Darrell Vickers – FtN Chapter Ten: You Mean?…Exactly!

I wrote a large check and Polo fucked-off to do whatever it is I hired him to do and I went to have a last cup of gourmet coffee before heading home to my new house and furniture.

Darrell Vickers – Chapter Nine: He Came Back For His Propeller

It was super fortunate that I had already earned my first advance back because now it was all gone and then some.  The next morning I was back at Harve’s door with a very large hat in hand.  I heard his usual, cheery and stentorian voice beckon me hither.   I wonder if anyone has ever been beckoned yon.  I suppose it’s possible.

Darrell Vickers – FtN: Chapter Eight Kraproom

Meanwhile, across town, Randy was doing a few morning lines off his new glass-top coffee table.  His living room was piled to the ceiling with new ultra-prestigious tech crap; most of it still unpacked.  A gigantic flat screen television was left leaning up against the wall.  He’d taken his top-of-the-line Bang and Asshole-ifson stereo out of the boxes but hadn’t bothered to wire it up.  It was like being a complete jerk-off had consumed his entire life and he just didn’t have time for anything else.  This was especially true now that he’d become a full time snowman.

Darrell Vickers – Farting Through Nylon: Chapter Seven – You Want Some JELLLLLLLYYYY!?

The sudden influx of major money was having an ever-increasing effect on the people in the office.  Nothing about Alchemy changed, of course.  She was still a little paranoid.  Always trying to be the top of the class.  Her phone let her know when to take a break and when to get back to the phones.  When to eat.  How many calories to eat.  If that phone told her when to take a shit and fart, she probably would have obeyed.  I’m not sure if they have an app for that yet.

Darrell Vickers – Farting Through Nylon Chapter Six: Turn It Up To Frenzy!

I think if I were writing a movie instead of a can’t-put-it-down bestseller, I’d make the next few scenes into one of those quick-cut montages to the tune “Money” by Pink Floyd.  Or perhaps “It’s Money That I Love” by Randy Newman.  That day became a veritable cavalcade of unbridled greed and sneaking around.  First it was Flora from Duke, then Josh from John Hopkins and a couple of Brown grads.  Punjab dashed out and actually bought Harvey flowers before asking for his advance.  Randy waited until Brian summoned up the courage to knock on Harvey’s door, then he ran up and pushed him over a big plant pot and walked into the office himself.  What a dick.

Darrell Vickers – Farting Through Nylon – Chapter Five: Needle-Dick the Bug-Fucker

Five minutes later, I walked into my apartment building with an empty stomach, no food and a big bump on my head.  I wasn’t totally empty-handed though, because Rebecca was perched and ever-lovely upon my threshold.  “Damn!” me thinks, “If only I wasn’t so tired I could make up for the other night’s blood-flow problems.”  But no, I had to be sensible now.  I just needed a morsel of food (Alas, I was morselless.) and some long overdue sleep.

Darrell Vickers – Farting Through Nylon – Chapter Four: Oishii Oishii

When I finally did get to the office, good old Dorothy was whistling a merry tune and banging away on her computer like there was no tomorrow.  She looked so calm and at peace and happy.  I, on the other hand, looked like a fugitive from an off-Broadway revival of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.  She greeted me like she had heavily makeup-ed men explode through her front door wearing pajama bottoms with a tie and no jacket every day.

Darrell Vickers – Farting Through Nylon Chapter Three: You Don’t Know What Lonesome Is Till You Get to Herdin’ Cows

On the way home from my business-world triumph, I purchased a bottle of a reasonably potable vintage and climbed up to the roof of my apartment to celebrate.  Kind of a “Top of the World, Ma” moment.  Or was it “King of the World”?  I think “Top of the World” might have been what Edward G. Robinson yelled right before he got shot to death.  That is totally not the mood I was in.  Or so I thought.

Darrell Vickers – Farting Through Nylon: Chapter Two Sunshine/Rain

The next morning, as I sat there with all the other vibrant-thread-to-the-rich-tapestry-adding drones, I began to wish that I was just a little bit fonder of having my nose broken by large black men.

DARRELL VICKERS – FARTING THROUGH NYLON Chapter One Compound Crud

 

In the epic pages that follow, I will weave a tale of a love so pure and transcendent, that angels will have to dab tears from your soggy cheeks as you read.   Your heart cockles may also become exceedingly warmed, so wearing a non-flammable shirt or blouse is advised.  The majestic pallets of dazzling color, that can ordinarily only be seen on the Hi-Def National Geographic Channel, may seem drab in comparison to the blindingly exotic world I shall paint with mere words.  Prepare thyself.  The powerful, nay, volcanic dénouement that I will unleash will leave you physically drained and emotionally spent.  And you might also want to procure a snack, because once you start reading this sucker, you’re not going to want to put it down. 

Okay, you’ve been warned.   My obligations, as a responsible author, have been fulfilled.

Now we can begin.