Aboard My Train Of Thought by Scott C. Endsley (best book club books for discussion .TXT) π
Excerpt from the book:
Broke up into 6 short-stories, Aboard My Train Of Thought Is a humorous tale about a manic-depressive author and his accidental destiny into the White House; from there the story becomes even more bizarre-- is it all inside his head? Find out what REALLY, REALLY, REALLY happened at Roswell as the second half of the book takes us to a planet called Apathonia, where one of our hero's, Clyde P. Hipwing's, book ends up on the planet-- igniting a revolution. It all comes to a head with a mind blowing end. Are you ready for a ride?
Read free book Β«Aboard My Train Of Thought by Scott C. Endsley (best book club books for discussion .TXT) πΒ» - read online or download for free at americanlibrarybooks.com
Download in Format:
- Author: Scott C. Endsley
Read book online Β«Aboard My Train Of Thought by Scott C. Endsley (best book club books for discussion .TXT) πΒ». Author - Scott C. Endsley
our way around in pursuit of the famed big F.I.B. skyscraper. While listening to Flush Limbo's show, I had decidedly been convinced he'd sold out. Instead of the usual rock-n-roll bumper music, he was playing selections from his "favorite Irish tenors," I was disturbed enough by the fact he was reciting Robert Frost poetry. But worst didn't come to worst until he got on a soapbox on behalf of an extremist environmental organization, called SQUASH; an acronym for "The Society Quite United Against The Slaughter Of Helpless-Veggies:"
"...When was the last time a defenseless tomato ever resisted and made an escape from a despotic brutal attack from a cold and calculating vegetarian?! Ah, so you surmise they don't deserve, as due compensation, the same equal rights enjoyed by the animal dominion... You're just going to sit back and gorge yourself on that submissive salad, without so much as a pea of shamefacedness! Indulge in your gluttony, go ahead!
"....But when the dreaded day of the inevitably impending greenhouse effect comes into being, and the once subservient, vegetated underdogs unite and begin procreating at an enormous rate so as to become the silent dominant majority on this dismal planet... then you'll be on your backs! You'll be so overrun with choices when preparing an ordinary sandwich, that you will have exhausted every plea imaginable, such as: PLEASE, LETTUCE ALONE!!!..."
At which moment we arrived in front of the F.I.B broadcasting building. I ordered Maggie to stay in the car while Ralph and I went to visit Mr Limbo. We struggled up 23 flights of stairs, on account of the fact they hadn't completed constructing the elevator, thereby unearthing Flush's hidden means of having lost 85 pounds in only a span of 2 months.
"How are we gonna get in there to see Flush? You'd better leave all this to me!" Ralph taunted while heavily gasping, as we ascended upward toward the highest story.
When we reached the top floor, there didn't appear to be anyone at all in the foyer, so we randomly opened doors in advance of finally finding what looked like a studio. Ralph practically pushed me aside, all the while racing up to the open door. Before he had a chance to knock, what looked like a janitor with less than a G.E.D, but what we assumed was a broadcast engineer, gave a stern stare. Before I could open my mouth to spell out who we were, Ralph belted out, "We're here to see Flush. If he asks who we are, tell him the honorable Ronald Reagan's grandkids just stopped by to shoot the breeze!"
"Oh yeah? Hold on a minute."
I had a gut feeling that wasn't gonna work too well, for some unexplained reason. I quickly noticed Ralph abruptly looking a bit squeamish as he observed all the GOP paraphenalia lying about. I, though I'd never met anyone that famous before, wasn't the least bit goosey about meeting Mr Limbo, as I was absorbed in what I most needed to make known to him.
"Mr. Limbo will see you on his break in half a minute, wait here," the custodial engineer requested.
Spontaneously, I felt the quaking of a heavy stride (of whom I wasn't sure) approaching the partially opened door, which soon widened as Mr. Limbo, larger than life, came into full view.
"Are you Clyde P. Hipwing?" He asked. "I've been waiting for you two gentlemen. A scruffy looking ruffian named Pigglesworth left a note sealed in an envelope for you both," he added, shutting the door behind him.
