Day 8 ... of ten straight days of Top Ten lists in anticipation of the arrival of October 10th, 2010. Why do I care so much about 10/10/10? Hell if I know, but a guy's gotta blog about something right. Feel free to join in any or all of the days with your own lists or expand on any of mine.Yes folks, it is getting hard to think up original ideas for Top 10 lists. I have a dozen or more lists consisting of 5 or 6 items but sadly I cannot conjure up the required ten for some of those ideas. Today I'm bringing a Top 10 list of sorts. Actually it is ten straight paragraphs of my memoir, The Feedstore Chronicles. Keeping with the theme, these lines begin on page 10 of the manuscript which I am currently shopping to agents. That is if yesterday's list didn't land me on their blackballed list.
10. The girl led me and Snuggles back to a waiting room where she left us alone.
9. Up until then, I'd assumed bulldog semen came in little vials. I assumed they kept it frozen. I assumed they had a machine that heated it to the right temperature when needed. I assumed the procedure involved something resembling a turkey baster.
8. Two out of three of my assumptions proved to be flat-ass wrong.
7. Dr. Croft came in after only a few minutes and the truth didn't dawn on me even as she bent to lift the bulldog that followed her into the room.
6. I watched as the doctor, an attractive woman in her forties, reached beneath the male bulldog, snapped what looked like a sandwich bag around his business, and began the collection process.
5. Like a fan at Wimbledon, my head went back and forth as Dr. Croft established a steady rhythm.
4. Blood rushed to my cheeks when she looked me in the eye and said, “So you work for Doyle? That must be interesting.”
3. I might have managed a nod as she continued to stroke Brutus. Beside me, Snuggles ignored the poochie porn show.
2. There I was, a teenage boy, trapped in a tiny room, and forced to bear witness as an attractive and secure middle-aged woman jacked off a very well-endowed beast. Most would describe that as interesting. Not me. I found it mortifying.
1. Puberty had hit me like a two-ton rock so I had both an active, fantasy-filled imagination and a strong libido, but none of my daydreams had ever starred the canine equivalent of Ron Jeremy. Though I was pretty sure, a few of my nightmares were about to.
Sadly, I had to survive much more than a bit of embarrassment while working at Pearl's Feed and Seed.
Most coming-of-age stories are fraught with symbolism, hidden metaphors, and a heaping mound of other literary devices. Not mine. You see, I came of age working at a dusty Texas feedstore. A place where To Kill a Mockingbird involved a twelve-year-old and a BB gun. Of Mice and Men a problem easily solved with rat poison. And David Copperfield, nothing more than a dude that made shit disappear.
The Feedstore Chronicles is a humor memoir detailing the four years I worked at Pearl’s Feed and Seed. My boss, Doyle Suggs, was a lout, a liar, and a lecherous derelict. He is easily the most morally bankrupt man I’ve ever met. Yet my life wouldn't be half as blessed, had I never experienced the pleasures of his misguided instruction.
Like I said I'm actively seeking representation now, but rest assured when I say The Feedstore Chronicles will eventually see the light of day whether the right agent comes along or not. Currently I am working on a new project as well, a humorous manuscript involving bull semen, a nympho senior citizen, and a middle aged woman convinced sex is ruining her existence.