by Stephen Johnson
MoTW–Electra Glide In Blue
Reading over my last post, I noticed I made a few mistakes.
I shall now correct them.
The corrections are shown in capital letters, so those that read that last post will now have a fuller understanding. Thise that didn’t read the last post won’t give a shit.
“What was causing the sweat? That’s something you want to know and it is (kinda) explained in the first chapter. And then, at the end of the SECOND chapter, something horrific happens.”
“It’ll probably TURN into a kid’s book, with pictures.”
There’s probably more mistakes, but I don’t care. Those are two that bugged me. I can now rest easy knowing those mistakes have been fixed.
As far as I know, nobody has offered to co-write. Who wouldn’t want to help with something detailing Jack and his canned peaches? Maybe it’s too close to “James And The Giant Peach” and it’s scaring away folks. Could be that someone tried to contact me thru email, and I can no longer access email on this site. I keep trying to change my password and get an error message saying my password is incorrect. Because of this, Jack and his canned peaches may very well be tossed away.
I’m still stuck on chapter three, just don’t know where to go. Or, maybe I do and maybe I’m just too lazy to continue writing at this point. There’s lots of good stuff on tv and that’s taking up a lot of my time.
Wow. Now I’m complaining! At least I think it’s complaining. Maybe it’s a cry for help. A sad, pathetic cry for help. A pitiful, sad, pathetic cry for help. And on and on it goes.
Well, let’s take a look at an excerpt from the second chapter:
“Jack was worried.
What if some of his sweat fell into the jar? He wouldn’t be able to sell it knowing that a part of him was in there with the peaches.
Luckily, there was a roll of paper towels nearby. Jack ripped of a piece of paper towel and wiped away the sweat. He sighed in relief since a major catastrophe was averted.
He gently placed a few peach slices into the jar and then dumped the recommended amount of formaldehyde on top of the peaches. Too much and the peaches would break down into soggy bits. Too little and the peaches would dry out. With the right amount of formaldehyde, the peaches would remain juicy until the end of time or the next apocalypse, whichever came first.
After screwing the lid on tight, Jack walked over to the shelves and gently placed the jar next to the other peaches.
‘JUICY PEACHES!’ he yelled as he walked back to the table. ‘JUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUIIICYYYYYYYY PEEEEEEEEEAAACHES!'”
Wow. Heartbreaking stuff, I must say.
COMING NEXT: The pain hopefully ends