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    Day Dreaming Tales
    Day Dreaming Tales
    Day Dreaming Tales
    Ebook127 pages1 hour

    Day Dreaming Tales

    By Larry Day

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    About this ebook

    "Day Dreaming: Tales from the Fourth Dementia." A quick read. Each tale is 700 words or fewer. Topics: Media Marvels, Weird Rich Folks, Fairy Tales Redux, Marital Blitz, Hilarious Higher Ed. Luv a Guvmint, Home Town Folks, Alien Encounters

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLarry Day
    Release dateMar 15, 2012
    ISBN9781105184222
    Day Dreaming Tales
    Author

    Larry Day

    A horse that Larry Day’s mother was riding on the way to the hospital to deliver him bucked her off into a patch of four leaf clovers. Larry has felt lucky ever since. My real name is John Laurence Day. --I was born in Idaho of godly Mormon parents. --I’ve been married to the same woman nearly 50 years. --I have two children and two grandchildren. Because my parents and my wife indulged me, I earned BA, MA and Ph.D. degrees. Because the United States of America indulged me, I have earned money, among other things, as a potato picker, newspaper carrier, stage hand, model in a student art class, graduate assistant, newspaper reporter, copy editor, foreign correspondent, full time university professor, Fulbright lecturer, trainer of journalists on three continents, documentary television crew member, nonfiction book author, short fiction writer* and humor columnist**

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      Book preview

      Day Dreaming Tales - Larry Day

      Day Dreaming: Tales from the Fourth Dementia

      By

      Larry Day

      KINDLE EDITION

      PUBLISHED BY:

      Larry Day on Smashwords & Kindle

      Day Dreaming Tales

      Copyright © 2011-2014 by Larry Day

      For Emmaline

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      Media Marvels

      Heavenly Spin

      Ten Minutes before the Hour

      Straight Talk

      They Beam it to Your Cortex

      Unblocked Writers

      Weird Rich Folks

      Insults, Ltd

      Notorious

      One if by Land

      Garage Sale cum Laude

      And All that Trash

      Fairy Tales Redux

      The Lone Vampire

      The Big Bad Psyche

      The King’s New Clothes

      Andrew Klees and the Limo

      Marital Blitz

      Dinks and Figs

      The Maridos Club Crisis

      Mall Maridos, Inc.

      Caught in the Act

      The Clothes Mule

      Hilarious Higher Ed

      Malaprops

      The Potty Professor

      A Tale of Two Flights

      Creative Billing

      Now a Word From

      Home Town Folks

      Nosy Nelida

      Pat and Pete

      Pete and Pat Get Married

      Bib Overalls

      Ski Togs

      Luv A Guvmint

      Code Blur

      Screw Ups

      Bigger, Better Screw Ups

      The Vigilance Corps

      Eric the Red

      Alien Encounters

      I Speak Alien

      Love Talk

      Alien Boinks

      Musick Hath Charms

      Cosmic Outsourcing

      CHAPTER 1:

      MEDIA

      MARVELS

      Heavenly Spin

      Horace Grover was one of the slickest, most talented media

      spin meisters who ever lived, so naturally when he died, the

      devil was there at the gates of hell to greet him personally.

      Welcome to Hades Mr. Grover, said Satan.

      Call me Chip, said Horace. Then he kissed the devil’s

      hoof. Grover didn’t have to stand in line at hell’s induction center

      like all the others who arrived when he did. Instead, a

      curvaceous Demonette showed him to the VIP lounge, handed

      him a drink, and invited him to relax while four eager interns

      processed his paperwork for him.

      After he was settled in his swank condominium overlooking

      the boiling sulfur pits, Grover had a visitor. Her name was Tanya

      Alonzo, former CEO of Mangldorf Mining and Smelting, Inc.

      Alonzo was chief liaison officer for hell’s Division of Limbo

      Affairs. The Division of Limbo Affairs handled the cases of dead

      people who were caught between heaven and hell.

      Grover offered Alonzo a drink, and after a bit of chitchat,

      they got down to business

      Chip, we have a spin problem, she said.

      J. Edgar Hoover, said Grover.

      "You really are good," said Alonzo.

      I do my homework.

      "The chief liaison office of heaven’s Division of Limbo Affairs

      is trying everything he can think of to make us take Hoover

      down here, but Satan won’t hear of it. He says it’s not fair to

      push Hoover off on us."

      "Satan doesn’t give a rotten red apple core about what’s

      fair, said Grover. The devil is frightened. He’s worried about

      blackmail. Hoover was one of the best blackmailers in the

      business. He collected dirt on every U.S. president from FDR to

      Lyndon Johnson. Hoover had a gotcha file on every high level

      public person in the country. The devil’s also afraid that if

      Hoover comes to hell, he’ll get in touch with his old Mafia

      colleagues. With the help from hell’s Mafia, Hoover could take

      over the whole place," said Grover.

      Boy, you sure don’t pussyfoot around, do you? said

      Alonzo.

      Only when I spin something for media consumption, said

      Grover. "When I spin something to the media, I’m the best

      pussyfooter who ever lived.

      That’s why the chief picked you for this project, said

      Alonzo. "He wants you to come up with a scheme that will

      rehabilitate J. Edgar Hoover’s image. Our secret surveys show

      that, public opinion among the heavenly hosts is equally divided

      when it comes to Hoover. Half of the angels think he’s terrific.

