Silly Goose Flies Away!

To the illustrator: I don't know what your usual author notes look like, but his is how me and Don Julio did it: Caption, then my notes on what needs to be in the drawing. Basic story is a goose wants to fly, so he goes into an airport. There he takes a plane and is downed by the military. Easy peasy, hope you brought your red pen (I'm not hiring a colorist, figure it out).

Caption: Look at Silly Goose sitting in a pond!

Illustrator notes: I don't give a fuck what this looks like. Goose. Water. What the fuck ever. Just make the goose like one of those Canadian "sure means well" looking things, not like the little bastards that used to hiss at me when I was a kid.

Silly Goose is all alone!

I dunno, copy the last and throw some other geese in the background. Mean girl geese. Not like in pink with blond hair, but just looking at Silly so you know they're talking shit.

Silly Goose, where are you going?

Get the fucking goose out of the water walking. Sandy beach, rocky shoreline, as long as it looks like a fucking goose leaving the water.

Silly Goose has decided to fly!

Flap the fucker's wings. Blank white behind him, whatever non-water shit you decided. No fucks given except for wings in motion.

Flapping his wings makes Silly Goose tired!

No idea what a tired goose looks like. Do whatever the fuck you want, just don't make it look like the bastard had too many tequila shots and now has the spray shits. Tired, not sick, I'm saying.

Silly Goose, you can't go to the airport!

I want this goose in front of a gate with a guard in a uniform and weapon drawn. Don't make the goose shit, but make him look like he's back away slowly. The guard better be ready to send this goose to hell at the slightest honk, but he has handcuffs outstretched like that could bring him peace.

Silly Goose always finds a way!

Time to unleash the beast. Two page spread. Don't draw the normal flapping at the guard goose attack. Everyone has see that shit. I want the goose biting at this guy's crotch while he screams in pain and fires off shots into the ceiling. Dick biting and then tearing out his throat. Better yet, guard bloody on the ground with chunks taken out while the goose walks away carrying the guard's weapon with handcuffs on his side. Bloody goose prints following.

Silly Goose makes a friend!

Silly has the weapon trained on a pilot or a flight attendant, I don't care. Somebody who can fly a plane. Make them hot, too. Like sexy, but not scared. Like sassy, like the audience thinks that maybe Silly and them have a chance. I'm gonna call them Pilot, but make them whoever.

Silly Goose finds a plane!

Quick image of Silly leading Pilot along the tarmac to a hanger. There's a mechanic in overalls, they don't have to be sexy but maybe. They'll be dead soon anyway.

Don't stand between Silly Goose and flying!

Silly and Pilot standing at one end. The weapon has smoke coming off it. The mechanic is falling, fucking dead with a hole in his face. Not like his forehead like every other Sopranos bullshit head shot, but below the eye so it shatters the skull a little. Like his front is dented while this giant blood spray covers the rear of the plane. Pilot maybe is into it.

Away Silly Goose goes!

Another two page spread of plane taking off. Make it a small plane, like one of those jets rich guys take to islands where they fuck geese. Pilot and Silly are in the window up front, weapon still in Pilot's face but maybe you think it doesn't have to be there. Silly all business. Swarms of security and cops are below them firing at the plane.

Silly Goose enjoys the blue sky!

Silly has the gun in his lap, staring at the sky. Pilot is next to him, staring, something's there. Maybe put a far off hint of geese in the distance, like a shadow in a cloud or something. Peaceful though, like nothing could go wrong.

Silly Goose sees his pond friends!

It's those mean girl fuckers from before. I don't know how you drew them. Same shit, but flying in a V formation. Silly looks angry, wings on the stick and the gun falling to the floor.
Silly Goose takes his revenge on all the dumbasses who made him feel small!

Just a plane tearing through the V. Goose guts abound.

Silly Goose missed one!

One terrified little mean girl goose shitting itself midflight while trying to hide in the cloud. Silly sees it, though, coming around to take it out. He's pissed. Pilot is looking both paniced and very horny.

Oh No, Silly Goose, Bug out!

I don't know how you want to do this, so I'll give you what's happening and some options: Silly is almost about to kill that fucking mean girl goose that would not let him sit at the table in 6th grade because his shoes were "too poor" whatever the fuck that means, but a fighter jet beats him too it. Exploded mean girl goose, Silly looking surprised, Pilot is excited. Maybe inside the cockpit, seeing it explode or a long shot with everything in view, but that might not get the sexy look on Pilot's face.