I excitedly grabbed it, but irresponsibly laid it on a chair. "Flush, what are we going to do?! The country's in chaos, and..."
"No no," he shook his head, "Everything for once is just fine! For once we've got order. For once everyone agrees."
"But Flush!" I demanded, "What about rugged individualism? What about freedom? What about capitalism?"
"Oh...." he laughed, "it escapes me who said it, but the only difference between capitalism and socialism is ....... in a socialistic society, man exploits man... Whereas in a capitalistic society; it's the other way around.."
"He finally makes sense to me!" Ralph exclaimed.
"Something's wrong," I insisted, "Flush, do you have a chip on your shoulder?"
"Well I used to... but now..."
"Ralph! Hold him down while I try to remove his chip!" I yelled prior to Rapheal jumping on his back as if he were bronco-busting, turning over tables, chairs and articles from Flush's various political memorabilia collections. "Man, he's a strong motha!..."
"Just as I thought!" I shook my head in disgust as Ralph and I held him down with bended knees, and ripped the chip from his lower neck. Flush forthwith lurched about, babbling like a two year old. Slapping his face, I attempted to beat some sense into him, until he began wailing for his 50's vintage 'I Like Ike' pacifier.
"Okay, he's coming around. It'll just take a second, he'll regain his reasoning..." I assured Ralph as he released his clutch.
"Man! I always thought he was a big baby, but...."
"Ralph, we've gotta get him outta here!" I urged, just as a blaring alarm apparently alerted two U.T.C. police officers, who erupted unhindered through the studio door, one nabbing Ralph. The other lunged at me, but missed, and assaulted an unsuspecting potted begonia plant that, on impulse, quickly begonged him..
"Get outta here man!" Ralph yelled, "You've gotta save the country!"
As I scurried out of the studio and down the hallway, I slapped myself on the ear with my palm, realizing I'd left behind Mr. Pigglesworth's important note. Standing in the middle of two pillars and trying to decide which way to disappear, my ears were alerted by a 6 foot, 8 inch, 250 pound telephone booth, right behind me, ringing as though demanding my attention. I frantically answered it, so as to not attract anyone else's attention.
ME: Hello!?
DR: Clyde.... how did we do this week?
ME: Doc? Is that you?
DR: You sound a bit stressed. Have you been taking your meds?
ME: Doc? How did you... Where are you? I gotta see you!
DR: I'm here in the Big Apple and Just thought I'd call. Do you want me to come there? Oh, I'll just give you my address, I'm at 1313 NW 13th, about 13 blocks away from you right now, next door to the Baker's Dozen movie theater... they're playing Friday The Thirteenth, by the way..... See you in, oh, about 13 minutes! Oh, that reminds me, is TODAY the 13th?
ME: Yes
DR: Why of course, I must have asked that at least 12 times this morning!
--------------------------
(Episode 14)
DR: Good thing I called when I did, Clyde!
ME: Why Doc? How did you find out?
DR: I bet you're not taking your meds.
ME: You're right Doc, I flushed em down the toilet.
DR: So tell me about your week.
ME: The world Doc, the whole world is being run by a figment of my imagination!!!
DR: Now Clyde, what have I told you?
ME: Doc, I can prove I'm not nuts... I know someone who can vouch that some clues exist concerning this whole episode... Just let me hook up this boom-box... Connect this to that, that to this...
DR: What are you doing, Clyde?
ME: You'll see! Now, where did I leave my Forked Gyrating Mixmaster Rectifying Slope Tuning Horizontal Inverter?
DR: Oh here, use mine!
ME: Thanks, now listen to this...
PETE: Yes, Hello, wha' you want me to sing?
ME: Pete, I'd like you to meet Doc. Doc, this is Pete, you know, the Bug drummer!
PETE: Is this that bloomin' Clyde bloke?
DR: Hey, Pete, good to meet you, you were always my favorite Bug!
PETE: Well golly gee bum...I guess that makes two of us.
ME: Ok Doc, Pete here will prove to you I'm not nuts! Tell him about the clue in the book, Pete!
