct tape. Just not on Sunday!
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