15 April 2005
Ripped from the very pages
If you asked me to make a list of Things I Will Never Be, probably at the very top would be "fantasy figure"; I can't imagine anyone wasting their time on such a forlorn figment of imagination.
On the other hand, I couldn't imagine myself as a character in fan fiction, even a relatively unimportant one, and yet:
I unfolded a piece of paper I'd retrieved from my pants pocket and tried the first set of numbers on the list: 11-29-98. "Nope. Wrong, Karl." I tried the second: 5-29-74. Nothing. "Too bad, Ken." Then I tried the last combination on the list: A simple: 1-4-5. Again, nothing. "Sorry Karl. Maybe you shoulda used that computer." I thought for a second, pulled out my cell phone, and rang-up a number Karl had given me: "Hello, Mr. Dustbury? How's that wind? Still sweepin' down the plain? Ha, ha! . . . . It isn't? Oh . . . Mr. Dustbury, this is Frank. . . . Francis. . . . Francis Farquhar. . . The Farquhars of Pauls Valley? No. . . I don't think so. . . I'm here at the Command Center. . . Yes, Karl asked me. . . . anyway. . ."
No, it's not Karl Malone or Karl Malden.
(Incidentally, our heroine, contrary to the impression given in the story, is darn near five-foot-two.)Posted at 5:37 PM to Blogorrhea