In the Windmill’s Shadow and Other Tales

by illimitableoceanofinexplicability

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windmill

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“He’s an old dude rulin’
more than able to give a schoolin’
do you think I’m foolin’?”

-The Applebee’s Letters – Chapter 7 Verse 19

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Can you imagine, or I should ask, do you dare imagine, living in the windmill’s shadow? I definitely could, and would, though I don’t. I have no need to as it is a reality I live daily, and not, as it is for you, dear reader, some romantic lifestyle you listlessly daydream about whilst waiting for a page on your favorite celebrity web site to refresh.
No, as it is said today, this shit is real. Really real. And, unlike a good deal of people these days, and you may be one of them, or at least support their shenanigans from the sidelines, I have no need, nor do I, under some delusion brought on by either a chemical imbalance or a severe blow to the head, feel it my right to have others understand, empathize or in any way give a good god damn about my life’s struggle in the windmill’s shadow. However, as someone quite conscious of the absolute necessity of exposure to a wide variety of experiences from which both young and old alike may learn from and find inspiration in I present to you my unique story for whatever worth you may find in it.

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Chapter I: I often, in secret, refered to myself as ‘The Kid’

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Years ago, perhaps when many of you currently reading this were in need of assistance when it came to the labor of wiping your own bottoms I was living the life of a confirmed bachelor without the fear of eligibility as well as being a dyed in the wool true believer (described even all those years ago as ‘nutty’) that telephones were a device used only by blithering idiots and children passing the long hours of summer making prank phone calls. I refused to have one. “They can come and knock upon my door if they want me”, I was often heard to exclaim whenever the subject of telephones came up which, as hard as you kids these day may find it to believe, was rarely. Or, at times, slightly intoxicated I’d announce to whomever was within earshot, “You can just yell from the bottom of the hill”, as I lived at the top of the hill, “if you’re too damn lazy to walk up it”, followed by “and if I come to the window then you’ll know whether or not I have any interest in communicating with you”. I was definitely what you could call a curmudgeon, and a few other less flattering things as well, but, due to my young age and handsome visage this came across as charming to a certain type of young lady and thusly resulted in them, because of my lack of a telephone, knocking upon my door at all hours of the day and night.

This, I must tell you, was not all fun and games. I know, to many of you young guys out there, sick in the head as you are with constantly trying to get yourself some attention from the ladies, this seems, so far, like a fantasy come true, but, please, take my word, it was not. No, not by the longest shot one could dream of, even while under the influence of hallucinogens, is it a fantasy one should wish to experience unless descending into the fiery pits of eternal damnation is something you have on your bucket list.

The horrifying events that did take place, which I freely admit being responsible for as I most flagrantly ignored that old idiom that warns to be careful what one wishes for, cannot, for the sake of those who played their parts unwittingly, be related in detail here, though, in order to satisfy your well documented insatiable hunger for the salacious I will attempt to convey some of what might be called the highlights in the following chapter.

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COMING SOON

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Chapter II: How my habit of interjecting “Open the pod bay doors HAL” into every conversation resulted in my being ostracized from the in-group

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