Friday, June 22, 2012

The Booby Hatch in Breezy Point

Where does one go when one wants to write a series of science fiction books based around the idea of interdimensional intrigue, molecular manipulation, and anthropomorphic vegetables? Well I find no place more relaxing than the "rehabilitation center" in Neponsit, Rockaway. Some call it a looney bin, my father called it a booby hatch, and Rubbish calls it the nuthouse (but that's only because they have a squirrel ward on the eastern wing). I called it 2 years in heaven. Space heaven, that is. Man, I had the most best imaginating time over there.

No matter what you call it, this is where I went to write my greatest piece of literature - a 13-book series of utterly impossible science and confusingly over-the-top derring-do - featuring nearly a thousand main characters and not just a love-triangle - a love-double-dodecahedron! Simply called "A-Zap-In-The-Face," Books I to XIII, I made sure to write the entire thing with invisible ink on paper towels and napkins. Since I didn't have a publisher at the time of my, uh, "commitment", I had Stanley, my bunkmate, "pretend" to publish it and put it out in luxurious hardback editions with fancy dust-jackets and an awesome picture of me on the back.  Stanley eventually cheated me and kept all the royalties (pretzels were a hot commodity in there) but I don't care because I'm planning on writing an entire sequel to the series called "Mysteries of the Meatball Planet and How Mr. Spaghetti Saved the Universe From Failing Algebra".  My wife says the title's a little long, but she always gets cranky before I delve into one of my creative typewriter trances.

When ever we caught one of these Trespassers we'd prosecute in our own courtroom that we made out of
cardboard boxes in the basement.  We'd torture them and ask them super subjective questions, then
give them hell if they didn't answer the questions the way we liked.  It was a blast.
One of my many pseudonyms is F. Chester Hobbicroft, and this is where I got it.  The Craft-Hobby
section of the hospit-- uh-- of the hotel, was where I spent a lot of time putting googly eyes on
Dixie cups for the bi-monthly Dixie Cup Beauty Pageant.
Scary Police helicopters would come out of a vortex in the sky to corral visitors who maybe wanted to cut
their stay short.  That's a no-no.  They don't want you to waste your money!

Bye helicopter!