DR: Oh knock this off, Clyde. You're really insulting my intelligence. Now, I came all this way to give you a gift I bought for you. Nice jacket huh? Here, try it on.
ME: Sure why not. It fits real nice.... nice and snug.... Hey what's with all the straps...Hey I can't move my arms!!!
DR: Everything's gonna be okay, Clyde! I'm just gonna give you a shot to relax.... just 350mgs of Prolixen, that's all.. Now, that should do it.... You'll soon be fast asleep.
ME: Doc! The country... It's Homer, he's got the whole w.... world by the ... the... thr..oat.........
Maggie: It's for your own good, Sir, you've slept nay an hour in 3 days!
ME: Z....Z....Z...Z...Z.......
DR: Ok, he's taking a siesta... Say, Pete...you think you could sing me a few bars of 'The Good Ship Lollypop?' It's one of my favorites on your album!
PETE: Yeah? Let me have a swig of lemon juice to loosen up me pipe organ first...
-------------------------------------
(Episode 15)
In what seemed like days, I awoke after having a horrible nightmare about being convicted in the Sams Deli Robbery. I had just been sentenced to one night at the Loraine Bobbit Correctional Center!!!!.
"Where am I!?" I sat up and yelled.
Adjusting to the light, in what was clearly a psychiatric hospital bedroom, my eyes became aware of a scrawny character bouncing a red rubber ball, and repeating the term, "can-opener," over and over again.
"What do they have you in here for?" I asked.
"Can-opener...can-opener...can-ope..," he irritatedly responded after a bellowing sigh, "...OCD...can-opener... can-opener...can."
"OC what?"
"Can-opener...can...Obsessive Compulsive Disorder!...Now, do you mind?! ....can-opener...can-opener... can-opener... can-opener... can-opener... can.."
I'd had enough can-openers for one month, so I lunged from my bed and snatched his rubber ball. "What the devil did you do that for? It took me more than 15 minutes to get to 180 can openers in less than 60 bounces... Do you realize what's going to happen now?!" he shreaked.
"Nothing's going to happen, let's try to start a conversation and forget this can-opener stuff," I suggested. "I see you have quite a 5 o'clock shadow left over from yesterday, did you forget to shave this morning?"
"I shaved yesterday morning. Do you shave?" he asked, trembling.
"Of course."
"What do you shave with?" he mumbled, while sweating profusely.
"I shave with a razor, what in the world do YOU shave with?!"
He wasted no more time. "I shave with a can-opener... can-opener... can-opener... can open."
Talk about hooked on phonics! I groaned in disgust, landed back on my bunk, and began bouncing the back of my head against the headboard, seduced by the hypnotic rhythm of his ridiculously over-exerting ball.
Over against the South wall of the room
"...When was the last time a defenseless tomato ever resisted and made an escape from a despotic brutal attack from a cold and calculating vegetarian?! Ah, so you surmise they don't deserve, as due compensation, the same equal rights enjoyed by the animal dominion... You're just going to sit back and gorge yourself on that submissive salad, without so much as a pea of shamefacedness! Indulge in your gluttony, go ahead!
"....But when the dreaded day of the inevitably impending greenhouse effect comes into being, and the once subservient, vegetated underdogs unite and begin procreating at an enormous rate so as to become the silent dominant majority on this dismal planet... then you'll be on your backs! You'll be so overrun with choices when preparing an ordinary sandwich, that you will have exhausted every plea imaginable, such as: PLEASE, LETTUCE ALONE!!!..."
At which moment we arrived in front of the F.I.B broadcasting building. I ordered Maggie to stay in the car while Ralph and I went to visit Mr Limbo. We struggled up 23 flights of stairs, on account of the fact they hadn't completed constructing the elevator, thereby unearthing Flush's hidden means of having lost 85 pounds in only a span of 2 months.
"How are we gonna get in there to see Flush? You'd better leave all this to me!" Ralph taunted while heavily gasping, as we ascended upward toward the highest story.
