11/12/20
I had a bizarre dream that I took the invite recently tendered me by email from a “PMC,” who wants me to get off a train in North Central Montana, walk to the Canadian border along a back road, and get ferried across the border to his private compound where I would train him in escrima and boxing. I was flattered in the email and explained that I would only leave the prison of my birth if abducted by aliens…
In the dream I entered a used car dealership showroom at 3:30 A.M., which was manned by creepy firefighters, who then drove me to Montanan and left me limping along the wintry road wondering what kind of Creep State Mindfuck experiments were going to be run on me.
Then—let me check my Obama flip-phone…
At: 7:39 A.M. eastern time I was called by 757-942-2101 and tried to awake from my stupor, as I had awakened at 2:21 A.M. drank beer for two [?] hours with my host and then went to sleep at 5:12 A.M. and failed to answer.
I called back and sure enough it was another adorable little person working for one of the half-dozen subsidy publishing houses that have been hounding me to pay them to publish my books and she sounded so damned cute I just had to have some fun:
James: I’m returning a call from this number.
Itty Bitty Fliporita: Ah yes, Sorry you sound asleep You are James LaFond, amazing author of many books: Waking Up in Indian Country, Darkly, Thriving in Bad Places, Apocalisp, the Lies That Beend? Us…
James: Bind, the Lies that Bind Us
Itty Bitty Fliporita: Yes, of course. Most impressive as I see this enormous catalogue of your books. Mister LaFond, I have called you to ask if you are pleased with the promotion of your books, Waking Up In Indian Country in particular.
James: I don’t promote my books. I just write them.
Itty Bitty Fliporita: You publish them?
James: No, Baby, I’m too stupid for that. My niece and this very nice lady volunteer to publish them for me.
Itty Bitty Fliporita: I see, Mister LaFond. Would you like to have your books on display in our show case store, brick and mortar on the shelf, at our actual physical location?
James: No.
Itty Bitty Fliporita: I see…let me ask you, Misser LaFon, what inspires you to write?
James: I am not inspired. I am driven to write in a failing attempt to stay one step ahead of Insanity
Itty Bitty Fliporita: How many books have you written and how so much—this is amazing, unparalleled. I am still scrolling through your listings.
James: I have 23 books juggling in my head right now. One will soon become a mania and I will write until it is done. Then, in an effort to forget it I will get drunk and wake up here, confused and alone, fearing the booted tread of the next book to come rampaging through my brain.
Itty Bitty Fliporita: Oh, my. Oh dear… yes, Mizzr LaFon’, how if we help, we take promotional responsibility for Waking Up In Indian Country. For a payment of Eight-hundred-and-ninety-nine dollars, you retain copyright and get full royalties and we promote your book on all channels, schedule podcasts.
James: So, you are offering me an advance of eight-ninety-nine and full royalties? How do you all make out?
Itty Bitty Fliporita: Oh, let me be clear Missr Lafon, you provide us da money and we give all royalties to promoted book to you.
James: Look, Doll, you sound very sweat but I barely have a thousand dollars to my name, and if you think you’re going to get it—I’m not saying you can’t pull it off—you’re going to have to be on my lap at least. I mean, if we’re that friendly, you’ve probably got the wallet in the bag.
Itty Bitty Fliporita: Oh, Missr Lafon’, I cannot do that…
James: Baby, how far are you from Portland?
Itty Bitty Fliporita: Missr Lafon have a very nice day and you have my contact information…
And the old coot cackled with laughter in the dark garage, in his cozy bed next to the weight bench…
