Category: Living

Queries and Quislings

Queries and Quislings is an advice dispensary offered as a public service of Coma News Daily and the advice is written by Coma News Daily publisher Davis Montgomery III.

 

Dear Query Guy,
How do I find happiness? When I was young my mom told me to get out of the house and find the little leprechaun who guarded a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. But every time I went to find the rainbow it would vanish. When I got older I searched for that leprechaun in other things–stationary bicycles, dark alleys, matching knit sweaters–and I still can’t find it. All I ask is that you help me find happiness and a way to stay happy all the time.
Signed
Happy Adventures?

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Dear HA,

Where there is laughter there is frequently mirth. But laughter has always been very close to pain–to wit, the court jester’s arrival shortly before Hamlet’s suicide and the playful  romp of miniature miscreants in ‘Game of Thrones’ immediately preceding Joffrey’s poisoning.

In truth, laughter and pain are tightly intertwined.
Does that mean you should amend your odyssey to search for  a bull whip-bearing billionaire midget? No (the combination is highly unlikely and they are notoriously difficult to train).
Instead, I would suggest heeding the advice my sweet petunia always offers when occupants of our tenements wail about their lack of heat in the depths of winter: hit it with a hammer!

hit it with a hammer 1
Take your sadness and hit it as hard as you can with a hammer. Hit it again and  again, until you are too exhausted to move and the only thing you can do is laugh.

 

Sincerely,

QG

Mystery Solved: The Heart of a Man

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Daddy Warbucks: Marybell, maybe you should start thinking about getting a job rather than this private detective stuff. It seems like its just not panning out because there’s no money in it.
Marybell: Daddy, that’s sexist. How much was Einstein paid for his theory of eels and stuff?
It’s almost impossible to be a private dick in a mans world.
Men are mysteries. Like, why do they put their hands down their pants? Why do they stay in a bathroom for two hours and still walk out and their hair isn’t even combed? Why do they wear Jockey shorts, which is so sexist–there are women jockeys, people!
All these questions remind me of the time at a zoo I saw a gorilla hurling his own fecese at the shatter proof glass and I know this is not a good comparison because men have totally evolved beyond poop jokes and the need to have sex with some poor small much younger monkey lady?
But beyond all of the intricacies of men that I’ve mentioned above, I wanted to solve the greatest man-mystery of all: how you get to the heart of a man. Even more important, what is at the heart of a man? Is it love? Is it the need for intimate talks and walks on the beach? Is it every Lifetime movie where the man just wants to deeply understand what is inside of a woman’s heart? In short, what makes men tick?
So I went to the only place that made sense–an airport bar.
I sat next to a middle-age dude, we’ll call him airport guy, who was trying very hard to help a girl my age remember her phone number.
“What’s your phone number?” airport guy said.
“I don’t remember,” phone girl said and left the bar.
My phone was dying and the bar had a charging station under where airport guy was sitting so obviously I said “can I put my chord between your legs?”
And he looked at me and suddenly asked me the nicest thing.
“How is your day going?”
So we talked about really really important things like Tinder and he told me that chick who couldn’t remember her number really missed out on his texting skills. I told him i was a detective writing about the heart of men. He also told me that he’s also a private dick “in a way” and is also a writer–just like me!
Of course I gave him my email address so he could share his stories.
We said our goodbyes and when he finally sent me a story it was all about how I could help him in some really gross ways. It was also illustrated with “private dick” photos that were so gross and no one should have to see.
I was confused. Is this the heart of a man? So, I asked the smartest man I know, my Dad, about it.
Me: is this the heart of a man Daddy?
And I showed him the pic of airport guy’s  very uninformed “private dick pictorial” story of what women want. Also, Airport guy is  married. It was really easy to find that fact out.
Daddy Warbucks: Ah, gross. Where did this come from?
Me: Some guy in an airport who told me he’s a writer and a detective, like me.  Is this the heart of a man?
Daddy Warbucks: No, I’ve never sent anything like that to a woman.
Me: Then what is the heart of a man?
Daddy Warbucks: Men and women are different, it’s true. But I think, in the end, everyone wants to be cared about for who they are, cherished, loved, cared for, treated with kindness and respect. That’s love. And then there are douches like this guy you met and no one can fix is heart or his unfortunate picture skills.
The mystery of a mans heart is solved. Men have good hearts too and also better underwear names. I am getting so good at this job.

