EXCERPTS FROM

 JACK

  DANIELS ... neat 

 

A MEMOIR written by Timothy McManus

  

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This is an audiobook.

 Simply tap right mouse button then click read aloud.

 

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—photo/images provided by PPCAD - RF

"So says Archie Derby, "Bonjour et bienvenue mes bons."


 ... So I said to Mr. Fa Kyu Bartender, “The story I’m now writing is basically about a genius who really isn’t a genius at all.” It was after a glorious taste of God’s greatest creation, I wistfully added, “Curious though, although Nick may not be the genius as we portrayed, it’s highly likely that the world will still remember him as a genius of all geniuses, dead or alive.” ...

 

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... Some idiot savants (few, in truth) are intellectually gifted in a specific way. Some are brilliant in mathematics or music, or the capacity to recite by memory the complete edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica backwards. But Scarce the Idiot's gift was quite different. E-x-t-r-e-m-e-l-y different, I should emphasize.

       Should you, for example, find Scarce hovering over his treasured Underwood typewriter, and should you witness his speedy fingers dancing atop the old machine’s keys (and with luck, a sheet of paper is positioned properly and nestled neatly within the feed rollers), and should you have the ultimate good luck to read what Scarce has just typed, then prepare yourself for a miraculous transformation, and that you – yes, lucky you – will finally know: Why do you and your universe exist? What is the true definition of actual time? What is the real purpose of your life? And does life (real or perhaps otherwise) exist after death? Yet, most important of all, Scarce’s words will explain how it’s possible for a (kinda, sorta, maybe-ish, not-ish) responsible nation to elect a lying and totally egocentric dunce to the presidency of the United States of America, the most important job function on this fragile planet of ours.

       And that’s just a teeny-weenie tad of Scarce’s absolute brilliance. In fact, intellectually, bigshot ol' Shakespeare was just a goofy-looking moron in comparison to Scarce the Idiot, this world’s IQ super-giant. ...

 

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... and this would happen just shortly before Nick appeared before his parole board and exactly one nanosecond after Scarce had f-i-n-a-l-l-y finished writing Kid Patagonian—yes, wouldn’t you know, bingo-bango-bongo, that very same manuscript suddenly went o’missing. ...

 

 

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—GIF credit artist via Google



… I held up the bottle of wine. “Would you like a little taste?”
        Barbara continued to look down on Bleecker Street. Finally, she reluctantly looked back at me. “What was that?”
        “Whether you’d like a little taste of this bit of heaven?” I pointed at the beloved bottle of 1945 Chateau Mouton-Rothschild so that Barbara could fully witness the beverage’s holy label, phony or not. I was being somewhat imaginative when I said, “Seriously, should your beautiful lips so much as touch this”—I was going to add “extraordinarily expensive,” but I wasn’t entirely sure of this as yet—“elixir, then you will happily live forever and beyond.”
        Barbara offered thoughtful concern, and then she looked down at her Rolex Cosmography wristwatch. “It’s kind of early to be consuming alcohol.”
        “Listen—”
        “I am.”
        “—we’ve just arrived in the city of our future, so let’s celebrate our victories to come.”
        Three very long seconds passed before, and with considerable reluctance, Barbara responded, “Okay, but just a teeny-weeny one!”
        Pop went the happy cork and fizzzzzzzz went God’s finest medication. ...


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Fiction / Pas à vendre