If You Can Dodge a Wrench, You Can Write For Five Minutes

(Why am I not actually using this time to work on my book? Look, a bison! #SmokeBomb)

Hoo boy, we're having fun now. Digging the five-minute word sprints. Now on YouTube is Twisted Sister's "We're Not Gonna Take It." First, RIP Neidermeyer, and second, I have nothing but admiration & respect for the fact Dee Snyder admits that song was brilliant marketing on his part & he planned on selling out from the beginning. It's a great song & they are a solid band. Nothing wrong with using your talent to create an anthem that's easily monetized.

Whatever. High's starting to wear off (but there's always more) & the timer's set for five minutes.

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He walked through the door more pissed than I’ve ever seen him.

Fred wasn’t a big man; he didn’t fill the door. Didn’t come close, actually. Standing at around five foot, four inches, Fred wasn’t an intimidating presence. A hint of a pot belly hung over his belt. A double chin spilled over the collar of his t-shirt. Male-pattern baldness was stealing the already-whispy hair upon his head. So no, he wasn’t intimidating.

Except for the massive horn in the dead center of his forehead.

It was massive. Remember Berkley’s dream monster from Bloom County? Remember how it had a giant single horn coming out of his head? That’s what Fred’s looked like. A little more proportional to his body, but incredibly massive and more than a little distracting.

The horn had mysteriously appeared one day around mid-afternoon. He was at a bar, flirting with a woman who you could kindly say was out of his league. Usually, Fred stayed in his lane, but hours of day drinking on a Tuesday had given him the kind of courage where rejection is just the first no on the way to a yes. He excused himself to use the restroom. When he came back, the object of his temporary affection was gone and he had a large, curved horn coming straight out of his head.

He didn’t see it in the restroom as he was splashing some water on his face. In fact, in the years he had the horn, he had never felt it. There was no weight to it, despite the size. It was brought to his attention only after the bartender, a young lady of 21 who had led a reasonably sheltered life, screamed and pointed at Fred.

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Greta Van Fleet's on YouTube now. That voice just shocks the shit out of me every time I hear it.