When we reached the top floor, there didn't appear to be anyone at all in the foyer, so we randomly opened doors in advance of finally finding what looked like a studio. Ralph practically pushed me aside, all the while racing up to the open door. Before he had a chance to knock, what looked like a janitor with less than a G.E.D, but what we assumed was a broadcast engineer, gave a stern stare. Before I could open my mouth to spell out who we were, Ralph belted out, "We're here to see Flush. If he asks who we are, tell him the honorable Ronald Reagan's grandkids just stopped by to shoot the breeze!"
"Oh yeah? Hold on a minute."
I had a gut feeling that wasn't gonna work too well, for some unexplained reason. I quickly noticed Ralph abruptly looking a bit squeamish as he observed all the GOP paraphenalia lying about. I, though I'd never met anyone that famous before, wasn't the least bit goosey about meeting Mr Limbo, as I was absorbed in what I most needed to make known to him.
"Mr. Limbo will see you on his break in half a minute, wait here," the custodial engineer requested.
Spontaneously, I felt the quaking of a heavy stride (of whom I wasn't sure) approaching the partially opened door, which soon widened as Mr. Limbo, larger than life, came into full view.
"Are you Clyde P. Hipwing?" He asked. "I've been waiting for you two gentlemen. A scruffy looking ruffian named Pigglesworth left a note sealed in an envelope for you both," he added, shutting the door behind him.
I excitedly grabbed it, but irresponsibly laid it on a chair. "Flush, what are we going to do?! The country's in chaos, and..."
"No no," he shook his head, "Everything for once is just fine! For once we've got order. For once everyone agrees."
"But Flush!" I demanded, "What about rugged individualism? What about freedom? What about capitalism?"
"Oh...." he laughed, "it escapes me who said it, but the only difference between capitalism and socialism is ....... in a socialistic society, man exploits man... Whereas in a capitalistic society; it's the other way around.."
"He finally makes sense to me!" Ralph exclaimed.
"Something's wrong," I insisted, "Flush, do you have a chip on your shoulder?"
"Well I used to... but now..."
"Ralph! Hold him down while I try to remove his chip!" I yelled prior to Rapheal jumping on his back as if he were bronco-busting, turning over tables, chairs and articles from Flush's various political memorabilia collections. "Man, he's a strong motha!..."
"Just as I thought!" I shook my head in disgust as Ralph and I held him down with bended knees, and ripped the chip from his lower neck. Flush forthwith lurched about, babbling like a two year old. Slapping his face, I attempted to beat some sense into him, until he began wailing for his 50's vintage 'I Like Ike' pacifier.
"Okay, he's coming around. It'll just take a second, he'll regain his reasoning..." I assured Ralph as he released his clutch.
"Man! I always thought he was a big baby, but...."
"Ralph, we've gotta get him outta here!" I urged, just as a blaring alarm apparently alerted two U.T.C. police officers, who erupted unhindered through the studio door, one nabbing Ralph. The other lunged at me, but missed, and assaulted an unsuspecting potted begonia plant that, on impulse, quickly begonged him..
"Get outta here man!" Ralph yelled, "You've gotta save the country!"
As I scurried out of the studio and down the hallway, I slapped myself on the ear with my palm, realizing I'd left behind Mr. Pigglesworth's important note. Standing in the middle of two pillars and trying to decide which way to disappear, my ears were alerted by a 6 foot, 8 inch, 250 pound telephone booth, right behind me, ringing as though demanding my attention. I frantically answered it, so as to not attract anyone else's attention.
ME: Hello!?
DR: Clyde.... how did we do this week?
ME: Doc? Is that you?
DR: You sound a bit stressed. Have you been taking your meds?
ME: Doc? How did you... Where are you? I gotta see you!
DR: I'm here in the Big Apple and Just thought I'd call. Do you want me to come there? Oh, I'll just give you my address, I'm at 1313 NW 13th, about 13 blocks away from you right now, next door to the Baker's Dozen movie theater... they're playing Friday The Thirteenth, by the way..... See you in, oh, about 13 minutes! Oh, that reminds me, is TODAY the 13th?
ME: Yes
DR: Why of course, I must have asked that at least 12 times this morning!
--------------------------
(Episode 14)
DR: Good thing I called when I did, Clyde!
