Well folks, modern technology be confounded. My precious lap-top computer has bitten the dust, so it is here at the local public library that I tumble forth the words.
I’m IN LIMBO, in other words. But not all is lost– my BJ2 related-documents are backed-up in about 7 different ways so it’s just a piece of the navigating the graveyard of netherworld blackness– where the moldy, blued-over nature of things doesn’t smile upon micro-transistors and other complex technological-workings.
Oh, well. All but relying on flyers– HOUSECALLS good for what ails ‘ya.
Better hire reputable help. Shall we look online?
AT THE LIBRARY. . . . .
Part of me can actually see the Beetlejuice’s of the world– homeless, derelict– using this thin sliver of public access to fumble around the internet, do research, ect. Being at least 30 years behind the curve on everything– he’d ask to checkout “The Face-Book”.
“It’s a library book, isn’t it? You photo-copy your face?”.
Well, not quite. The librarian will attempt to explain.
“Show me to your occult section”
Oh, the things librarians overhear. . . . .
I suppose he’d do off-the-cuff research “on starting his own business” and would only succeed in photographing his ass and breaking the glass. The plot thickens. . . . . it’s a library way out of the way down on that vaunted stretch of deep south St. Louis county.
You think how much of the computer-illiterate world runs on flyers and paper-stubs posted-up at the local supermarket– and as they say, “chiseling cars” or trading around junk-heaps to the hopeful bidder like a poker game. That is, only dealing out “the low cards” from the stacked-deck. and folks come looking for revenge in that brute, poor-man’s way.
Whether he’d get beat-up in the library bathroom by two gnarly old bikers, cornered in the thrashing stall and getting his head stuffed down in the toilet as they flush over and over.
Very cinematic– very funny. Very homebrew. . . . . being in the trade of showcasing scripts.
As for starting one’s own business– I can’t help but remember this affable nut-case in the question-mark suits who ran around, reselling public information to the stay-at-home “disabled, unemployed, crippled” about FREE MONEY.
Beetlejuice has his striped outfits, after-all. . . . . . and I suppose these two would eventually have to cross paths. It’s a dubious world, you know. So long as he isn’t driving around in an orange-juice truck all day, trying to sell people on a multi-level marketing scheme involving beverages and burning all the profits on gas.
Many are called, few are chosen. But the mass can always poke around the internet all day, looking at porn and trying to figure out the secret of riches.