Block

Stop staring at me, blank piece of paper.  Hmmm, piece of paper – pp – PP. That’s what I’m going to startcalling you, PP, so get used to it. 

Ok then, I guess you want to have a staring contest, then? Ok, on the count of three.  

One-two-three. 

   tick-tock    tick-tock    tick-tock 

Did you just blink, PP? DAMN – that was me. You win again, okay? But you have to admit – a new record for me; one and a half minutes. I was about to sneeze anyway.  

AH-CHOO! 

What did you say? Say it, don’t spray it? Oh boo-hoo, stop whining. You can be replaced you know. 

Listen, I have to go to the bathroom – don’t go anywhere until I get back. 

Ok, I’m back. Sheesh, I usually get my best ideas on the crapper, but bupkis this time. 

You think it’s easy coming up with new ideas for what to write about? My mind is about as blank as you, PP. Writer’s block that’s what they call it. That’s your fault, you know. You’re just lying there, blocking me from writing. Maybe I should just wad you up and throw you in the wastebasket where you join all the other ones in there. 

Then I’d be writing on the table. But the woman in the white coat would get mad at me and make me go to my room for a few days again. 

What’s that, PP? I should try composing on the computer?  Hell, that’s even worse. There’s that blank pixelated page staring at you, I mean straight at you, not up at you. That’s bad enough, but then there’s all this crap surrounding it. That’s even more stuff staring back at you.  It’s even worse yet when I actually start writing something and it starts barking at me about all my speling and grammmer mistakes. Who needs that? You know what they say – ignorance is bliss. 

Maybe I’ll start singing “Ice Ice Baby.” That usually gives me an idea for a horror story. 

“To the extreme, I rock a mic like a vandal 
   Light up a stage and wax a chump like a candle 
Dance, go rush to the speaker that booms 
   I’m killing your brain like a poisonous mushroom” 

Nope, nada. It’s a crap song anyway. 

You think it’s easy just to think up something and start writing? Ok, there’s that pen lying right beside you, how about you start writing something on me? I mean literally on me, my body. Wait while I get undressed. 

Ok, PP, I’m completely naked now, standing before you. Start writing. 

Uh-huh, that’s what I thought. Not so easy, is it? What’s that? It’s hard writing on a body that’s hairy all over and you want me to please, please, please get dressed again? Well, ok. 

So, you want me to ask my writers group for ideas? Oh no, I tried that before.  Instead, they begged me to please, please, please stop submitting new stories. Well, they think they’re all better writers than me. Come to think of it, they are. That’s why I want a new story, just to punish them. A really bad story – that’ll show them. 

Write what you know? That’s the problem, I don’t know much about anything. I spend most of my days just staring at you. The rest of the time is on social media, but people keep blocking me – Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, texting me– you name it, they block me.  Now what kind of story would that make – “Got blocked on Facebook again today.” Yawn. 

Do I have a girlfriend? I used to, but she said I was driving her crazy, broke up with me, and blocked me on all the social media platforms. It didn’t last long anyway. What kind of story would that be – two dates and a single kiss? The kiss, she turned her cheek to me, then ran away. 

What’s that? Take a hike? Why, yes, PP, that’s a good idea. Fresh air could do me some good. It’s getting dark and that’s a good time for me. My eyes are not accustomed to the light. 

I’m back, PP, and guess what? I’ve got an idea for a story! Wait’ll you hear this, the opening sentences: 

“It’s a dirty story about a dirty man and his clinging wife doesn’t understand. His son is working for the Daily Mail, and he needs a job, and he wants to be a paperback writer.” 

Really, PP, copyright infringement? Really? Are you sure? DAMN! 

Copyright © Johnny Clack 2022