Aldous Rhyme (Story 1)

05/02/2020 0 By BuddyCushman


Aldous Rhyme reached down and flicked the white noise-maker on. Whoosh. Endless whoosh. Who thought this thing up? How did that happen? Probably an accident Aldous figured, and following that thought was that you put yourself in the position to be the recipient in all the good ways of an accident, in other words that’s not an accident, and he sunk down into the lean-back office chair – the office door shut and locked, the noise-maker whooshing on the floor just outside, he in here snug as a bug in a rug and comfy as all get out began a period of pondering and as it has unfolded without any prompts or preconceived outline on his part, we find the question of how does one go about getting themselves into a position where they are the beneficiary of an accident, and that doesn’t happen by accident – kind of a not not there – how does that happen?, that question number one with a bullet on let’s go hide in the office and think about shit, which has always been high up on its own hit list for pleasant and fulfilling activities in the life of Aldous Rhyme.

So, where was he, oh yeah, some dickhead came up with the idea of whooshy noise-maker and probably made a million bucks doing it and in that case maybe it was an accident, some noisy device like that running and someone is trying to talk with someone else in the next room and they can’t hear a word because that stupid noise is going and – bing, bang, thwunk, zap, zowee – hey, what if we did that on purpose? What if we were in a meeting and talking about really sensitive stuff, it could be like spy stuff or national security stuff or some corporate secret brainstorming, maybe a plot to rob an armored car or a plan to lure three cute girls down into the basement for a slow-dance and grind and smooch party with my twin teenage pals, the point is is that people are in a room and talking about things they don’t want people outside the room to hear, and with that noise they can’t unless someone outside stuck their ear right up to the door which likely wouldn’t happen mostly because they could get caught, so – oh yeah baby – I just got a great idea for a “device” and I have not clue one about patents or how you protect your own ideas so when someone takes on the manufacturing and marketing and distributing you are there for the high-number percentage, it could be like an big initial payment –

…. Aldous here daydreams of holding his hand out and another hand (you can’t see the whole person in the daydream) placing a check into his (Aldous’s) hand and the camera zooms in and the check is for $500,000, make that a cool half mil, and because Aldous – in this vision – has a best buddy who is one sharp cookie when it comes to tax law and contractual agreements, Aldous not only rejoices in this big payday but is also for all of perpetuity (so including his kids if he ever has any and their kids etc. etc.) going to receive .075 of future sales, every one, and you have to think there is pretty much always going to be a need to keep secrets and shut other people out from your discussions, and here we haven’t even laid out the scenario of therapy, as in Mr. or Mrs. troubled sicko psycho massively depressed and kind of hopeless or really really pissed so and so goes to a therapist to get their shit together, hopefully covered by insurance, and they need some damn privacy or they won’t feel entirely comfortable to “open up” you could call it, and when you think about how many truly sick bastards there are even just in this US of A and how many helper wannabes the social work schools are churning out, well, yowser brothers and sisters, that reads out to a fistful of dineros amigos,

and all of this has in a mostly linear fashion floated on through the mind of Mr. Rhyme from the time he snapped on the noise-maker out there beyond the door and especially since sinking down into the imitation leather, and you go noise-maker inventor whoever you are or were, accident or plain old scientific experimentation like Tom Edison and the 10K process. And now here, as we pause, Aldous comes back around to the question of how to put himself in the time and place to be the beneficiary of the so-called “accident” and this will no doubt take a lot longer period of thinking than he has available right now because there is a gathering planned for the “High Society” team, of which he and two of his pals – the twins Royal Kline and Manny Thallius – are the only members and it is just 45 minutes away from when the meeting comes to official order – and a 25 minute drive over there to Betty’s Bake Shop, this week’s selected place of meeting, so nowhere near the time to puzzle out the just how am I going to become fabulously rich accidentally on purpose?

But more than enough time to tack on to that question the for-sure certainty that I – Aldous Rhyme – am already one outrageously and chronically and exuberantly happy guy, I’m like celebrating something new every 10 minutes, which is what happens when you pay real good attention and live fully in the moment and have abundance and the tangibility of it as your co-pilot (which AR does) and so yeah, becoming stupidly rich would be cool because then he’d go to the post office and get an application for a passport, which he has not done in his 28 years on the planet yet, and once that formality was in the bank use some of the big bucks to go check some places out, and long ago, being the big big daydreamer he is, Aldous has come up with a destination list which goes, in order of fantasy big old jet airliner landing in one of their airports: New Zealand, Portugal, Scotland, Australia, Hawaii (sure, screw the passport, still), the Republic of South Africa or whatever it’s called these days, and probably France.

Just think – all this with the noisy thing.