CHAPTER THREE
The Flow of the Lines
``The flow of the lines be this - that they do not floweth, but rather moveth in the slowest manner possible. The line doth move like frozen molasses, but herein lies one of the great lessons of the Colleges, yeah, even the University.''
--James the Divine
Bureaucraticon, Book Three 1:1
The next day, James woke to the sound of his alarm buzzing. He hit the alarm to turn it off and looked at the evil red digital numbers, which flashed at him and read 6:00. He sat up and felt the cold stone of the floor beneath his feet.
1ST CLASS OF THE DAY
In accordance with rule3.781.012 of the Statutes of Literature, the name of the main character shall change from the formal to the informal usage at this point in the story. Thank you for your compliance.
BOOKSTORE
After finding his last book, Jim went to the front of the bookstore and wandered through the many aisles of impulse buys. Tons of key chains, posters, mugs, pennants, and any other conceivable objects that could hold a logo of the school logo or mascot lined shelf upon shelf ready to separate eager young freshman from even more of their financial aid and credit card money. Jim bypassed these and headed for the large line that started in the front of the store and went out the front door. Students of all ages stood patiently with armfuls of books and logo-inscribed items. Jim walked to the back of the line and joined the throng of people.
He waited in the line to the checkout counter with his load of books dragging him down. Jim waited in the line as it patiently inched forward with the rest of the people, and he tried to explain mathematically why everyone would stand still for long periods of time, then surge forward. Each time this happened everyone would collectively sigh, falsely believe the line was finally starting to move and then abruptly it would stop. So far, Jim was unequal to the task he set for himself, but it did serve to occupy the otherwise wasted time. He stared at the sidewalk, the cracks in the cement, the meager plant life struggling to grow in these cracks, and the insects that apparently thrived on the droppings left by the line waiters here.
He marveled at the fact that it took thirty minutes to walk ten feet in line. After a two-hour wait, he finally reached the front of the line and saw they had set up three cash registers on folding tables with cables and power cords running back through another door to the bookstore.
In accordance with rule 47.001.001of the Statutes of Literature, the use of sarcasm at this pointing the story is strictly prohibited and must be removed under penalties of rejection and general nastiness; furthermore . . .
``Now wait a minute, this is ridiculous. Who ever heard of `statutes of literature' anyway and who is who keeps interrupting the story to change the point of view or tell us whether something should be prohibited or not?''
``Who are you?''
``The narrator, and who the hell are you?'' the narrator asked quite perturbed.
``The author and . . .''
This must stop or the fines and criticism of this work will be immensely severe. Author and the Narrator must not converse. It is strictly prohibited by statute 1.017.2. Furthermore the Author may not appear in the story at all per the Dante clause 3.
``Now who the hell is that then?'' asked the narrator.
``That's the representative of the subcouncil of literature,'' the author replied.
``Hey wait a minute, I thought this was my story!'' someone suddenly said.
``Now who the hell is that? This is getting to be a party in here,'' the narrator asked.
``That's the main character,'' the author replied. ``Of all people, I'd think you'd know that.''
``I don't know what the hell you mean,'' the narrator said. ``I was born several years ago as a young lover, then discovered I was a bug and got squished by a car. Next thing I know, I'm in total darkness. They call that purgatory for characters. To get out of it, we have to do penance and work our way out. First we do a couple stints as narrator and then we get reincarnated as a new character. The voices of the gods come into my head, and I tell the story in my own words, but this representative guy is new to me. I've never worked with him before.''
Now you've gone ahead and broken statutes 32.015 by telling the conditions of narratorness and 128.01 by allowing the main or any other character a voice!
``There that ass goes again,'' the narrator said. ``He just overrides me completely.''
``I'm not doing it,'' the author replied. ``This all started when the Americans petitioned to get on the Council of Literature. The English and the French held the board since the fall of the Roman Empire, but with the Americans on the council, the Russians demanded to be on it too. All this nonsense about Tolstoy. Spain had Cervantes and they never got on. Then the Chinese got on it. I'll tell you what, next time he comes back, I'll start spouting nonsense and you say it really loud. Maybe we can annoy him till he goes away. Okay?''
``That sounds like a plan.''
They waited until . . .
A Story can not be . . .
And suddenly the universe was filled with an enormous voice saying, ``BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH,'' over and over again till all other sounds were obliterated.
I don't think . . .
``BLAH, BLAH, BLAH.''
Oh real mature . . .
``BLAH, BLAH, BLAH.''
``I think he's gone,'' the narrator said.
``I wouldn't bet on it,'' the author replied. ``It's probably just somewhere in my subconscious looking up new rules.''
By right of Article Four, Statute 7.4.12, I hereby condemn this story and order the narrator to be exiled into nothingness within two days from the giving of this notice!
``He can't do this can he?'' the narrator asked nervously.
``I don't know,'' the author replied. ``Wait a minute! If you're the narrator, then who is narrating this part of the story? Who is narrating what we're saying right now?''
``I don't know. It's dark in here.''
``What if I gave you light to see with?''
``Then you turn me into a character, and I'll die when you continue with the story. I'll be worse off than before.''
``Well, hmm, is the subcouncil of Literature in your world or the world of the story?''
``It must be in my world if you don't know, as I haven't heard of it.''
``Then I hereby destroy the subcouncil of literature and all its representatives . . . slowly.''
By Statute 1.001.001, the Subcouncil of Literature can not . . . be . . . be . . . destroyed . . . and . . . and Oh my, that hurts. My chest . . . Arghhh!
``What about me?'' the main character asked.
``Hold you horses,'' the author replied.
``Does this mean I can say Mother%*$&ing @&$%bag?'' the narrator asked.
``No,'' the author said, ``the Subcouncil of Literature may be gone, but the censor is always around. But before I kill off this secondary narrator, how would you like to be a character again?''
``Oh yes!''
``Pick one.''
``It's rumored you're doing a mythological novel. I'd like to be Demeter.''
``A woman?''
``We're neuter here.''
``Oh really?'' the author said with interest. ``I bet that must be interesting.''
``Maybe you and I could get together and discuss it sometime. Sort of an animus-anima kind of thing.''
``That could be interesting indeed.''
``Hey,'' the main character interrupted, ``I'm in limbo here guys, I mean guy and whatever, while you play footsies. Can we start the story again?''
``Yeah, yeah,'' the author said, ``Just let me tie up some loose ends here. I'll get in touch with you, narrator. Okay, kill the secondary narrator and . . . Arghhhhhhhhh . . .''
