Reading order

Start with Teaser. Hounth second, then Vreanko, and after that Quisitere. That's it. You're all caught up. 

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Quisitere

Quisitere

Rob looks my way. Julie is still laughing like she just heard the funniest joke ever, and I am putting the words together for my customer service story. Julie calms down a bit and sips her drink before she can regain her composure.

"Chris, seriously if you can't top that you're done."
"Oh, I know. I will say that tobacco zombie robot was probably the most horrifying thing I've ever heard, and I've worked in food service. But let me take you to the magical realm some call Millibooks. On a Sunday night, about a half hour until closing, this couple comes up to the information desk. The first thing I notice is that they're wearing the most intricately airbrushed t-shirts I've ever seen in my life."
Julie's eyes widen and she pounds the table again.
"Shut up! Wolf or dragon?"
I take another sip from my drink to delay my answer just a second.
"Both."
Rob is shaking his head with disbelief and I know he's going to want to challenge this.
"Are you fucking serious?"
"Oh, when I get to the rest of the story I think you'll find that you were there that night. As I was saying, the guy had the wolf shirt and the woman had the dragon. Over his wolf shirt the guy is wearing this jacket with all of these patches that have all the popular right wing slogans all over. My favorite was 'Why can't Al Gore fix global warming with the money he made from inventing the internet?' I look and I'm suddenly the only employee in range and I see that they're making a line towards the desk, and me."
Rob holds his hand up. I nod to him.
"What's all of this about the clothing? This isn't about fashion."
"I was giving background just like you did. Besides I applaud them for wearing what they did. They're doing everyone a favor by letting people who are going to talk to them know exactly what they're in for. It's not every day that you run into two people who are wearing what equates to the mullet of t-shirts."
Julie is rolling in her seat. Rob is smiling and it's time to bring it home.
"So the guy looks at me in my apron, name tag, my disinterested attitude, and my location behind the information desk and asks me the question that sums up stupid customers everywhere I think. 'Do you work here?' 'Yes sir, how can I help you?' 'We just watched a movie and we were hoping to learn a little more about the person in it.' 'That shouldn't be a problem. Who are you wanting to learn about?' 'Abraham Van Helsing' "
Rob kills his drink and looks at me wide eyed.
"I'd forgotten about them. I can't believe I could have ever forgotten this."
"Wait a sec, these people wanted you to find the biography of a fictional character?"
"Oh, it gets better. This guy is chattering about how Van Helsing was a real guy and doesn't mention a word about Dracula or anything that was in the original book. I put Van Helsing into the computer and, amazingly, there's a book about him in the store. I tell them I may have found what they're looking for. It's over in fiction, so I ask them to follow me. I get them into the section and that's when he notices where we are. 'Fiction, that's where "The Da Vinci Code" belongs.' I nod in agreement and hand them their book. Before they could ask me anything else I fake a phone call on the customer service phone and beat feet out of there before I start laughing my ass off."
Julie is laughing harder now, we're on the verge of making a scene in the bar, and ending up in the waitresses' list of stories to tell their friends later. Rob holds up his hand and attempts to flag down a waitress. It's not working. I shake my head and point to Julie.
"As much as I admire your good sportsmanship, we need an official ruling here."
"Yeah, Julie who won?" Julie takes a moment to regain her composure.
"I'm going to need a little while to think about this. Talk about something else. They were both excellent stories, really."
"Okay, I guess we can just put the next round on the tab. Chris, what are you drinking?"
"Cuba Libre."
"What?"
"Rum and coke with a slice of lime"
"Oh, okay. I'll be right back."
Rob walks over to the bar. He seems to be able to get the attention of the bartender quickly and is sitting with us within a few minutes. Julie looks at us each in turn.
"Okay. I think I can safely say that this was very close. So close that I don't think I could fairly choose a winner."
Rob shake his head.
"So, what does that mean for our bet?"
"It means that you guys either just going to have to accept the tie, or come up with a tiebreaker."

Chapter 3, it is here...

If you read it you must comment and tell a friend. That is the intention of this website.

Here's the reading order if you are new.

Chapter 1 - Tees

Chapter 2 - Hounth

Chapter 3- Vreanko

Chapter4- Quisitere

Vreanko

Vreanko

It doesn’t take long for my eyes to adjust to the neon, but I’m disoriented enough to bump into five or six people as I navigate around to the bar. I order and drop the money into the bartender’s hand and before I’m too preoccupied with finding change for the jukebox, the drink is in my hand and I’m waving off the change. The bar is crowded in a desperate way. People don’t really care about connecting with someone else. It’s about proving to yourself that you’re attractive enough to make someone else want you. You can tell by how they are just mouthing off about their own achievements or waiting on their turn to talk. The only reason I come to this bar anyway is because it is loud enough to not have to think about why I’m there in the first place. Usually, when I come here there’s no one that recognizes me, but I can see Rob and his sister Julie waving me over from the moment the bartender presses the drink into my hand. I take a sip and walk over. 

