Here's a short story (sorta short, sorta not) that I wrote while in Japan. It's about my vacation to the island of Saipan that I actually went on with my friend James (Jimmy Jive) Dalton of Stoney Creek, Ontario, Canada. Wikipedia has some information that hopefully is correct: HERE.
The story is about me and a starfish I actually found - a wonderfully large, royal blue one. Now, some of you may be aware that I collect, or rather, did collect comics up until financial concerns made that impossible. Still, I have about 30,000 of them. In the very first Justice League of America adventure back in Brave & The Bold #28, the super heroes Superman, Batman, Aquaman, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Martian Manhunter, The Flash and I believe teenaged mascot Snapper Carr, went up against a giant Starfish from outer space. That's the backgrounder.
It was originally entitled: The End Of The World, and until now no one besides myself has ever read this - well, maybe my friends Rob and Doug, as I sent them a copy of it back when I was in Japan.
It's my fault really. I mean, I suppose it is. Although I didn't, y'know, like push the button or anything radical like that. All I did was go to Saipan for a vacation. Saipan is a small island north of Guam... look it up yourself, I'm busy.
(Okay, the flashback is beginning, so pretend that everything you see for the next seven seconds is wavering up and down and side to side. For those of you who have been seeing this effect for years... put down the ink blotter and step away from that iguana. It's not yours.)
My trip to Saipan was not very interesting until I wandered along the sharp coral-infested beach near my cabana-cum-hotel. To escape the ravages of the hardened sponge, I stepped into the warm waters of the Pacific, and gashed myself just hideously on the knee, as I had forgotten about the ravenous coral live - whoops! - die under the water's surface. The cut, combined with the salt water, added up to some intense pleasure that I would normally have to pay through the nose for. That is something best experienced over describing.
The time had come for me to finally go all the way and dip my head under the water. I was extremely reluctant, because the last time I had been on a beach, there was no water. One of the drawbacks of living in the desert, I guess. I took a deep breath and submerged. I opened up my eyes and promptly felt my contact lenses slip cleanly from my eyeballs. Let me tell you, it was no easy job looking for something that is see-through, water permeable and invisible when you have the eyesighte of an inkblotter in heat.
That was when I met him. As he tapped me on the shoulder, I turned around and squinted into the indigo image of...
STARO - CONQUEROR OF THE WORLD!
(This is the point ion the story when the music gets really pompous with lots of trumpets telling you to be scared. The clarinets though, whine that the trumpets are always too loud and drown out their pleas for better reeds. as for the violins? Well, who cares? I never could stomach violins. They sound like someone ordering a ham on rye at the deli on 47th Street in New York City whilst choking to death on a piano wire that happens to be wrapped around their neck by a guy named Cecil.)
At first he seemed like an okay guy. he had found my contacts and held out a solid arm to show me. As I reached for them, he playfully pulled them out of my reach. We laughed as he held them out for me yet again. As I lunged for them, he quickly threw them into another suction-like arm and held all five of his rays behind his back. Or was it his front? It was so tough to tell, what with the fact that Staro (I gave him that name, as starfish don't usually have one) still had my contacts.
Cursing his blue hide, I threw myself at his taunting frame. My sudden attack caught him off balance and sent him spiraling into a large mass of brain coral. He wasn't lodged in there or anything, but the continued lapping of the waves made balance an impossibility. I plucked my contacts from his icy grip, inserted them and laughed heartily as I picked his struggling form out of the water.
I brought him back to the cabana with me and let his body lie on my writing table, bereft of water. Needless to say, after a couple of day, the stench of his decomposing body and my roommate's flatulence caused me a momentary lapse of motor control. I spilled my bottle of COORS beer on Staro. Cursing my stupidity and those stinky farts, I tried to drink as much of the fallen suds as possible. But, with unhuman swiftness, Staro slurped it up (not really surprising since it's not a human ).
I watched in amazement as Staro grew and grew and grew. Then he grew some more. With blinding speed, Staro grabbed my friend who was attempting to fire up blue angels and deposited him in his pink and green maw. I'll never forget those crunching and farting sounds - not to mention Staro's raucous belch.
Staro then looked at me and grinned. Quite a sight, let me tell you. He picked me up in his sinewy limbs and held me close to his stinking maw that smelled like... like... uh, like... (Well now pause for a few minutes while the storyteller tries to locate a thesaurus amidst the rubble that was once civilization. You people might want to step out for a bite to eat. Might I suggest the deli over on Madison and Greer? They've got these bagels with this special homemade cream cheese that would absolutely to die for if everybody wasn't already dead. Don't order the iguana tartar. It was a little dicey and stunned the trumpets into a muted muffle.)
... like... like a... starfish mouth? Anyhow, I thought I was going to have a heart attack, but then I discovered it was indigestion brought on by a bad bacon-iguana and violin sandwich. Staro spoke to me in a voice that shook the fillings out of my mouth. Boy, did that hurt! He said he was going to keep me around because he needed someone to arm wrestle with. Oh the horror! The horror!
Star was true to his word. He didn't eat me, and I arm-wrestled him between his munching of cities. Apparently the beer gave him super strength and radioactive breath that smelled like farts that enabled him to defeat the nuclear armies of Earth. Needless to say, he beat me most of the time in arm wrestling, too.
(This is where we end the flashback. everything is wavering up and down and side to side. The lizards are no longer speaking in flicked tongues, but the world is totally aflame. Melancholy clarinets play somber rhythms as Staro has apparently eaten the overbearing trumpet section. Apparently, he hates brass as well as mankind and rhubarb pie - which he blames for his sister's limp.
So there you have it... the story of how our planet came to be destroyed by a 19-foot, five-armed, blue starfish from Saipan. Of course, since he and I are the only living creatures left on Earth, I have absolutely no idea whom I am talking to. Hey you! The ink blotter! Ya got a few minutes? I got a story for you and your violin-playing iguana. It's your mother? Sorry.
Somewhere wondering what I would write if I did drugs,
Andrew Joseph
Today's blog title is by R.E.M. and can be heard by pressing THEBUTTON.
PS: I really don't do drugs, and I sure as hell don't write while drinking - although I am having a rum & coke while I type out this... but this is typing, not writing.
PPS: I have no idea what my fascination was with ink blotters, deli's or iguanas. I do play the clarinet and I do dislike string instruments. However, my uncle Harold Joseph (when alive) was the conductor of the Delhi Symphony Orchestra amongst other things: NAMEDROPPER and I do have his violin.
PPPS: My buddy James had this ability to fart on command - not that any body I know actually commanded he fart - but I suppose it was his command. Jimmy Jive was such a fun individual and I hope he is well and somewhat gassy. Just not too gassy.
PPPPS: Staro did have beer spilled on himself by me in the cabana, but the beer did not revive him. It made him tipsy, and let me know he was still alive. I felt stupid about trying to kill such a magnificent creature and returned him to the Pacifc Ocean alive and a raging alcoholic.
PPPPPS: DC Comics killer starfish is spelled Starro. I wanted to avoid a lawsuit should this ever become a fanous work of short semi-autobiographical fiction.
