The Meaning of Being

  
I only titled it that because it rhymes, and I saw it on the cover of a book. 

Day 5's task was to paste an "Out of Order" sign on some public infrastructure in the hope of achieving comprehensive social breakdown across the US. I posted it twice, in the unisex bathroom of an undisclosed location. I thought it would have a chance at staying there for a long time because the sign kinda looks like the undisclosed location's insignia, but when I went back to said location the next day the signs had been taken down. Wiley managers. 

   

I did get to spend some more time wreaking havoc in the store, though, with C-Nilly (so silly). We stole the Call for Help button and hid it amongst the shelves and pressed it over and over, then went to see a movie (which was fantastic. We snuck snacks into the theatre--baby-sized Sprites, Xplosive Pizza goldfish, and chewy Sweetarts--so it wouldn't seem 3 hours long.) Afterwards we stole 3-D glasses from the bin and strutted through the parking lot with our own runway music. We also wore the glasses in the mall, which was pretty disconcerting, then ate at Genghis Grill (I think the chef is a legitimate Mongol) and watched a handful more movies at my house. It was a swell day. 

Day 6: Write the opening sentence of your début novel. Mine goes a little something like this:

"It could have been anybody, those silhouettes in the photo, a regular Jack-and-Jill cut from black cardstock and tacked to a fire-engine sunset. But it wasn't. It was you with me; I had sun poisoning and after the shutter snapped--I mean seconds later--I barfed on the craggy, pockmarked boulders at the lakeshore, and that late-July, north-Georgia sunset made it sizzle before the light drained from the neon sky." 

If you're interested in publishing the rest of it, give me several thousand dollars and a couple months and we'll see what we can do. 

Day 7: Masturbate at 13:56 to the following fantasy. 

Listed is a story about a woman trapped by a rainstorm in an isolated log cabin, rudely awakened by a rippling muscle-y woodsman, then swirled in a tale of bliss beyond imagination. The men's version says "Two blondes. Doing it. Together." 

I put on some socks and played Flight of the Conchord's "Business Time." You can imagine the rest I'm sure. A couple friends that I had enlightened about the task sent me text messages reminding me that it was business time and asking how it was. Oh, friendship.