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Copyright James LaFond 2022
A Crackpot Book
Lynn Lockhart Publisher
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On Sunday Night, May 29 2022, in Saffrono, New Jersey, the author, a compulsive novelist, discovered a fictional character, Juju Quartermaine, who he had invented in outline in October 2020, in Oakland, California, and had thought remained a fictional creature, frozen in the rogues gallery of his own twisted mind. The night’s caper had been unplanned, simply an invitation to sin. Yet this author, suffering from Attenuated Graphomania, seeking solace to write one novel while evading the ghost of Juju Quartermaine in his own brain, came into contact with the Pygmy Witchdoctor, doing a dance with a savage criminal Kyshatria around a hookah lounge teeming with cartoon slave girls…
The following journal does constitute an attempt not to write a journal, while traveling—something like a drunk in a bar seeking sobriety—and will only be marked a success if it is not completed by July Last and the novels Cox & Swain, Porch and Longshank Kane are instead completed.
There is a midget Negro—
He cavorts within a broken head;
The three Norns there begin to feed and grow and disrobe;
and there they dance to a crooked song long ago dead…
It wonders, it does, is this where the damned go?
Or is that scheming Pygmy growing inside this ringing head?
Apologies to the editor, James LaFond, 6/2/2022
For Teddy, who remains much offended by the world passing him by.
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Further dedicated to Andrew Edwards, author of King of Dogs, who would never waste his well-considered time in this unfortunate fashion.
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Inspirational Monologue
As the author and his host waded in the pool drinking beer.
“I was not there. If I did not see it happen, there is no compelling reason to believe it was real. You don’t mean to tell me that you are one of those Round Earthers, are you?
“Honestly, though I appreciate the Middle Ground, and I do have respect for that last man that will inhabit that Middle Ground right before the iron heel of the eternal [ShaltNotBeNamed] crushes him, I see no other rational view of life than that of the reactionary Natsy.
“In one fashion, I do miss having the ability to see the world from the normal point of view. I‘m completely—at this point—incapable of seeing the world from the normal perspective, which is to say, as a woman, from the whining, yammering bitch perspective. A bunch of spic kids get killed by a crazy spic in a spic town and it is supposed to matter? To who? Not to me.
“Perhaps, if I could get into a stupid machine, that reversed perception, replaced the cuck-muzzle on my snout, and had me waving the Red, White and [3 redacted letters], then maybe I’d be happier, believing in all of the bizarre fantasies that keep the American mind afloat? I don’t know.
“For instance, the news repels me. After you discover that every news story that you ever hear about something that you really know about—like you with boxing or me with my profession—is utterly false to the point of being impossible to digest by an actual experienced person who knows the subject, and you recall that you believed every news story about those many things that you know nothing about, how can you not conclude that everything we are told is a lie?”
“And once you conclude that everything is a lie, well, shouldn’t the worshippers of the lie, shouldn’t they...well, lets not finish that statement since I see that your own personal sattelite has once gain begun orbiting my pool...exactly how long does it take these [3 redacted letters] fuckers from locating you?”
[laughter]
“You know, probably the reason why you were not successful in raping every African bitch in the Antebellum South, was because of the fact that your time machine was a bicycle. If it had been an actual carpetbag tat required work to lug around, then Jamal would have never taken it from Sensei Steve’s back yard while you were at the liquor store buying that God Awful rum you used to drink…”
“James, let us vacate the pool and repair to the air conditioning—this is how gentlemen live. It is almost summer and we must train the world to maintain our comfort and repose before actual discomfort gets here… You two animals really should have boxed in the pool—heat stroke IS REAL, I can tell you that. Oh, and while you are here, do feel free to float a big-titty bitch of whatever race you prefer in my pool. I do not hate mindless flotation devices. Life is too short, James.”
-Mister Saffrono, Tuesday, May 31, Natsy Land Resort
