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    Choked
    Choked
    Choked
    Ebook123 pages1 hour

    Choked

    By Cameron Glenn

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Kent wants Chole to be his girlfriend. This is an beatnik inspired attempt at a Young Adult mash up between "The Great Gatsby" and "The Catcher in the Rye" which becomes its own unique thing.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCameron Glenn
    Release dateDec 29, 2015
    ISBN9781310661105
    Choked
    Author

    Cameron Glenn

    Cameron Glenn grew up the third of seven children in Oregon. As a child he dedicated hours to the pursuits of basketball and cartooning, as well as waking up way too early for his paper route in order to earn money to buy toys, candy and comic books. He also loved to read and write, which he continues to do voraciously. He currently lives in Salt Lake City after having earned a BA in literature from Boise State.

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      Book preview

      Choked - Cameron Glenn

      Choked

      By Cameron Glenn

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2016 Cameron Glenn

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      CHOKED

      One

      This will probably be awful but it’s mostly just what I want to say. I wish I could write something that would affect culture and be something talked about, or sell enough to give me money to not worry about bills or budgets, but I can’t do that, or be that way; I don’t know how anyone can. It’d be cool to write something and see it on a movie screen and meet the pretty actresses. Getting bad reviews might suck, but it’d be interesting anyways, to get into people’s heads. Anyways, I don’t know.

      My brother’s insurance won’t pay for his car crash. My older brother Sean had to pay

      $2,000 to this guy he hit with his car recently. I can’t even really wrap my mind around that. Two thousand dollars. Needlessly wasted. What could that have bought instead? What could even be done to make that much money back? I don’t know. A 60 dollar video game or DVD box set is a lot of money to me. $2,000 just gets into the abstract realm. But life, money, car-crashes aren’t abstract things.

      My brother’s nearly 30 and he lives at home and doesn’t really do much. I don’t think he’s ever had a girlfriend. God I hope I don’t end up like him. Please god. I don’t hate him, or even really pity him or anything. I just hope I don’t end up like him. Sean was one of those guys who didn’t have insurance. He thought paying for it was a waste of money—300 bucks every four months—for what? All I do is drive to work and back—that’s all the driving I do, I’m a safe driver—I’ve already put in a few thousand dollars into the insurance pot over the years and haven’t gotten anything out of it—it’s like they’re stealing from me: so went his thinking.

      There was this free outdoor concert downtown at pioneer park—some black old soul singer lady, and Sean wasn’t going to go but then he did and he had fun, dancing to the lady’s old dance James Brown style shout-out medley song—This is the chicken, do the chicken; this is the mashed potato, do the mashed potato, and he let loose in it a bit, got people around him dancing too, everyone having a good time, with the energy; some kid passing by put his head on my brother’s head and shook it like an owner shaking the fluffy head of his good dog, and my brother and this stranger kid exchanged smiles, (everyone a friend at a successful party) and there was this pretty girl-lady in a cherry print skirt in front of us, and the song ended and my brother had to leave to go to work—working the graveyard shift, the grind.

      Parking had been hell and he had parked on the side of a one way street which heads towards the freeway, next to the corner, and he waited for the turning cars to pass, and it looked clear, he says, and he merged then felt this bump and he had hit the side of this car, a 2003 Spyder it was called, he told me, and his car was fine but he left a dent in the side of the silver Spyder, and the driver was this muscular kid with two star shoulder tattoos and the kid called the police and my brothers insurance actually ran out that very day (so he claims) and the accident was his fault—just a stupid, unlucky, needless thing, which now cost him 2,000 dollars. In today’s economy a lot of people couldn’t afford that. I’m not sure how my brother can. If he can. Maybe he’ll have to talk mom and dad into lowering their already too generous rent. I guess my brother is lucky it didn’t cost more; didn’t hit some million dollar Lamborghini or cause some baby to die. There’s always bad luck/good luck perspectives which spring up in things like crashes or theft or damages; bad luck it happened at all, good luck it wasn’t worse. It’d be tough to live with yourself if you knew you were the cause of a baby death, or any death. You can’t just try to forget something like that by putting in Drunk Girls by LCD Soundsystem and dance around, sliding across the wood floor in wool socks to try to manufacture some good feelings, to try and make a person forget some stress and troubles like my brother did the morning he went to the post office to send the money orders to his crash victim. (He said it didn’t work; he still felt stupid, depressed, bewildered and foolish). He wrote in his e-mail to the guy, no offense but I hope I never run into you again—Ha, bad joke. What an idiot.

