Tag Archives: The Big Bleep

THE BIG BLEEP, Chapter 3

Republished by Blog Post Promoter

(Read Chapter 1 and Chapter 2, if you haven’t already)


One of the basic rules of being a detective I learned early on in a class I took at the Academy of Existential Investigations Of Understanding (A.E.I.O.U.) was this:  If the facts don’t fit the theory, change the facts.  So far, I didn’t have a workable theory about where Carmel Wormwood went.  I didn’t have a workable theory about where I was or how I got here either.  So, in true academic fashion, I decided to ignore the facts for the time being while I came up with a theory that would explain how I got from an acupuncture table in Anytown, USA into a Plant Convention in a totally different universe.

I stood in the middle of the main convention hall looking around for the Director of Plant Security, so I could ask him some questions to help me figure out where I was.  His secretary said his name was Cactus, but I hadn’t seen a single cactus since I’d been there.  As I continued wandering around the hall, I was reminded of my metaphysics professor back at my alma mater, A.E.I.O.U..  He had a big map of the world hung up on the wall in the front of the classroom.  It had ‘You Are Here’ written all over it.  That map seemed an appropriate description of my current location.

My first class of the day was “Achieving Oneness”, but my favorite class, which was not listed on the official course curriculum, was “Achieving Twoness”, which I studied between classes and between the sheets with my girlfriend a the time.

The ultimate truth was that I flunked out of A.E.I.O.U..  I failed the final exam in metaphysical sciences.  I arranged with my girlfriend to give me the answers to the test during the exam, telepathically.  Our spiritual connection was perfect, but we both spent so much time together “Achieving Twoness” that she hadn’t studied for the exam either, so we both flunked the course.

Fortunately, my lack of a university degree is more than compensated for by my keenly developed lack of interest in people who care about whether or not I have a university  degree.  Nonetheless, that un-existential map taught me a very valuable lesson.  Right now, all I had to do was figure out where “here” was. My problem was that “here” didn’t seem to exist in the physical universe.

I had been in some pretty bizarre places in my life, but this was too weird, even for a highly trained and disciplined professional like myself.  I really didn’t have any real clues about what was happening.  Anyway, I had to stay calm…use my investigative training to figure out what had happened.  There had to be a logical explanation.

OK, so there were a few hundred billion possibilities.  But, first, I needed to come up with a few theories that might explain my situation — keep it simple.  Then, I would compare the evidence I had to see which theory would explain the facts.  I tested each theory, one at a time:

Theory #1)

I must be dreaming!  Using my highly developed sense of scientific methodology, I decided to start out testing my first theory first.  Was I dreaming?  I tried all of my usually reliable tricks for waking myself up:  I rolled out of bed and hit the floor.  Nothing.

I told myself, “OK, you’re just dreaming, so wake up, get out of bed, have a nice hot cup of coffee…”  Nothing changed:  I still had limbs and roots.  So, I slapped myself around.  It hurt.  But nothing happened.  Finally, I tried to just stop dreaming.  I gritted my bark and willed myself to stop dreaming until my leaves shook.  No good.  I was still a tree.

Theory #2)

I had transmigrated spiritually into the body of a tree.  But if that were true, where did I leave my other body?  I didn’t see it lying around anywhere.  I felt like my normal self, but my complexion was a lot rougher than usual.  I smelled quite a bit nicer than usual though.  But, that didn’t explain the Plant Convention….

Theory #3)

I had finally just totally (bleeping) freaked out!  This seemed like a very likely possibility.  However, insanity, although it might be normal for human beings, the plants I’d met at the convention all seemed to be pretty sane.  So, since I was a plant at the moment, I ruled out the possibility of insanity on the basis of my current state of vegetation.

Theory #4)

I had been abducted by aliens.  No, the last time I was abducted by aliens it was nothing like this.  Although, it could be different aliens.  Anyway, I didn’t see any aliens around here, except for myself, of course.

Theory #5)

I had slipped through a crack in space and landed in a different universe.  No, that was too weird — even for me.