ME: Why Doc? How did you find out?
DR: I bet you're not taking your meds.
ME: You're right Doc, I flushed em down the toilet.
DR: So tell me about your week.
ME: The world Doc, the whole world is being run by a figment of my imagination!!!
DR: Now Clyde, what have I told you?
ME: Doc, I can prove I'm not nuts... I know someone who can vouch that some clues exist concerning this whole episode... Just let me hook up this boom-box... Connect this to that, that to this...
DR: What are you doing, Clyde?
ME: You'll see! Now, where did I leave my Forked Gyrating Mixmaster Rectifying Slope Tuning Horizontal Inverter?
DR: Oh here, use mine!
ME: Thanks, now listen to this...
PETE: Yes, Hello, wha' you want me to sing?
ME: Pete, I'd like you to meet Doc. Doc, this is Pete, you know, the Bug drummer!
PETE: Is this that bloomin' Clyde bloke?
DR: Hey, Pete, good to meet you, you were always my favorite Bug!
PETE: Well golly gee bum...I guess that makes two of us.
ME: Ok Doc, Pete here will prove to you I'm not nuts! Tell him about the clue in the book, Pete!
DR: Oh knock this off, Clyde. You're really insulting my intelligence. Now, I came all this way to give you a gift I bought for you. Nice jacket huh? Here, try it on.
ME: Sure why not. It fits real nice.... nice and snug.... Hey what's with all the straps...Hey I can't move my arms!!!
DR: Everything's gonna be okay, Clyde! I'm just gonna give you a shot to relax.... just 350mgs of Prolixen, that's all.. Now, that should do it.... You'll soon be fast asleep.
ME: Doc! The country... It's Homer, he's got the whole w.... world by the ... the... thr..oat.........
Maggie: It's for your own good, Sir, you've slept nay an hour in 3 days!
ME: Z....Z....Z...Z...Z.......
DR: Ok, he's taking a siesta... Say, Pete...you think you could sing me a few bars of 'The Good Ship Lollypop?' It's one of my favorites on your album!
PETE: Yeah? Let me have a swig of lemon juice to loosen up me pipe organ first...
-------------------------------------
(Episode 15)
In what seemed like days, I awoke after having a horrible nightmare about being convicted in the Sams Deli Robbery. I had just been sentenced to one night at the Loraine Bobbit Correctional Center!!!!.
"Where am I!?" I sat up and yelled.
Adjusting to the light, in what was clearly a psychiatric hospital bedroom, my eyes became aware of a scrawny character bouncing a red rubber ball, and repeating the term, "can-opener," over and over again.
"What do they have you in here for?" I asked.
"Can-opener...can-opener...can-ope..," he irritatedly responded after a bellowing sigh, "...OCD...can-opener... can-opener...can."
"OC what?"
"Can-opener...can...Obsessive Compulsive Disorder!...Now, do you mind?! ....can-opener...can-opener... can-opener... can-opener... can-opener... can.."
I'd had enough can-openers for one month, so I lunged from my bed and snatched his rubber ball. "What the devil did you do that for? It took me more than 15 minutes to get to 180 can openers in less than 60 bounces... Do you realize what's going to happen now?!" he shreaked.
"Nothing's going to happen, let's try to start a conversation and forget this can-opener stuff," I suggested. "I see you have quite a 5 o'clock shadow left over from yesterday, did you forget to shave this morning?"
"I shaved yesterday morning. Do you shave?" he asked, trembling.
"Of course."
"What do you shave with?" he mumbled, while sweating profusely.
"I shave with a razor, what in the world do YOU shave with?!"
He wasted no more time. "I shave with a can-opener... can-opener... can-opener... can open."
Talk about hooked on phonics! I groaned in disgust, landed back on my bunk, and began bouncing the back of my head against the headboard, seduced by the hypnotic rhythm of his ridiculously over-exerting ball.
Over against the South wall of the room
Free e-book: Β«Aboard My Train Of Thought by Scott C. Endsley (best book club books for discussion .TXT) πΒ» - read online now on website american library books (americanlibrarybooks.com)
Add a comment
Comments (0)