Yoko App Promises to Help GenX With Direction

The following is paid advertisement and does not necessarily reflect the views of Coma News Daily.

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From the mind of Bob Smith-Smith, former Coma Town Councilman, father, grandfather and twice married businessman, comes a breakthrough directional tool for Generation X, called simply YOKO.
Bob Smith-Smith: I developed YOKO, based on the WAZE App, because I can’t always be there to direct my kids and grandkids, and tell them “Oh no you’re doing that wrong.” And below is an example of how it works.
Guy who is 43, wearing a plaid flannel, and listening to Beastie Boys, “No Sleep Till Brooklyn” : YOKO, Is it ok if my kids play in the yard without me hovering three feet away?
YOKO APP: Oh no, don’t do that. You’re a failure as a parent.
Guy working at a used book store in the Japanimation section: YOKO, Is there anything I can do to get out of this career slump?
YOKO APP: Oh no, your job is meaningless. But you can always live in my basement.
GIRL wearing a beret and an ironic “hang in there” tee-shirt: YOKO, are my mom and dad right that I need a practical degree from a good college?
YOKO APP: Oh no, you should follow your street art dreams. You’ll always have your grandfather’s basement to live in.

Bob Smith-Smith: Finally, you can make sure the voice of experience and reason are always with you, to give you the right direction for your life.

I’ll Fly Away

Happy Mother’s Day to all the women who every day choose to love and care for other human beings and put all those needs before their own. What a beautiful testament to grace. This column is for you.

 

by Sadie Cracker

I’m standing in my kitchen making spaghetti for the third time this week and humming, “Traveling Kind” by Emmylou Harris. Four soccer games, a school diorama project, my full time job, kitchen cleaning has rendered any energy I might have for a Rachel Ray style dinner moot.  Suddenly, Johnny runs into the kitchen with his small hands clasped around something. “Mommy look what I found.” He said.

“What is it?” I said.

He opens his small, still fat, baby hands. At seven he’s so hopeful and excited about everything — a life untainted by all the disappointment and I’m afraid of what’s in his hands and that it’s something aweful and I’m gonna have to tell him to get rid of it.

“His name is Maxwell.” said Johnny.

And inside his hands sits a small brown frog that is no bigger than a quarter. “I’m gonna keep Maxwell.” He said. “He’s gonna be with me forever.”

I’m gonna let him down right now. All the hope in his face is gonna fall when I say the one thing I need to:

“Buddy, we can’t keep Maxwell.” I put my ear down near his small hands. “Maxwell just told me he has to be free. He needs to be outside and he needs to live his life. He’ll never be happy if we keep him inside.”

And Johnny’s eyes well up with tears. “If you love something you set it free. Daddy used to say that. It’s dumb. It’s dumb, dumb, dumb and I hate it.”

“It’s true. If you love Maxwell you gotta let him go find a river, or a blade of grass, and you just have to believe that you might see him again because he’ll remember how kind and tender you were with him and how much you cared about what he needed.” I said.

“Or he won’t.” said Johnny.

“And that’s okay too.” I said.

#############################################################

It’s Thursday night and Ladies Night and revamped old hymn night at Bear’s Biker bar in Coma and the publisher of Coma News Daily told me if I write one more story about, “playing dumb songs in a bar full of drunk locals” he won’t publish it. But it’s also Mother’s Day weekend and I once again reminded him that I’m a mom who works a full time job, raises kids, takes care of an ailing father, and that he is really doing a service to the female community by letting me have a voice in the paper.

“Just don’t be depressing.” He said. “Stop talking about love and realities. No one wants to read real stuff anymore especially when it’s written by a 40 year old woman.”