Theory #6)

I was re-experiencing one of my past lifetimes when I was a plant.  Yeah, I believe in past lives.  Actually, I don’t believe I’ve lived before, I know I’ve lived before because I can remember some of the lives I lived.  Most of the lives I remember were the ones I’d rather forget about — the ones that turned into total (bleep), like this lifetime.  On the other hand, my memories about happy past lives all sort of blended together into a big, blissful nothingness.

Of course, inthe United States it’s against the law to believe in past lives.  Insurance companies are afraid that if you live more than once, you’ll come back and want to collect on your life insurance policy.  If everybody did that, they’d go out of business.  The government is afraid it’ll get gypped out of all the estate taxes they steal from your family when you die.

I remember when I was back in Egypt. The Pharaohs got away with keeping all their gold and furniture and stuff after they died by telling everybody they needed to take their stuff with them because they were going to live forever, somewhere else, like in a tomb under the ground which would magically transport them up into the stars. The peasants all bought the idea until one day somebody wised up and figured out that it would be better if the Pharaohs just died when they were dead and just stayed dead!  That way, you could steal all of the stuff from their tombs and not have to worry about getting caught by the dead guy.

But, that was then and this was…well, this was some other time.  Anyway, most of what I had learned about being a public dick I didn’t learn in classrooms. I learned it from listening to detective shows on the radio as a kid and reading the autobiographies of famous spiritual masters as an adult.

I always remember the scenes where Johnny Dollar, or Sam Spade or some other private dick, got knocked out by somebody — about three times in every episode — usually because they hadn’t kept their dick private around somebody else’s wife or girlfriend.

Detectives always get knocked out by someone from behind, spin out of reality and go “thud” into a foggy haze of semi-consciousness.  Later, they wake up in an alley or some other strange place, with a huge bump on his head, but no clue about what happened. The same thing usually happened to the great spiritual masters in the history of planet Earth I studied at A.E.I.O.U..  Well, none of that was happening to me. I was pretty sure I’d been conscious the whole time  — I just can’t prove it yet.

The facts were that one second I was lying on Dr. Alice’s table, with needles stuck in my butt and the next thing I knew, I’m talking to Peter The Potted Plant!  And, as far as I could tell, I didn’t have a head…or a butt either…just branches, bark and roots. Anyway, I guess that’s what I get for listening to detective stories and spiritual masters.  Besides, they’re too impractical to be of much use in the real world of dinosaurs and talking plants.

Nonetheless, I still had to figure out how to get back.  But first I had to figure out where “back” was…right after I figured out where “here” was.  My first move was to go back across the convention floor to see if the head of Plant Security had come back to his office.  Maybe he could give me some directions about getting “back” from “here”.  Besides, it gave me a great excuse to check out the peaches on his secretary again.

Peaches were my favorite fruit.  I’d loved peaches for a lot of lifetimes — I just couldn’t remember which ones.

If there is one thing I’ve learned from living a lot of lifetimes, it’s this:  when at first you don’t succeed, give up and try something else.  Anyway, I forgot what I was thinking about a few minutes ago…oh, yeah…figuring out where “here” is, so I can figure out how to get “back” from “here”.

I decided to test one of my other theories.  I figured I must be in a different place now than the one I was in when I got stuck in the butt on the acupuncture table.  But, right now I needed to get my butt over to The Plant Land Security Office and get some answers: no if, ands, or butts about it!

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“The world will always welcome lovers….. As Time Goes By …..”.  (click to play the song while you read the story)

A  sad and sensuous melody wafts in from the Really Old Oldies Station playing on the radio in the bedroom.  The classic melody melts into the candlelight and steam above my sunken penthouse bathtub hidden in the clouds of a Big City Skyline.

Amber tendrils of her dripping hair draw arabesques on golden skin along the supple curves of her torso.  Eyes half-closed, pouting mouth, she tosses her head toward me with a gaze that would light wet firewood. There is nothing in the world but her and me.