      Anyways, the only point of this story was to say that I don’t want to end up like my brother. The insurance company is making him pay back fees although they won’t pay for the accident damage. Yet he still will watch those stupid Geico commercials with the talking lizard or stupid cavemen and laugh. Laughing at—I don’t know what or why. The insanity of the world. I’m going to have to make some changes if I’m going to avoid becoming like my brother. No longer be so isolated or unsure about everything, lacking confidence or will or I don’t

      know what. Ambition. Goals. Anything. I’m going to have to become ambitious about something. I’m going to have to get a girlfriend.

      TWO

      I was talking to my friend Gary before Algebra class and he was telling me this story, or it wasn’t a story but rather this recap of this movie he watched the previous night on The Movie Channel, this soft porn thing edited down to a R rating rather than a NC-17, and he was telling me how frustrating that was—the lesbians in the hot tub scene cut before it starts to really get good at all—and he was complaining how ugly the girls in these types of movies are—well not really reality world ugly, he said, they’ll usually have nice surgically enhanced big boobs, but are ugly faced, and why can’t they get Playboy models to act in these movies, he asked; a lot of the playboy models are just too pretty to be real, he said, then listed some names, and he said their acting can’t be any worse than these other girls—just comically atrocious—so what’s the deal—why don’t they act in these movies, since they already have no qualms about getting naked?

      I don’t know, probably contract stuff, or not enough money, or they somehow think soft porn is less classy than nude modeling, I said.

      Well that sucks, he answered. There was this one pretty girl in it, but she had small boobs, which kind of sucked; still, she was the best. She’s the one who ended up doing it for me.

      I wasn’t going to ask him to elaborate on doing what exactly, so I asked him what the plot was.

      I don’t know, he answered. Something stupid, some guy owns a modeling agency and he wants to get this lingerie contract or something, or else his dad would make him move to Alaska.

      I laughed. Not like plot matters at all, I said.

      Right, he said. "The pretty girl sort of looked like Alicia Silverstone from ‘Clueless’".

      Nice, I said. "Maybe it was Alicia Silverstone."

      She was the best actress of the bunch, but that’s not saying much. She played his secretary, was the smart bookworm, you know, all those movies have to have the supposedly reserved bookworm girl role, but, this was the funniest part of the whole movie, her two favorite authors were Steinbeck and Wagner.

      Wagner? Who’s that?

      He’s a classical music composer. That’s what I thought, I said.

      "And in this porn world universe he also apparently wrote classic literature.

      Coincidentally Wagner was also the favorite author of this handsome carpenter, and once they found out they share the same favorite author— Wagner—it’s time to get it on."

      I laughed. Of course.

      Also funny, so the model agency owner has sex with all his models, you know, who are all supposedly the hottest things in L.A., never mind they could never really model for real.

      Don’t ruin the fantasy, I said. "Right. Anyways, the big breasted

      Asian girl is told the news and is all, that can’t happen, we’re like a family, but basically he’s

      like their pimp. Heaven forbid her pimp moves to Alaska."

      I laughed. I don’t know how you can talk about this stuff so openly.

      About what? Watching porn? "Well, yeah, I said.

      What, you don’t? Everybody does. I feel ashamed.

      He rolled his eyes.

      I had watched Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince on HBO that night, then an episode of True Blood. True Blood has some nudity, but too much gore intermixed for the nudity to really have any impactful sexual effect. And all that gore (in this episode a vampire ripped out a newscasters spine live on air—kind of funny actually, or supposed to be kind of shockingly funny) just sort of reminds you of what

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