Visions of a Madman

“At last I hold it in my hands! The statue of Ixitchatlcozutan! I have been searching for this relic for far too long and now my search has come to an end!”

I turn to the guide who led me to the final location.

“And you! You have played no small role in this. You have aided me in fulfilling my destiny, in making my finest discovery! Your name will be known among the archaeological circles for all time. The plaque for this items display will read ‘Ixitchatlcozutan, Discovered by G. M. Smythe and‘ … and what is your name?”

“Um … it’s Timothy. Do you…”

“‘Discovered by G. M. Smythe and Timothy‘ … well, it will include your last name as well, Timothy, but you get the idea. This is a glorious day indeed! Remember this moment, Timothy. Remember it well. You will be able to tell your grandchildren that you were here at this momentous occasion!”

“Uh … OK, sure. Look mister…”

“That’s Doctor, Timothy, Doctor Smythe. But you, you my dear friend may call me Gib. Why stand on formalities on such an auspicious day? And I will call you Timothy.”

“Yeah, sure … I mean that is my name, so I guess it makes …”

“But we waste time, Timothy. We must prepare the statue for transport! It must be packed carefully so as to avoid any damage. I want this to arrive at the Society’s doorstep in as pristine a condition as it is now in my hands. I can just image the look on Wollgarth’s face when he opens the crate and gazes down upon this glorious find!”

“We, uh, we don’t have any crates, mist … um … Doc … ah … Gib.”

“No crates? How on earth will I be able to safely ship this antiquity to my colleagues, Timothy?”

“Well, I can gift wrap it for you for an extra $2.95, if you want.”

“Yes, yes, that’s brilliant! Better to disguise the statue during shipment. We wouldn’t want some thief to steal something as priceless as this in transit.”

“Um yeah … so with gift wrapping and tax, that will come to $23.42 … Gib.”

So I have decided to try to do the fiction riffs as a daily event. For as long as I can at any rate. And by “daily” I do mean Monday through Friday (though I may post something on the weekends if I don’t have something else going on). Fifteen minutes is not a huge time commitment, after all. It’s the images that are the real time sink.

I have, however, pulled about 200 some odd free images from Dreamtime (and many thanks to them for they RF-LL licensed images), so that should keep me good for a while yet. And I plan on digging through their images every two weeks or so to see if there is something new or something I may have missed (or something I just had not gotten to yet … they have a bunch of them there).

So regular content updates in the riffs department.

Still working on the other material (which will be showing as it’s own top level nav option once there is actual content for it). That’s still going to be sporadic at best for now. I’ll work on it, I promise.

My minions are worthless. I do not mean some of them, I mean all of them. It is hard enough being a criminal mastermind without having your minions make foolish errors.

“Oh you want to know the diabolical plan? Why certainly, Mr. Secret Agent, I’ll give you all the details and then leave you to perish in an extremely slow manner that gives you plenty of time to escape and foil all the work that went into setting up what should be a crowning achievement.”

Pure stupidity.

Granted, none of them have yet given me up as the true mastermind. I do have a knack for finding loyal help. Or help that is egotistical enough to convince themselves they are the ones who are behind it all. Either way serves to keep me out of some governmental black budget kennel.

It’s just frustrating is what I am saying. I tried to stop my last minion from revealing the details of my grand scheme by digging my claws into his arm as he carried me, but to no avail. I truly believe he thought I was merely kneading his arm in appreciation for the ear scratching he was giving me at the time. I must be sure the material in the new uniforms is thin enough that my claws will not be impeded.

The one before that came up with an overly complex means to dispose of the agent my forces captured, something involving fire ants with head mounted drills and several gallons of honey. It, of course, failed. And created an unholy mess in the secret base, let me tell you.

And it’s not that I did not try to point him to a simple solution. I batted at his side arm while he was going on about this “genius” idea he had. I would bring up searches for quick execution methods on his computer, which he promptly ignored and went back to playing his incessant video games. Sure, he could take over a virtual world, but in the real world he was useless.

My first minion had potential, though. He was quick on the uptake to my signals. He would clean the litterbox regularly, made sure I was fed when the mood struck me, and even used one of the laser scopes to give me hours of entertainment (besides, my thoughts become more focused when I chase a laser dot). But inevitably, he succumb to that same weakness all that followed him had.

Perhaps for my next minion, I will have to include “must be mute” in the job description. At least that will keep the next one from spilling the details of my upcoming plan for world domination.

It stared at me, unblinking and accusatory. Its gaze burned into me like brine on an open wound. I heard its unspoken words.

“You left me here, alone, out of my element. Left me to sit, unable to move, unable to fulfill my purpose.”

It really was accidental. There was no intent. Just one of many that I retrieved and the only one to make an escape. If there was any fault it was not mine. It was to blame, seeking freedom it would not be able to handle. It separated itself from its companions, not me.

“You did this to me. Your weak grip and slow reflexes.”

I stared back at its burning pimento pupil. How dare it claim I was to blame!

“I did not do this to you! You want to believe it, I’m sure, but that does not make it true.”, I yelled back at it, realizing as I did so that if anyone were watching, they would surely have thought me unhinged.

All I wanted was olives in my omelet, and now I found myself arguing with the olive on the napkin next to the stove. It was gong to be a long day … or at least an atypical one.

“So you just going to leave me here? Am I destined for the trash? My existence little more than space in a waste bin, my potential wasted?”

I sighed. Life was so much easier before my food decided to give commentary.  I stared back, hoping to impose dominance by forcing it to blink first.

A fool’s errand I soon realized as my eyes began to scream for moisture and I fought to hold back on blinking my eyes.

Olives do not have eyelids and therefore no means to blink. I have been out foxed by a freaking olive.

I grabbed the offending orb and held it before me.

“Sure, go ahead, squash me and put me out of my misery. No chance of being in a martini or on a pizza. I had such high expectations, waiting in that jar. The world was full of possibility and now I …”

I popped it into my mouth and savored its succulent bitterness and relief at having reached its true potential.