11:30

11:30

“Huh.”

No operation extends with any certainty beyond the first encounter with the main body of the enemy.
—Helmuth Von Moltke

I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.
—E. B. White

You can never plan the future by the past.
—Edmund Burke

“Plans are invitation to disappointment.”
—Derek Landy

Zeus does not bring all men’s plans to fulfillment.
—Homer

Just because something doesn’t do what you planned it to do doesn’t mean it’s useless.
—Thomas A. Edison

Most plans are just inaccurate predictions.
—Ben Bayol

“Well… fuck.”

11:29

11:29

“Hey.”

“Hey!”

“Wha?”

“Hey. Did you know it was November 29?”

“Nope. So…?”

“It’s almost the end of November. Less than a month to Xmas. A few days short of a month to the new year!”

“I repeat: so?”

“So? So! Jeezus, dude, it’s almost over.”

“What? What is almost over? What is the big whoop? What the f… … Forgive me, I mean what in the name of ‘Jeesus’ are you gibbering about?”

“The year dude, the year… The year is almost over. The experiment, the one-upmanship, the plan, the freaking story. The. Year. Is. Almost. Over!”

“Oh… that.”

“Yes ‘THAT’!”

“Chill. I gotta plan. Every-ting is copasetic man. No drama.”

“Oooh, the man’s gotta plan. Have you looked at the thing lately. The outta-control trainwreck of a narrative, have ya? Ain’t no ‘plan’ gonna do at this point. Unless it’s a zombie plan and everyone goes running and screaming trying to protect their brains from all this horseshit.”

“Seriously: chill. If you ain’t buying, then go shop somewhere else. I said I have it handled and I do. It’s been handled so smoothly you are totally gonna blush your sweet little cheeks. So just chill.”

“Dude, you really don’t know what’s been happening. You’ve had your head shoved up your own arse so far you ain’t see sunshine for weeks. Read my lips: T R A I N W R E C K! (douchebag….)”

“Heh. Have it your way. But don’t come whimpering got me when you lose control my scruffly little unbeliever from the supper smoothness of my plan. Smooth as Jennifer Biel’s butt, compadre, smooth as Shania’s udder-creamed boobs, So smooth that…”

“Ya, ya. You all are smoothy smootherson. I get it. But I’ll believe it when I read. And that, my creamy friend is my point. It is the freaking end of NOVEMBER!”

“Sigh.”

11:28

11:28

God I’m thirsty. I really need just a sip to restart the engines running. Just…

What? The dream… I remember. The machine. Always, always the machine. I just turned that bit like so and… Ah yes, yes.

It was done.

God I need that drink.

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CATEGORY: general

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11:27

11:27

Edward sipped the mojito. He had to admit it wasn’t half bad. Still on principle he decided for the third time to put it down and refuse any more part in this little charade that had the beaver so smug.

“Enough!”

11:26

Twas the night before endings And all through the place
All the people were were tensing Each and every face
The drinks were all poured with tender sweet care
In hopes that the beaver would make all aware

The participants were snuggled with blankets and books
While anxiously fretting, giving the beaver dirty looks
But Edward in tweed and Gareth in plaid
Were not buying anything the beaver had said

when suddenly a noise rang out from the hallway
And the beaver glanced up in his special way
He smiled at the shape outlined by the light
Oh his grin grew wide at the wondrous sight

The light from the moon cast shadows on the face
A weird sculpted landscape of paper and paste
That was reminiscent of something that did quite appear
To be the image of seven rather large cold reinbeer…

11:25

But the wardrobe, or memories of that fiery red car for that matter, were neither her nor there in the here and now. What brought this all to mind was that feeling of exhilaration that Edward had felt when his roadster was on the edge and the grip was starting to go from the tires. Screaming around high speed corners right on the edge and wondering if that last bit of rubber was going to give up its embrace of the hot asphalt blazing by at breakneck speed. The thought that maybe, just maybe , this time he would actually lose control. And, of course, the relief and self-satisfaction that he always felt when once again, Edward ‘s control proved immaculate.

At this moment, the exhilaration was there, surging through the room, ad Edward relaxed into to it ever so slightly, confident that once again he would remain in control.

11:24

11:24

The biggest problem Edward had had when he finally divested himself of the roadster was what to do with the clothes. A well dressed rabbit zooming by at 85 miles an hour was one thing, but a fashion forward bunny decked out in tweed and a classic wool flat cap strolling through the park was something else. It just wouldn’t do to.

It was, if Edward was honest with himself, like the thing he missed most of the motoring period. After all, there hadn’t been a lot of periods in Edward’s long life to be the well-dressed one and Edward was nothing if not just as vain as the rest of his species.

11:23

11:23

When Edward was younger he had toyed with automobiles. He had obtained a sporty car and modified it to suit his needs. A convertible, the roadster had quite managed to addict him to the wind blowing his ears back and the roar of the modified 12 cylinder making his blood boil.

This infatuation had lasted for a couple of seasons until maintenance had started to outweigh the time he had available to enjoy himself.

11:22

Last minute poetry
And this is what you throw at me
A song of love and hate and pain
So fucking trite so so insane

It makes me nuts this crazy shit
Don’t want it , Don’t like it,
No not one bit

But if he don’t ever finish this tale
That bloody author’s off straight to hell.