And Charlie, a local motorcycle enthusiast and the Coma Librarian, is up on stage playing, “Let Him Fly” by  Patty Griffin and it’s funny to hear him belt it out so strong and I look at the beer in front of me and giggle to hear Charlie, “I’m gonna let him fly. I’m gonna let him fly.”

witman

Bear, the local 30 year old skate rat punk and owner of the bar, is playing Go Fish with my Dad, Stan Bargemeyer, at the other side of the bar.

“Do you have a five.”

“Go fish, buddy.” said Stan.

“What?! How is that possible?? You just showed me your hand and you had a 5??” said Bear.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re crazy.” said Stan. And Stan, who remembered to put on his pants tonight and struggles in his Alzheimer’s, shows  Bear all of his cards.

“That’s a five.” said Bear.

“No buddy. That’s a six.”

“I’m gonna let him fly, ” sings Charlie. “I’m gonna let him fly.”

I’m waiting for Jack. Jack is late and it’s okay because tonight is the last night I’ll see him for quite some time. I thought after Michael died and left me alone that I wouldn’t love someone again. I was okay with being alone, it was lonely, but it was my pain. And as long as I was alone I knew I wouldn’t hurt again. Then Marybell posted my picture in local Paneara’s and somehow Jack appeared in my life.

But tonight he’s leaving for LA. He accepted a teaching position at UCLA and California is not the same as Coma.

“You could come with me.” said Jack.

“I can’t. I need to stay here and take care of my Dad. I need to stay here and take care of my kids.” I said.

“But you could come if you wanted to.” He said.

“You could stay if you wanted to.” I said.

“You could visit.” He said.

“You’re gonna be so busy.” I said. “With all those 20 year old coeds who think you are so amazing because you are successful.”

And I look at his face and all the lines of age and the beautiful way his entire forehead crinkles when he thinks about something and I’m old enough to no longer believe in fairy tales. I’m old enough to know that this life isn’t always fair.

“You gotta let Maxwell go, Johnny.” I said.

And up onstage Charlie sings “Mary” by Patty Griffin and promises that the next song will be “I’ll Fly Away” which is the first song I learned to play on the banjo. I remember my grandma in her apron in the kitchen making a pie for my grandfather from scratch and humming “I’ll Fly Away” and it’s hard to remember how beautiful a moment like that is when you see someone just so grateful to love another human being.

“Sadie Cracker. Sadie Cracker. Come up here and sing with me.” said Charlie.

I shake my head, no. “I’m waiting for someone.” and Charlie laughs. It’s only my father, Bear, Charlie, and me in this bar.

“Just come up here and sing.” He said.

So I pick up my acoustic guitar and walk to the stage.

“What are you gonna play?” said Charlie.

“I think,’ a love that will never grow old’ by Emmylou Harris.” I said.

“Good choice.”

And I strum the guitar three times and start to sing. My father is still at the end of the bar fighting with Bear about a 5 card.

‘Go to sleep may your sweet dreams come true

Just lay back in my arms for one more night

I’ve this crazy old notion that calls me sometimes

Saying this one’s the love of our lives…’

And the door opens and I see Jack standing there with his scratchy beard and great hair. I see him standing there and I know I will miss him so much.

And Johnny’s eyes well up with tears. “If you love something you set it free. Daddy used to say that. It’s dumb. It’s dumb, dumb, dumb and I hate it.”

‘I know a love that will never grow old’  I sing. I sing it loud because I want to believe in it. I don’t want to give up on that.

 

 

 

Mystery Solved: Nothing Depends on a Red Wheelbarrow

Editor’s note: As part of Coma News’ community outreach, the following blog excerpt is one of a selection of local online postings we will re-publish by residents and business owners.

Mystery Solved: Nothing Depends on a Red Wheelbarrow
By Marybell Davis, 25 years old, Amazing life lived, Awesome blogger of Awesome things

Daddy Warbucks: “Marybell have you made any money yet?”
Me: “No way Daddy but I solved another Internet mystery and this one is not about an ex-boyfriend. It’s about poetry”
Daddy Warbucks: “College degree! $200,000! Marybell! Blah blah!”

