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Home Katfish The Dirty Secrets of FCI Big Spring, Texas Creative Non-Fiction and What it Means to Us All
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Written by Katfish   
Tuesday, 16 June 2009 00:31

Imagine, if  you will.....



Bang! Bang! Bang! CRASH! The front door is smashed off it's hinges and flies into the room. Dozens of stormtroopers foam into the house. All are wearing black nylon jackets with the alphabet stamped on the back in huge yellow letters: ATF..ICE...DOJ....FBI.... A no-knock warrant is being executed. You hear the same cacophony from the back of the house as the forces of justice break in. Every storm-trooper has the ubiquitous glock 10mm or .40 cal out in front of them.

 

 

 

Pop! Pop! From the back of the house. Uh-oh, there goes Fido. The forces of justice have killed the dog; a 14 year old collie who could barley rise from his bed by the stove, yet managed to get to his feet and issue a protest bark which earned him two in the skull. They've terminated that threat. Shades of Ruby Ridge....

 

 


Meanwhile, in the den, an old man who had been sitting in his lounge chair, feet propped up on the footrest, toes wriggling inside red flannel socks, pipe in hand, becomes alarmed and starts to get to his feet. The door in the den crashes open and at least ten stormtroopers pour in.


"Federal Agents! Marshals! Police!", is shouted. They spy the old man. "There he is! You! On the ground motherfucker!! Now!", they roar as one.


"But what is this? Who are you? What do you want?", the old man asks.


One large goon grabs the old man and throws him to the floor face down. Two more dogs pile onto him while the goon kneels on his neck. His arms are yanked up and cuffs are snapped on. They get off of him and the goon jerks him to his feet and flings him back into the chair which skids back a couple inches form the impact.


A storm-trooper with the inevitable flat top crew-cut hair-do steps up and says "Are you Tolkien?" He consults his notes, "J.R.R. Tolkien?"


"What's this about?", the old man asks, a drops of blood trickles from one nostril.


Crew cut backhands the old man with a loud crack. "I asked you a question. Are you J.R.R. Tolkien? I advise you to answer me."


The old man looked up at the storm trooper, fear and pain in his eyes. He nods his head and says, "Yes. Yes I am Tolkien." Add another trickle of blood, from his lip.

 


"That's good. That's REAL good, " Crew cut says. He then turns to his men and says, "We're secure here. Run out and search." He then turns back to the old man and says, "So where are they, Mister Tolkien? It'll go a lot easier on you if you cooperate."


"Where are who?", the old man asks perplexed.


Crew-cut heaves a big sigh and says, "The Orcs. We have reason to believe you are harboring Orcs."


"Orcs?", cries the old man, "Are you crazy?"


"No. We're the Department of Justice. And we have read your confessions."


"My confessions? What are you talking about?"


"The Lord of the Rings. You should've never written down your activities with Orcs. They are terrorists you know," Crew-cut declared knowingly.


"You're insane. Orcs don't exist, I made them up...."


"Sure, that's your story NOW. But the Department of Justice read your book, and it's simply too convincing to be anything other than the truth. Now then, Mister Tolkien", a backhand crack!, "Where", forehand crack!, "Are", Crack!, "The", CRACK!, "Orcs?", CRACK!

 


 

 


Not that this actually happened, you understand, but last night I was laying there thinking about Christina Ricci- whom I believe is the hottest chick to come along since Farrah, Hubba Hubba- when the potato-heads of the DOJ crashed into my mind like the Keystone Kops, Gobbling like hysterical turkeys that my first novel, "Glimpses of Madness" (GOM) is indictable because of some of the things I wrote about. Therefore I'd like to introduce you to a friend of mine, a little thing called "creative non-fiction". As my grandfather would say, "Ain't that a corker?"


Let me define this: Creative Non-Fiction means that I MAY have come to a part in GOM where I felt the story was dragging a bit therefore I may have CREATED a scenario or two, or three or five or even ten that assisted with the storyline while also encouraging the reader to read on. Thus, should any DOJ storm-trooper or any of their Alphabet police come around here looking for Orcs, they they really are the fools I suspect they've always been. EVERYTHING I've written, or have yet to write, I proclaim "Creative Non-Fiction". And if the DOJ still believes in the existence of Orcs, then the burden of proof is upon them.

 

 

Boo-yah.

 



Comments
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sativa   |208.66.189.xxx |2009-06-20 19:41:17
Booyah, indeed.
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