Lifting a leg above the water, she rests her foot on my shoulder, stroking my hair and neck, tickling my ear with her pinkly painted toes.  She makes me smile idiotically, yes, please-do-it-ically. I tilt my head to meet her foot with a submissive animal twitch that lets her know she’s my master.

Her leg bends slightly.  A rivulet runs down her leg, melting into the canyon between her thighs.  Her heel nestles next to my throat as she massages my temple with her toe. I lift my hand out of the suds to blow her a bubbly kiss. My eyes follow the ruffled waves as they ripple on the shores of her ample, island breasts. Tiny bubbles swirl and burst beneath her nipples like a tiny, iridescent fireworks show.

Slowly her caresses shift, her slick skin slithers on mine, the tip of her toe traces my chin, the contour of my lips.  My eyes loose focus as I submerge myself in sensuousness.  I nibble at her perfect toes, tickling with my tongue. She giggles, then laughs out loud. That sound!  If it was food, I’d gain a hundred pounds!

“Oh, baby…” My voice is a horse whisper. She whinnies and lets her arching foot slide down my pecs.  Her toes dig into my skin, her sole rests on the wild pounding in my chest — she can feel it!  Very still, she listens to my heart with her delicious toes. It’s pumping!  Out of control, like some menacing machine!  We both know where the blood is going now…Shadow, I love you.

She bites her lower lip. Her breathing quickens.  Like a female Captain Ahab, she lowers her boat urgently into the bubble bath scented waves to hunt for the great, white sperm whale.

“Oh yeah, baby. Lower away!”, I say, urging her on.

As the keel of Shadow’s boat rides on the waves of our passion, I hear, in the back of my mind, the voice of Gregory Peck intoning Herman Melville’s immortal words:

“The whale, the whale! Up helm, up helm! Oh, all ye sweet powers of air, now hug me close!  Steady! helmsman, steady. Nay, nay! Up helm again! He turns to meet us! Oh, his unappeasable brow drives on towards one, whose duty tells him he cannot depart. My God, stand by me now!”

The perfumed waves mount into a frothing tempest and splash onto the bathroom floor.  My Moby Dick rams and hoists the shuddering bow of her sensuous ship until her timbers creak and moan, and then explode, giving way to screams!…the same, impassioned screams that have summoned the wandering souls of humanity into the next generation of baby bodies since the Omniscient Creator orchestrated the first primordial conception of homo sapiens in the dim mists of…

“Bbrrrrriiiing!  Bbrrrrriiiing!”

I opened one eye slowly and carefully lurched my aching head up off my desk.  Oh, (Bleep)! I was dreaming again!  A very moist dream.  For the third time this week I’d fallen asleep in front of my computer monitor. I felt like “Johnny Dollar, PI”, in the old radio program I used to listen to when I was a kid, except for the fact that he had an expense account because he worked as a claims investigator for some big insurance company.

I have a lot of expenses, but I didn’t have any accounts.  Every time Johnny walked around a corner somebody hit him on the back of the head and knocked him out.  He spent all of his time trying to figure out who did it and why.  Usually, it was because of some women he was mixed up with. You think he would have learned to stay away from corners.

“Bbrrrrriiiing!  Bbrrrrriiiing!”

The (bleeping) phone was still ringing!  My answering machine picked up the call.  I heard my cleverly conceived marketing message start to play as I looked foggily at the sign painted on the opaque glass of my office door:

The Un-existential Detective Agency of America  (T.U.D.A.A.) !

“We dig up the truth for you”

SAM SHOVEL – Proprietor and Public Dick”


Excerpt from Chapter One of  THE BIG BLEEP, a novel by Lawrence R. Spencer


Republished by Blog Post Promoter

big bleep coyote

The Big Bleep is the story of hard-boiled, Harley riding detective Sam Shovel, digging up the truth on a comedic, existential journey of self-realization. It digs deep into the opinions of plants and trees to explore a universe where a fictional characters become self-aware — just like in real life! And, it’s the only book that tells the truth about what REALLY happened to the Earth dinosaurs, and where Superheros go when they retire.

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