Thursday, December 03, 2009

Chapter One of "The Horrible Tragic Life of Dr. Feet"

This was the novel I was writing for NaNoWriMo. Majority of the people involved were based on my friends, but with their last name removed. I probably will continue on this later cause it was a lot of fun to write. Anyway, without further adieu:

Chapter One

"Fuck", I said as the ending credits were rolling. I couldn't believe what I just watched. And the worse part is I have to somehow describe the entire movie AND make it funny. I don't know which part of that equation is worse.

I turned the DVD off and sat at my computer. I opened up my WordPad and stared at the cursor, just flashing on and off, as if it was taunting me. "What you got to say, Bad Movie Guy?" I then typed in "Fuck you". That shut it up.

Finally, I thought of an opening paragraph when the phone rang. I grabbed the phone, thinking it was another wrong number or someone looking for "Jason Sado". No matter how many times I tell them, Jason "Sado" does not live here. There's probably some poor guy with that name getting phone calls for Jason "Soto" and he's equally frustrated.

Looking at the caller ID I saw it was my friend Adam. I answered it.

"Hey, what's up?" Adam replied.
"Not much, just trying to type up this review."
"Oh, sorry to interrupt. Which movie?"
"I Was A Teenage Zombie."
"Never seen it. Is it good?"
"Um...." I struggled with the words to describe this damn movie over the phone. This is gonna be a long night. "No."
"That sucks. Anyway, I just called to tell you that I got your package. Thanks."

I paused and thought. Did I send a package? Not recently. Maybe I sent one a few months ago but it's just now getting there. Adam's birthday was a few months ago. Damn, the post office is really pissed about emails. I don't recall what I sent.

"Oh hey, no problem, dude. Happy...birthday?"
"Uh, it was a few months ago. But thanks?"
"You're welcome?"
"Are we gonna stop ending things with question marks?"
"I don't know?"
"Should I kill you now or later?"
"Later would be fine. Just a quick question, what did I send you?"
"This movie. It looks like a bootleg or something. It just came in a plain black case and written in marker it says 'The Horrible Tragic Life of Dr. Feet'. I'm guessing this is some movie you came across and you sent it to me."

Ok, now I really have no idea what he was talking about. I never heard of that movie in my life. But whatever. Adam was happy and he thinks I sent it, so I'll gladly take the credit.

"Oh yeah. I, uh, haven't seen it yet, though. Let me know how it is."
"Will do. I'll let you get back to your review. Can't wait to read it. Later."
"Bye," I said, then hung up the phone. Oh well, that was weird. I put the phone back on the charger and sat back down at my computer. The words "Fuck you" were staring back at me. My WordPad hates me apparently.

I start writing the review.

About an hour later, I was halfway through when I stopped to take an A.D.D break. Even though I was never offically classified as having it, I seem to have A.D.D because I can't even focus my mind on anything for longer than 30 minutes. So I saved my work and went on Facebook and tried to fight my way through ten thousand messages of my friends finding cows on their farms or causes I should join (cause joining these causes will sure save the world.) or top five hair metal bands I should like or go fuck myself.

I was so engrossed with Facebook that I didn't hear the knocking on the door. I finally wondered what that noise was and got up to investigate. I looked in the peephole and saw standing outside my door a weirdly shaped guy with a super round face and big black eyes. After realizing this was because of the peephole I opened my door a crack.

"Yes?" I asked, politely.
"Are you Jason Soto?" the man asked in return. I can now see he was about six feet tall, wore a black suit, dark sunglasses, and had light brown hair, cut short. He looks serious and offical. I knew I should've paid my Netflix on time.
"Maybe. Who are you?"
The man pulled out a wallet and flashed the contents to me. It was a badge and a picture of the man with the words Federal Bureau of Investigation on it. "I am Special Agent Rickard Springfield."
"You're name is Rick Springfield?"
"No. Rickard. Can I come in please?"
"What is this about?"
"Sir, I'm afraid it's about...bad movies."

Chapter Two coming tomorrow.

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