Brad's shirt shines like a thousand crimson stars

I had vomited twice already, that's how worried I was. I could feel a mighty cloud of gloom fasten its antennae to my head so I would be nothing more than a passive row of rotating regular receptors.

Something terrible might have happened to Brad, so I feared at the time. It wasn't like him to arrive even a few minutes late. I squirmed and fidgeted in my chair. The donut I ate an hour and a half ago now was causing my stomach to rumble with sour sighs.

I scratched my ear, stretched my arms, stood up, and looked around for the three hundreth time. The other patrons gave me hateful looks. They were bothered by my head bobbing, neck twisting, and tiptoe peering over the crowd, trying to see if I might spot Brad heading toward me.

I was just about half a minute from giving up, and returning home. I jumped up, knocked my and two other guys' drinks over, to take one last look around, before declaring the night a total failure.

Finally, here he came, nearly 45 minutes late, wearing a red satin sheen Cutter & Buck Dry Tech shirt that wicks moisture away from your skin, while drying rapidly to keep you cool and comfortable. Pairing integrity of design and traditional quality construction with the latest in innovative technology, Brad's high performance garment was providing him with absolute protection and luxurious ease of wear, in any weather or clime.

#1 secret of creative writing

...is to do this, exactly as I spell it out to you:

(1) Make up the most absurd title you can think of

(like

How To Disappear and Be Invisible

or Why Air is Unnecessary

or Headless Soldiers

or I Fall Asleep in the Center of the Planet Pluto

or Complete False Instructions on How To Almost Write a Successful, Poor Selling Novel for Vast and Worthless Profits).

(2) Force yourself to figure out some way to write something based on this bizarre and impossible title.

sinking ship report

"Sir, I believe the ship is not steady horizontally, if you'll pardon my being so bold as to say so, in such a direct and sudden manner" I said.

I was hired unexpectedly, one might say maniacally, and for three days straight, I did next to nothing but stare at a door that refused to swing. A carpet sans footsteps. The business was dead, and I had no idea why I was being paid to watch it rot.

That door just stood there, that carpet just ached for feet to tread upon it. I heard it scream once in forlorn agony of empty uselessness.

Can you guess how exhausting it is to do nothing all day long? It's not easy to stare at one thing, then another, then read a little of a book, then drink from a water bottle, then find something else to stare at. Hour after deadly dull hour. You run out of reveries and places to scratch yourself.

The sheer lunacy of the situation was refreshing, in an oppressive way. The weight of nothingness pressed down on me so heavily I could hardly breathe or think.

I went home with brain dead written all over my face. I looked at others and all things with vacant, frigid eyes.

It was eating my mind right out of my head, sucking it out my eye sockets, this periscopic drowning pool.

I felt myself swirling down some unknowable, unimaginably desolate drain, to be set adrift, eventually, in the waves I saw as they were sluggishly washing and whirling away, outwardly expanding toward the rapidly spinning vortex of dizzy and unseemly sewage, a bored and tested effluvial disdain.

The Other Thans: my secret society for scaring people

"I don't know why I'm telling you this," I started to explain. At that point, I had not told her anything, but was getting ready to do so.

My face wore a grave expression.

"What?" Blake asked.

"I mean, there's nothing to be done about it really," I continued in a murky manner. "I got fired, again, and I'm really annoyed about how it happened."

I gave Blake all the gory details of trust, enthusiasm, hard work, sincerity, betrayal, termination. The typical story of my long string of job failures. Falling flat on my face was becoming an entrenched trend. While I could blame from 2% to 20% of it on myself, I was convinced that I was being misunderstood, mistreated, and mangled by the gears of corporate systems.

Blake was silent for what seemed like about 10 minutes. He turned away from me and stared off toward the woods behind my house. I sat there, wondering what he was contemplating.

"I know what needs to be done," he said finally. "We need to form a cult, then invade the store wearing weird esoteric costumes. Perform a bizarre but quick ritual. Shake them up, you know?"

I had no idea what he was talking about.

"What good would that do?" I asked, slightly irritated at such a mysterious suggestion. I knew he was serious, but it didn't make any sense. "Just to scare them or something?"

"Freak them out", Blake replied.

"Why?"

"Revenge."

"How would that be retaliation?" I asked. I could not imagine any possible benefits from such an act, nor could I envision what the costumes and ritual might be. It reminded me of guerilla theatre, a surveillance camera skit.

"You'll see," Blake assured me. "What we'll do is invade the store, and act like we're performing a curse against them, something memorable that will haunt them for a long time. If they're superstitious or easily influenced, we'll have a big impact."

So that's how my secret society of The Other Thans came about.

Blake was right: the bizarre costumes, incoherent mutterings, and flashy stage effects really did the trick. We fried their circuits to the max. Several employees had to seek psychiatric counseling after we pulled that mystical stunt. I was proud of Blake and my other buddies who joined in on the fun.

From retaliation against an employer, to intimidating my trailer trashy neighbors who used the block as a day care center, The Other Thans soon became an incredibly effective weapon in my arsenal.

If anyone is interested in more details, I'd be happy to provide them. This strategy can be applied to a wide variety of situations.