Trading My Muse

The Muse

                                                 Decidedly Not Mine, However                                                 

Most writers have a muse that dwells within them and provides them with a host of new and exciting ideas to inspire and enhance their writing. I have a muse that dwells mostly within my refrigerator and provides me with a host of new and exciting ideas that would be rejected by My Weekly Reader.

"Muse! Muse!"  I hollered. "Where are you? I haven't had a post accepted by the Broad Street Review in months!"

"Yeah, I’m aware of that, Boss. You know, I’m kind of annoyed you're not living up to my high standards as a muse."

"Living up to your standards?  The best idea you've given me in the last six months was a television show featuring a panel of chefs who cook for senior citizens called The Gum."

“Shows about food are very popular, Boss."

“Yeah, I've noticed food is very popular with you too.  It flies out of this house like it's being chased by ISIS.”

"I'm a growing muse, Boss.  I'm only 2,420 years old.  That's 14 in Muse years."

"Well, good luck with puberty. And another thing: the idea you gave me about a spoof of a Facebook page for Director David Lynch tanked as badly as Chevy Chase's career.”

“What are you saying?  Are you telling me people on the internet don’t love posts about vomit and children who look like spermatozoa?” 

"It was my worst post since The Pure Joy of Macroeconomics, which by the way, you gave me as well."

"Boss, did it ever occur to you that you're not very copacetic to work for?"

"I'll remember that the next time I let you borrow the car and you turn up two weeks later in Tijuana hugging a donkey."

"Know what, Boss? That's it! I wanna be traded!"

"Traded?! They have trading in the muse world?"

"Of course they do.  I myself was formerly the muse to Lucy Maud Montgomery who wrote the Anne of Green Gables novels." 

"You were responsible for Anne of Green Gables?!!"

"Nah, I told her to write pornography.  Next day I was traded."

"Well, to whom do you want to be traded now?"

"James Michener, Jack London, or William Saroyan."

"But all those guys are dead!"

"Of course they are.  At this stage of the game, I really don't want to work all that hard."

"Okay, Muse,  I'm contact some of the writers I know on Facebook and Twitter and see if I can work out a deal."

"Fair enough.  Do you think you could  trade me to someone who uses the Oxford Comma. I hate it when a guy writes:  'I brought dinner, Grandmom and a turkey.'”

“Well, you may have to settle. Let's just hope Grandmom tastes half as good as the turkey!”

"Okay, Boss.  And one more thing: please hurry!"

“Why's that, Muse?”

“Trading deadline is Monday."

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Deliverance II

It was going to be quite an experience.  Me and my buddies Lewis, Ed, and Bobby were going to canoe down a river in a remote area of Georgia. Our spirits were high as we stopped at a couple of wilderness shacks that provided supplies for the trip.

As we were packing up, I spotted a young blond boy on the porch of one of the shacks.  He was odd looking and expressionless but he was picking on an old banjo. I pulled out my guitar and began to play.

It was awkward at first but he slowly began playing in response. Then we were both playing together. Then he cut loose and matched me move for move!  And folks there were smiling and dancing.

We finished up and I went to shake his hand.  Would he pull away? Was he an inbred? Did he trust me?  

"I graciously thank you for extending your hand in fellowship," he said, "and for the opportunity to enjoy together such felicitous musicianship."

A genius savant. You don't see one of those every day.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I know what you're going to say:  I got a real purty mouth!   Well, yes I do, so I'm not gonna canoe down any ... wait, what?  I don't have a purty mouth? I'd be safe going down any river in the country?  

Well!  Why don't you just move on to the other Friday Fictioneers then and check out their mouths?  And read their stories as well.

I'm outta here with a banjo on my knee.  Oh, great!  I got this lousy looking mouth and now a banjo stuck to my knee. I can't remove it! Looks like no singles bars for me tonight ...