"Motherfucker! What's goin' on man?" 

Rob is as eloquent as ever, Julie nods at me and I slide into a chair across from her. 

"Hi guys. I think I might have gone a little crazy earlier." 

Julie looks at me again and I wonder if there's anything more than friendly in it, but I've never been good at getting the subtlety of women. The subtlety of a hammer I get, but women are a confusing morass of emotions and pleasantly tight sweaters. Rob sips at his drink and begins to speak. I can see tracer lines on his pocket. They send out little waves into the air the waves tangle and inter mesh with waves from the pockets and purses of the other bar patrons. 

"How are you going crazy, mang?" Rob laughs at his own jokes. It gets annoying sometimes, but he's more funny than not so he doesn't grate nearly as much as someone who has no sense of humor. 

"I think maybe I'd rather talk about something else right now. How's the new job?"

"Oh, it's probably the easiest and dullest thing you could ever do. Don't ever apply at a gas station man, and if you do, don't apply for the overnight shift." 

"Is it really that bad?" 

"Let me put it this way, I had a bitch yell at me because she had to walk inside to get her receipt." Julie perks up at this and leans forward. 

"Ooh, customer service stories. That's my favorite pastime. What did she say?" 

"Well, basically she was annoyed that she had to come in at all. I apologized, of course and when that didn't seem to satisfy her, she looked at me like I was a scumbag and stormed off." 

"Boring! Let's hear some crazy shit! Chris, what about the book store? Surely there's something you can share with us." I consider this and take out my wallet. 

"Well if we're going to do this, why don't we make it a little interesting?" Julie looks to Rob with that weird communication that brothers and sisters share. They nod at each other and then at me. Rob is the speaker of the sibling beast I call Rulie. 

"What kind of stakes did you have in mind?" "Oh, you know, just your standard run of the mill bar bet. I win, you buy my drinks the rest of the night. You win, I buy yours." 

"How will we know who won?" 

"Julie will be the judge." 

"Why Julie?" 

"Because, she's a self confessed aficionado of customer service stories. Also, I know she'll be fair because she judged your nonstarter story as lame." "Okay, big man how do we decide who goes first?" I hold up my hand and walk over to the bar. I don't wait for the bartender's attention this time because all I'm looking for is a few drink stirrers. I take 5 or so and I cut them different lengths. As I walk back to the table I arrange them in my hand so that they all look more or less the same. "Okay, Mr. Rob, take a straw. Shortest straw goes first." Rob carefully chooses his straw and pulls it from my hand. 

"Julie, if you'll do me the honor of choosing my straw. I don't want to be accused of cheating." 

"Of course, Chris, let's see. Which one do I want? I want this one. " Rob chooses his and they compare them like boys comparing fathers on the playground. Julie smacks Rob on the arm with her straw. 

"Mine's bigger! You've gotta go first, sucker!" 

"Wow, sucker. Something tells me this won't be as fair as you think, Chris." 

"She's your sister, duder." 

"Fine. How about a cigarette story?" 

"If that's how you want to lose this, I heartily agree." 

"Anyway, a couple of weeks ago we were out of practically out of every cigarette we carry. No hard packs of anything popular. Almost no popular cigarettes at all, really. People were getting really mad about it. I had this conversation about ten times a night. 

'How can I help you?' 

'I need Oldbays short hard pack please.' 

'No can do' 

'Why not?' 

'We're out of them.' This would make them look at me with this kind of naked hatred. As if their only reason for living was being extinguished by my hand. So they'd ask me what they were supposed to do. 

'I don't know, pal. Go somewhere else? You know, like another place where cigarettes are sold?' So, this would go on and on, for pretty much the last part of the week right before the cigarette shipment would arrive. The kicker, was when we ran out of cigarillos. Well, not all of them. We had peach, strawberry and menthol." 

Julie holds up her hand at this point before I can interrupt. 

"Wait, this is going somewhere, right? I mean the conversation was kind of funny, but we need one example of how you tried to give good customer service but the customer prevented you."