      The other half thinks he’s a cross-dressing crook."

      Surveys never lie, said Grover.

      But liars take surveys, they shouted in unison, gave each

      other a high five.

      "There’s a Souls in Limbo Reduction Conference coming up

      soon, said Alonzo. We want you to cook up something that will

      boost Hoover’s acceptance rating among the anti-Hoover

      angels by 15 percentage points. If you succeed, the chief of

      heaven’s Division of Limbo Affairs will beg me to let him take

      Mr. John Edgar Hoover straight to heaven," said Alonzo.

      Will you do that for us, Chip?" She asked seductively.

      Sure, said Grover. It’ll be a pleasure.

      Ten Minutes Before the Hour

      Folks like a hometown kid who makes a big splash in the

      great world beyond Letongaloosa, so people in town were

      fascinated when all the major national news media ran stories

      about how Biggley Masters fought the powers of prime time

      television darkness and won.

      It’s an interesting story.

      Biggley Masters was destined from birth to "slip the surly

      bonds of life in Letongaloosa and dance the skies on laughter silvered

      wings," in the television entertainment industry.

      He wrote his first script at age five, and produced his first

      show, The Lost Puppy, using neighborhood children as actors,

      at age eight. Biggley thrived as a writer and thespian at

      Letongaloosa High School, and by the time he enrolled at

      Letongaloosa Community Junior College, he had caught the eye

      of network producers. By age nineteen Biggley was writing for

      All My Soul Mates, a daytime network soap opera.

      In his twenties Biggley wrote for prime time network shows

      like Desperate Siblings, and The Criminal Mind Meddler. He

      was a network producer before his thirtieth birthday, and had

      won three Gimmes and two Hefties by the time he was thirty-five.

      It was Biggley Masters’ knack for producing hit television

      shows that eventually led to trouble between him and network

      bigwigs. Major national advertisers fought to get their

      commercials on Biggley’s shows. Advertisers bought time on

      network loser shows so that that their commercials were

      assured a place on Biggley’s prime time programs.

      Network executives began pushing Biggley and his writers

      to produce shows with tighter and tighter plots. The executives

      —they’re called suits in TV parlance—wanted more time each

      hour for commercial messages. At first Biggley saw it as an

      interesting challenge—cutting plot lines to the bone while

      maintaining the show’s integrity. But the time came when

      Biggley couldn’t do that, so he rebelled.

      A crisis ensued. A hotshot new suit told Biggley to cut two

      and a half minutes from an episode of the cop thriller "Forced

      Entry." The bottom-line-focused suit wanted to add another

      commercial.

      No, said Biggley.

      No, what?

      "No, I won’t cut another second from that show. If I cut it

      anymore, the plot will lose continuity. The viewers might get

      confused."

      That’s nonsense, said the suit. Besides, who cares?

      I care. Now get the hell out of my office.

      That confrontation precipitated a meeting of the network’s

      most important suits, the hotshot new suit, and Biggley Masters.

      The meeting was acrimonious and protracted. In the end

      Biggley agreed to cut two and a half minutes from the show.

      Excellent, said the CEO suit.

      We knew we could count on you, said the COO suit.

      You’re the man, said the suit in charge of ratings.

      The hotshot new suit who had caused the crisis didn’t say

      anything until the others had left.

      Better luck next time, he said.

      A few weeks later when that episode of Forced Entry, was

      ending, the network switchboard lit up. Incoming calls swamped

      the network’s phone circuits. The network had to shut them

      down.. The network’s Internet server blew out after it became

      overloaded with angry e-mail messages.

      The urgent business ringtone on Biggley’s cell phone rang.

      What the @#$%^&() is going on? yelled the hotshot suit.

      What do you mean? asked Biggley.

      "'Forced Entry’ viewers are going crazy. What did you do to

      tonight’s episode?"

      "I did what you told me to do. I cut the show by two and a

      half minutes."

      Where did you cut it? asked the suit.

      "I cut the segment that comes at ten minutes before the

      hour," said Biggley.

      The hotshot suit screamed obscenities. Then he subsided

      into incoherent babbling. Biggley smiled and pressed the off

      button.

      Anyone who watches prime time television knows that all

      plots are keyed to a segment that comes at ten minutes before

      the hour. The boy gets the girl, the winning team is revealed, the

      cops get the clue that nails the killer. It’s formula television.

      Because of Biggley’s strategic cut in that episode of "Forced

      Entry," millions of viewers didn’t receive the key clues that

      solved the crime. The viewers had no clue, and they went nuts.

      The story of the network’s missing clue blooper was prime

      time news in print, television and the Internet. In the end,

      Biggley Masters didn’t get fired. The hot shot suit got fired.

      Straight Talk

      If you send me to cover a pie-baking contest on Mother’s Day,

      I’m going to ask dear old Mom if she used artificial sweetener or

      if she stole the apples." — Sam Donaldson

      Journalism largely consists of saying Lord Jones is dead

      to people who never knew that Lord Jones was alive." — G.K.

      Chesterton

      Journalism is caring where the fire engines are going. —

      Jim Lehrer

      Seely Richins published the Letongaloosa Weekly Plainsman,

      and he never asked anyone a mean question. He never told his

      readers that Lord Jones or anyone else was dead,

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