If you have time, see part one: No Questions! Escape!, then meet me back here, ‘kay?
Are you back? Comfy? Let’s continue. And for you busy types who had no time to read part one, here’s some exposition:
Author Lindy Moone, hereafter known as Roadkill, is being interviewed for your local radio book spot. Picture Roadkill, sitting on her stool, wishing the on-air light would blow up, that she would fall off her stool and need 911, that someone or something important would preempt her — a sous-chef or tsunami would be nice. The flies buzzing around her are starting to look hungry. The DJ, realizing his gas mask makes things (even more) awkward between them, has taken it off and now has a huge, trademarked glob of VapoRub dangling from his upper lip. So far, Roadkill has only made a minor, festering laughing stock of herself. That is about to change.
After a lengthy commercial break (about, in this order: diapers, tampons, incontinence pads, and how to provide your own funeral services from beyond the grave, somehow), during which Roadkill tried to get out of the booth, realized she was locked in, hermetically sealed, no oxygen, lights fading, gasping for breath…
The interview continues:
DJ: “Soooo….. We’re back with Lindy Moone, author of the In(s)ane Mystery, Hyperlink from Hell. We were talking about the character of “Jimmie” — the emotionally stunted Lotto-winner and Reality TV has-been, who’s either psychotic or on a mission from God. I believe, Lindy, you were about to tell me who the character is based on?”
ROADKILL: opens mouth, swallows fly, chokes out, “Me.”
DJ: “Really? How so? Your readers might be surprised to learn that. Did you win the lottery, like Jimmie?”
ROADKILL: thinks notice he didn’t question the ‘psychotic/mission from God‘ part, then thinks she’s saying, I did win the lottery, in a sense. I married a man who made good money — more money than I’d ever dreamed of, although certainly we aren’t wealthy — and I’ve never had to work again. That’s my lottery win. So the book is partly about how unearned economic security can stifle personal growth and ambition. In only that sense is it autobiographical.
but really says, “Yeah. Kinda. I dunno, maybe, something about my husband? That’s it.”
DJ: clears throat.
ROADKILL: thinks, ask me something else. Ask me about religion — the Seven Deadly Sins would be nice. Or Alice in Wonderland. Or Bertrand Russell. They all feature prominently in the book.
but says: “Seven Deadly Bertrands.”
DJ: “I see… What?”
DJ: “Alright… Let’s talk about The Seven Deadly Sins. They feature prominently in the book.”
ROADKILL: whispers, “Are you psychic?” but wishes she’d only thought that. Then wishes she hadn’t thought that.
DJ: decides to ignore the whisper. “Why so much emphasis on religion, when you’re listed on facebook as being a ‘Freethinker’? And would you mind defining ‘Freethinker’ for us?”
ROADKILL: relieved to finally get a question worthy of a polygraph test, says, “Yes!”
DJ: showing his patience is wearing thin for this nutcase, reads from his notes, “A freethinker is a practitioner of Freethought, which is defined in ‘Wikipedia’ as, quote, ‘a philosophical viewpoint that holds opinions should be formed on the basis of logic, reason and empiricism and not authority, tradition, or other dogmas,’ unquote. In other words, you’re a skeptic?”
DJ: thinks, but you believe in Psychics?, but says, “But you DO believe in the Seven Deadly Sins?”
ROADKILL: thinks, yes, but not in the traditional ‘sins against God’ sense. I think of them as ‘sins against self,’ much as I think of most of the Commandments as ‘sins against humanity,’ and far-right Republicanism as a ‘sin against sanity,’ but says, “Sure.”
DJ: “In what sense?”
ROADKILL: “I’ve gotta pee.”