Some short story ideas before bed:
The Heat of the Car (working title)
The anger was rising in him with every degree in his non air-conditioned car. Who rents an non air-conditioned car in the 21st century anyway?
It is a common trait among Americans to believe that they are in fact, a good driver. The reality though is that 95% of Americans are in fact, not good drivers. They are inherently incapable of being a good driver.
The natives of the northeastern cities are good drivers, driven along by the societal pressures that demand aggressive natures. New Yorkers are always in a rush because time is money. New Yorkers can cram their tiny little vehicles into even tinier little spots and at speed. Washingtonians have grown up in an environment that completely revolves around power. They have been cultivated to believe that they are each the most powerful being in existence and this extends to when they are behind the wheel. They are uncompromising to the last in their own minds, but like any true politician they are hypocritically able to defer to the other at the last possible section to avoid disaster. Bostonians are generally speaking, ass holes. They talk like ass holes. They eat like ass holes. They drink like ass holes. And, they drive like ass holes. But, that last part isn't necessarily their fault. Boston's roads are just a bunch of roundabouts that demand you drive like an asshole to escape an eternity of driving in the same circle.
On the opposite coast Angelenos tend to be good drivers, not because societal pressures have forged them into aggressive drivers, but simply because they spend two-thirds of their Adult lives behind the wheel. While Bullitt would have you believe that all San Franciscans are incredible drivers, I think that this is myth. In the middle of the country, Chicagoans can claim to be good drivers for most of the year. There are no other Americans that can drive like a native of the second city in inclement weather. While Chicagoans might wear this as a badge of honor, the rest of us Americans can take comfort in the fact that we don't have to live in that shitty weather. I'm not sure if Chicagoans are good drivers when there isn't a whole bunch of snow on the ground because as soon as the snow melts the construction crews block off eighty-seven percent of the roads to pretend to work and natives of the city and tourists alike simply sit in traffic.
The rest of America are shaky drivers at best, but usually atrocious and dangerous behind the wheel for a litany of reasons. Brett, like the vast majority of drivers in America believed he was a fantastic driver. He had even grown up just outside of DC and had that sense of being more powerful than everyone else on the road and the snakelike ability of politicians to turn on a dime. But, he had learned to drive as a Hoosier and as such, was constitutionally incapable of driving well. Besides that, Atlanta traffic was enough to turn a good driver into a poor one and a poor one into an abysmal one. Plus, Hertz had managed to rent him a car without A/C and it was 106 degrees outside. The heat and traffic was making Brett, a poor driver by nature, an abysmal driver. And the heat was rising inside of that car with every fifteen feet he was able to drive without having to come to a complete stop because some yahoo Georgian had never mastered the art of merging at speed.
July 4th
July 4th in an election year always brings out the worst in Americans. This is the story of the conservative pastor, the liberal pastor, the conservative parishioner in the liberal church, the liberal parishioner in the conservative church, the presumptive nominee of the Republican Party and the sitting Democratic president and how each of them is exactly the same person - a bundle of inconsistencies and hypocrisy.
The Problems of a Vivid Imagination
Tony was terrified of speaking in public, but being the valedictorian meant that he had to give a speech in front of the whole of the seniors, their families, the faculty and their families, and the random people who like to torture themselves by going to graduations when they are not otherwise obligated to go. Tony would eventually become a critically acclaimed writer and win a whole slew of awards for his fiction, which in turn would bring him more public speaking opportunities to be anxious over. But, not one of these many speaking duties would produce a disaster on par with his valedictorian speech. He would become a critically acclaimed writer because he had such a vivid imagination. He would fail so spectacularly in his valedictorian speech because he had such a vivid imagination. He would fail so spectacularly in his valedictorian speech that in spite of becoming a famous and acclaimed writer he would never give another speech at his college again. The problem was the old advice of imagining everyone in their underwear while speaking.
After organizing his notes he froze as he gazed out into the audience and saw twenty-three hundred and sixteen individual human beings in their underwear. He imagined all kinds of underwear - new and old, trendy and not, silky and not, coarse hair shirts, assless chaps, thongs, granny panties, boxers, briefs and everything in between. It was so distracting that he froze. His mind broke. His mouth began to relay the thoughts of his broken mind and after ten minutes of this unconscious rambling twenty-two hundred and ninety-nine individuals were offended. Seven had fallen asleep. Two had gone to the bathroom and missed the speech. The remaining eight were childish and immature and found the speech hilarious. I was one of those remainders.
The prepared speech would have sounded like this:
The actual speech sounded like this:
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