"I was actually getting to it, Julie. just be a little patient. Now, this guy came in and it's late. My shift is almost over and I've had enough of this bullshit where people think it's their right to get cigarettes. Like it's written into the Constitution in the Bill of Rights between the right to bear arms and not quartering troops, but I digress. This lady comes roaring into the store like she's dying of malaria and we're stocked full of whatever it is that cures malaria. Shut up, Julie. No one cares about what cures malaria. She runs up to the counter and she's out of breath, panting, just dripping sweat on my counter. She catches her breath and I notice she's got a strange bib around her neck. That's when she lifts the cancer microphone to her throat." 

Julie's eyes widen and my chances of winning this contest seem to get slimmer. Shit. 

"No fucking way!" Julie pounds the table as she says this and I am racking my brain for the end all be all of customer stories. I laugh at Rob's story as the perfect one pops into mind.

Rob takes a sip from his drink and nods. This story is only going to get better, then I'm going to lose.

"So the microphone starts to crackle up with her robot voice, and for some reason I know what she's going to ask.

'Oldbays short hard pack and two regular cigarillos.'

'I'm all out.'

'What?'

'I'm out of all those things you just asked me for.'

'This is bullshit!' 

'No, ma'am, if you'll take a look behind me you'll see that we are completely out of Oldbays. If you direct your attention to the left of that a bit you'll notice that we are out of regular cigarillos. I am completely unable to help you.' 

That's when she ran out of the store."

Julie's laughter peals out masking my own.

"Chris, you're going to have to bring it if you want to win."

I smile and stir my drink, this might be a little more difficult than I previously thought.

This means something, this is important...

Delay for chapter 3

I'm feeling under the weather and not at all up to exploring what's going on in the world of Clang. I'm expecting to work on it in the next few days.

Hounth

Waking up with a face full of bugs, an aching head, and burns on your forearms may spell a successful Friday night for some, but, somehow, I want to crawl into the street to see if there's enough humanity left in anyone passing by to run directly over my head and put me out of my misery. I brush the bugs off slowly because it feels like I'm jabbing forks into my eyes every time I move my head.

The dusty taste in my mouth indicates that I do not want to swallow right now, whatever happens. I spit everything I can out of my mouth. It comes down in a fine spray all over my face.

Slowly I sit up and evaluate the situation, thankfully, it's still night. I'd rather not think about the massive pounding in my head, but I know that the sun would only exacerbate the situation.  I don't know the exact time, but not more than two hours have passed since my Great Experiment Really Bad Idea.

I dig around in my pockets for my cigarettes. After a minute or so of fumbling, I pull the battered box from my pocket. Three lonely rumpled soldiers stand guard at the gates of my lungs. I put one in my mouth and light it. Sweet nicotine races into my bloodstream. For the first time in hours, I feel loved and warm.

It takes a while for the pounding in my head to go away, but, go away it does. I finally feel well enough to try standing. On standing, I discover that the ground is not moving quite as quickly as I had previously thought, so I challenge myself to a few steps and walk to the edge of the yard. I chuck the butt into the street and spit into the gutter.

"I need to do something with my life. This can not possibly be a reasonable way for an adult to behave."

I hear a droning from behind me. The zapper has seen better days, but still, I suppose if I could dust myself off and become whole again, I could at least do something to fix the old thing. Aside from that, I don't want to be responsible for a house fire.

The zapper, or, if you prefer, Zappy, (I'm not sure why you would prefer this), is just laying there emitting a buzz. Its cage is bent and there are insect parts smoldering on the bulb. I also spot a break in the power line, so I go inside to unplug it and find some electrical tape. It takes only a few minutes to repair the damage I'd caused. I do have to admit that I almost throw the damn thing into the street when it speaks to me.

"What?"

"Ψǽπk γσΰ. Ћάήχ λοη."

It's a sound like a hundred small children speaking almost in unison. I shake my head, and try to catch just one voice out of the many.

"Thank you, can you really understand me?"

"I think I can, but it hurts. It's like you're pushing a drill into my eardrum with a hot wire."

"I can tune my voice for you, I'm sorry that it is not pleasing to you."

"No, that's okay," I say, "going crazy is going to be a nice change of pace from the current shittiness of my life."

"You're not going crazy, but I can understand why you'd think so."

"Good, and because you understand, I'm sure you'll understand why I need to go and drink until I pass out."

"Yes, I think I do. Have fun, you will have the fruits of my gratitude soon enough."

"Goodbye," I say, waving, unsure if the zapper can even see what I'm doing.

I go back into the house, cleanse my wounds and change into something respectable. As I walk out the door, I notice bright red sparks running through the power lines, soft blue glows come from the fronts of running cars. Thin pink tracers run through the people I pass on the sidewalk. Every building is etched in glowing lines and, as I walk into the bar, the neon glows like a thousand suns.