Laugh Killer Laugh Page #2

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- Yes, Jackie?

- I have something, Mr. Benson.

- Okay, Jackie, go ahead.

- Okay.

Alright.

- Alright, Jackie, go ahead.

- Okay, okay. Sorry, okay.

He never stayed long. Never.

He liked Rosemary's company,

but always seemed to be in a hurry,

like if he had a duel life or something.

But Rosemary didn't mind. She was lonely.

And lonely women cry at night.

Rosemary got sick of it.

That's why she wore her fancy bottle

of perfume and best dress.

She wanted him to caress her

like a mink coat.

But it didn't happen this time.

Rosemary wept after he left.

She thought about swallowing that whole

bottle of pills, but decided not to.

She didn't want any man thinking

someone killed themselves for him.

Rosemary, instead, painted

a horizon on a canvas.

It seemed brighter than her future.

- You alright, Jackie?

- Yeah, no, I just get nervous sometimes.

Okay, what do you call this story?

Oh, God. I guess I would call it...

"The girl in apartment 3J".

Alright, does anybody have

any questions for Jackie?

- Yes, Ackley?

- Yes, I was wondering how long

we're gonna have to hear about

these desperate characters of yours.

The same characters from

the last story that you brought in.

I mean, when are we gonna hear

something good for a change, something...

- What?

- ...with more levels.

More... I want more... I want more.

I'm so sorry, Mr. Herman Melville.

I wouldn't be caught dead

reading Melville.

Excuse me, Ackley?

Ackley, we could do without that.

Well, the whole function

of this creative writing class

is to learn and experience and to grow.

I... yeah, I...

We do not need to criticize

to the extent that you take it to.

- Oh...

- Jackie? What do you...

What were you feeling when you wrote

this particular passage to your story?

"The lonely girl in apartment 3F."

No, it was "The girl in apartment 3J".

But I like that.

"The lonely girl in apartment 3F."

But, she's afraid of being an old maid

and all her friends are wondering...

Okay, Jackie, thank you, thank you.

Does anybody else have

anything they'd like to read?

No?

- I would like to read...

- Yes, Ackley?

I would like to read

my piece for the class.

- Can you make it quick?

- Yeah, yeah, yeah, sure, sure.

So, this is an ongoing...

this is part of a trilogy.

I'm... you speak of one and...

Okay, alright, class dismissed!

Frank!

Frank!

Frank! You listening to me?

I know you hear me.

I know you hear me.

There are certain things in life.

There are certain things that are

passed down in life, you know?

Like father and son.

In our case...

headmaster to a...

Orphan.

Like...

Like... the love of huntin'.

Yeah, killin'!

That was a good one. That was a good one.

Fishin'? Fishin'? Yeah, fishin' will work.

Yep, today, though,

I'm gonna do some new tradition.

From a long line of traditions

between a headmaster and orphan.

That's called sharing a bottle of bourbon.

It's good. Good for ya.

It's good, you know, I mean...

Take your mind off of things that...

You know, get your mind

off of things that...

bother ya.

About yourself and stuff.

Purify your soul!

Got one.

What do you think them priests be doing

in church with their wine? Drunk.

Want a taste?

Here, here, have a taste.

I said to... to have a taste.

Here...

go on.

There you go. Not too strong, huh?

Too strong?

Whoa, hey, that's enough there.

Come on, give it back.

Give it back, it's mine.

It's mine, give it back!

It's a gift.

It's a gift to you, it's mine.

Take your pants off.

Yes, may I help you?

I would like to take

your creative writing class.

Great.

Have a seat.

Thanks.

Is there any particular reason you'd like

to join my creative writing class?

No.

- Have you ever written anything before?

- No.

Nothing? No poetry or news articles?

Okay, name?

Oscar.

Oscar.

- Kissel.

- Okay.

Oscar.

A lot of people have come

in here like yourself that...

they have a lot to express

and they don't know how.

Creative writing will help you

with all of that.

I'm gonna give you an assignment.

I want you to go home...

and write about something

you know or like,

but make it fictitious.

If you like flying on planes,

write a story about an airline pilot.

Or if you like walking

in the park on Sundays,

write a story about a softball player

that does well in that park on Sundays.

Whatever it is, do it thoroughly.

Get into details.

I want you to make our class believe

in your character, that it's real.

And then we'll feel for them

in their problems, okay?

Softball player?

Goddammit, Frank!

Didn't that sweet ass you got

for a creative writing teacher

tell you to write about stuff you know?

Well, you know about

the darker things in life, don't ya?

So write about that!

Now get back on that typewriter.

And write about that,

you mangy looking bastard.

Come on, I learned you better than that!

Go.

The night never knew

a shade darker than his soul.

That's what everybody used

to say about Frank Stone.

Like a clap of thunder,

he was brought into the world,

and like a flash of lightning, he lived.

And that was pulling off jewelry jobs.

It was his vice.

It gave him comfort, control.

And he would stop at nothing

to get it done.

Nothing. He was as serious

as a heart attack.

But how can one live when laughter

can't sooth their soul?

Frank knew he was dead inside, born dead.

Didn't understand why.

Only certain things made sense to him.

Like being found in a dumpster

on Christmas Eve,

with the umbilical cord

wrapped around his neck.

No.

That can't be good.

That was clear. That's exactly

what the syndicate looks for, too.

Men with rage.

Frank was the most comfortable

in this kind of environment.

So was his boss, Tough Tony Forte.

A local punk gangster with a long arm...

Who always gave Frank work...

whenever the need would arise.

And fortunately for Frank, that need

came about on a regular basis.

He couldn't wait to get that call.

It's the only time

Frank seemed to come alive.

That was just the way things

were in his world. Hard, cold.

That was Frank Stone.

That's all I got so far.

Thank you, Oscar, that was interesting.

Does anybody here

have any questions for Oscar?

Yes, Ackley?

I'm sorry, but that sounded like a...

gangster movie

from the 1940's or something.

You know,

it was like just so totally fake.

And, like, no one in real life

sounds like Frank Stone.

Except, since World War II or something.

Philip... Ackley, once again,

we are not here to judge.

We're here to analyze and interpret.

Does anybody else

have any questions for Oscar?

Yes, Jackie.

Well, I thought it was good.

I really liked it.

It reminded me of one

of those crime novels.

You know what I'm talking about?

Like they sell in the bus depots.

You know, those things that they're

supposed to take your mind off the journey

you're about to go on... you know.

I love those things. I was once on this

bus trip from Virginia to New Mexico...

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