So I went to this poetry reading. BOR-ing. but then I was surprised because some of the poetry was actually short and they had a lot of wine. Good!

One guy I like a lot was William Carlos Williams because his stuff is shorter than tweeting. Sort of like the first tweeter in history.

So much depends...LOL. LOL.

So much depends…LOL. LOL.

Sadie Cracker made me go to the poetry thing because she said I need to get out and meet real people and not just “stalk people” on the Internet. So I went and was not surprised to find most of the poetry was horrible.

Stan Bargemeyer read something about his knee socks and then my ex-boyfriend Jax got up and said we should all stop reading poetry and get out to the forest. Everyone cheered when he left.

Then Sadie got up and read about a red wheelbarrow. And she read it like she meant it and it was shorter than something I tweeted about my eyeshadow earlier in the day. “So much depends on a red wheelbarrow” she said.
I started laughing so hard I spilled the wine all over my white dress. “No it doesn’t.” I said so loud and everyone stared at me and started clapping.

When we left right after that I explained to her that “nothing depends on a red wheelbarrow anymore because we have cars and ride on lawnmowers and tractors.”

I don’t think she got it.

Buy My Screenplay: Matt Damon Returns In “The Pretty Good Wall”

pretty good wall

This advertorial does not necessarily reflect the views of Coma News Daily.

ADVERTORIAL

My Amazing Screenplay

I’m Dee Collins and all I do is sit around and pump out the most amazing screenplays of all time and then try to sell them through traditional classified advertising methods.  Read my ad below and contact me to buy my screenplay!

I’ve just completed my latest screenplay and it is really good! It’s called “The Pretty Good Wall” and it is a sequel to the mega-blockbuster film “The Great Wall” starring Matt Damon.

This movie has everything you want in a movie.  It has Matt Damon. It has a wall. It has EVERYTHING!

Below is a sample of one scene.  If you like it and would like to buy it, please let me know.

I’m offering it at a discount right now for only $400,000 but you better act fast because this deal won’t last. This is going to be a hot property because of the unprecedented success of “The Great Wall.”

LOG LINE

Matt Damon is back at it. After defending the Great Wall of China, Matt finds himself protecting a modest brick wall in the foothills of the Sahara Desert from evil, fire-breathing dragons. Featuring popular actor Jon Hamm and the voice of Academy Award winner Meryl Streep as “Beans the Dragon”, The Pretty Good Wall will raise the bar on movies about walls.

EXT. SAHARA DESERT- DAY

Matt Damon and popular actor Jon Hamm are standing behind a modest, ten-foot long wall in the middle of the desert. Both men look haggard and exhausted. Dirt and blood cover their faces. They stare off in the distance, spears and weapons clutched firmly in their hands.

               JON HAMM

          Man, I love walls.

               MATT DAMON

          Me too, Jon. Me too.

               JON HAMM

          But I HATE dragons, LOL!

Matt Damon laughs and slaps Jon Hamm on the back.

               MATT DAMON

          I was just thinking the same thing. That’s funny Jon. Very funny.

The two men continue to stare off in the distance, scanning the vacant horizon. Jon moves his spear from one hand to the other and shakes out his free hand.

               JON HAMM

          My hand keeps cramping up.

               MATT DAMON

          Yeah. I hate that.

               (beat)

          Man, I love this wall. I mean, I love ALL walls. They are just like the best things in the world. But this one…this one is really awesome.

               JON HAMM

          I’m surprised you haven’t tried to hump it yet, LOL!

Matt Damon bursts into hysterical laughter.

               MATT DAMON

          The day is still young, Jon Hamm! The day is still young!

The two men go silent again and return their gaze to the horizon. Jon Hamm steps forward. His eyes narrow.

              JON HAMM

          Is that a dragon?

Jon Hamm points to somewhere far off in the distance. Matt Damon steps forward and studies the area for a moment.

               MATT DAMON

          No. I think it’s a kite.

Jon Hamm walks forward, his eyes still locked on the horizon.

               JON HAMM

          Oh. Yeah. I think you’re right.

               (beat)

          Fucking kites, man. I mean…what’s the point?

Matt Damon laughs heartily and slaps Jon Hamm on the back.

               MATT DAMON

          So true, Jon Hamm. That is spot on. I was thinking the same thing. That’s definitely laugh-out-loud funny!

The two men continue to stare off in the distance.

——————————————

That’s all you get for now! Remember, The Great Wall is a gigantic, international blockbuster! People will want a sequel. This is that sequel!  Anyhow, contact me!  Let’s make movies!

Contact Dee Collins at townofcoma@hotmail.com

Mayor Dave Anderson’s Proclaimation About Giving Up The Past

MAYORAL PROCLAMATION
forgivenrdd

WHEREAS,

In 1862 Coma’s entire chicken population was evenly divided and trained to fight for each side of the Civil War, sent off with great fanfare and never heard from again

WHEREAS,

In 1920 an unknown number and variety of land mines were buried in and about the town of Coma and none whatsoever were removed

WHEREAS,

In 1972 the Great Hippy Riots reduced the entirety of South Coma and its Hemp Garment District to a smoldering ash heap, which it remains to this day

WHEREAS,

The past is largely painful and full of things we don’t want to remember; and

WHEREAS,

The internet now allows us to change everything about our past for a more hopeful future

WHEREAS,

A new focus solely on the limitless possibilities and good intentions of the future is now possible through internet chat

WHEREAS,

There is no more reason to look at all the things that have happened and rather focus on what could be

NOW, THEREFORE, DO I,

Dave Anderson

Mayor of the Town of Coma, proclaim

May as the month we ban all things that are in the past from being spoken about unless using Morse Code or Telegram.

Mystery Solved: How I can LOOK artistic.

By Marybell Davis, 25 years old, Amazing Life Lived!, Private Dick (which is so gross)

Daddy Warbucks: Marybell, I understand it’s been 4 years and you’re not going to do anything with your college degree but at least you could clean up this pile of crayons drawings and used coffee mugs.
Marybell: Daddy, I haven’t eaten in two weeksw but I understand coffee and art, like the kind made by people with tattoo sleeves, old woman colored gray  hair, and nose piercings.

nancydrewcigarette

Daddy Warbucks doesn’t understand art or nose piercings or making your 25 year old hair a mom grey color,  but that doesn’t matter because I found a man who appreciates art and the fact that I wear all black and look cool and indignant! (He doesn’t have a job right now but he’s working on it)

Creative people are weird and unattractive. And recently I was wondering how can I look more creative because creative people seem to have a lot of fun if they aren’t killing themselves at a young age. But then there’s the reality that creative people are unattractive.
But people who just look creative and aren’t original can be attractive. They just can’t be competent.

Flannery O'Connor...LOL..she wears glasses and wrote stuff...LOL...

Flannery O’Connor. She’s not that attractive but does have the gray hair that’s so attractive on women now!

Don’t get me wrong, I love nose rings, sleeve tats, gray hair on young women and skinny leather pants. I just don’t expect someone with any of those things to provide me a modicum of decent service when I need coffee or some food to eat–even those people are usually working service jobs.

When I need fast service, a decent drink, a hair cut that doesn’t make me want to kill myself or clean food I find plain ugly people. It’s almost like they can’t afford to be incompetent. Or lazy. Or superior and disengaged.

Wait. Aren’t most successful artists and writers plain and boring people? Eudora Whelty, gross. Sylvia Plath, attractive but head in the oven. It’s too bad because if no one can see how cool your inner artist is on the outside does it even exist?

Mystery solved: Artists need to LOOK artistic.

Daddy Warbucks: Can’t you just make your bed today Marybell.

Marybell: No Daddy. I just solved a mystery and now I need to spend hours at a tattoo parlor to get the just right artistic tattoo sleeve.