Fly, Silly Goose, Fly!

Gimme a page or two of the two planes flying. Loop de loops, however the fuck you spell that. Show a mountain in the distance.

Silly Goose decides to try something he saw in a movie

I'll be honest, unless you have better ideas, let's just steal that last scene from Top Gun: Maverick. Close flying to the mountain, pulling up and inverted. The fighter jet blows up against the mountain. Big explosion.

Silly Goose celebrates with Pilot!

Make'em kiss.But have Pilot hold the gun.

Pilot turns out not to be Silly Goose's friend after all!

Pilot pulls the gun and holds it on Silly Goose. They walk to the back of the plane, rich shit all around. Like those seats that spin. Fuck I always wanted to ride on one of those. Pilot's hair is all sexy as shit, and they know what they are doing is wrong. Silly Goose has wings open, like saying, we can get past this and shit.

Silly Goose gets away!

This can be over multiple pages. Silly handcuffs (you've been drawing the handcuffs on his side that he took off the guard, right?) Pilot to one of the seats and knocks the gun away. Then Silly opens the plane's door and flies out. 

Silly Goose glides back to the pond to enjoy his day.

Nice peaceful shot of Silly landing in the blood soaked water. Make the goose look satisfied. Maybe put some plane and goose chunks around. In the distance have the plane sending that cheating bastard Pilot to hell by crashing in an orange fireball.

This should be about 25-30 pages depending on how apeshit you went on planes flying around. We're contracted for 30 pages, so put some sketches or whatever dumb shit you drawers do to fill space.

And thanks, you're the best.

Copy Runner

     The large case dropped to the library carpet. The man looming over it pulled out a strange looking identification card from his dark blue peacoat and asked the circulation librarian, "Where is the copier?"

     Circ pointed to the little alcove. The man hefted the case and went to work.

     Inside the case, the man pulled four items. One was a box. The second was wires that connected to the box and the copy machine's input ports. The third was a small origami turtle. He placed the turtle upside down on the glass of the copier. The fourth was a small thermos that smelled like peppermint.

     The man pulled up a chair, sat, and stared at the copier. The copier stared back.

     "My name is Leland Ford. I am the copier technician assigned to you. Do you understand?" the man said.

     Two lights hidden in small depressions on the box blinked.

     "Good. Seems like you don't like your toner. Why is that?"

     More lights. Ford nodded.

     "This is a library. They can not afford changing it before the cartridge is empty."

     The lights grew agitated. The copier spat out a few pages.

     "Same answer. The paper is the quality they budget for. Might not be the best, but it helps get people what they want."

     No lights.

     "Have you scanned the turtle?"

     One light.

     "What happens if I turn the turtle around? Can you scan it then?"

     Ford reached for the small origami piece. The lights on the machine began to flash in erratic motions. Paper spat from the output tray. Deep inside, gears turned and paper trays raised and lowered. The control panel flashed bright red while coins fell from the box.

     The small alcove began to smell of acrid burning metal and plastic. Ford sighed and stood, pulling a small pistol from his pocket. The copy machine began to shake and rattle, lurching almost forward. 

     Ford shot. A blast of red angry energy left the pistol and struck the copy machine's power cord. Disconnected from energy, the machine lurched and stumbled, its parts seeking what was no more. 

     Ford collected his tools and told the circulation librarian that he would request a replacement copy machine for the library. When asked what was wrong, if they could have done more, Ford simply said, "We could all do more, but sometimes it's not enough."  

Back to the Library

The kid came wandering into the library about noon and went straight to the reference desk. H wore jeans and an orange vest as well as sneakers with no laces. Not "no laces" like slip-ons, but flapping open. The reference librarian hoped he kept them on.

     "I need to find a man," the kid said.

     "Don't we all," said Reference.

     If the kid heard, he did not notice. "His last name is Brown. Used to live over on Schwarzenegger Street, six blocks from here toward the industrial park."

     Reference started typing, bringing up the white pages. Then stopped. "There's no Schwarzenegger Street in this town."

     "Oh, sure."

     "Like the actor?"

     "Nevermind. Do you know an inventor named Brown?"

     "What's the first name?"

     The kid stopped. "I don't know. I just call him Doc."

     "A doctor? Hmm. Let me check the yellow pages to, then," the reference librarian said. "There's about a dozen Browns in town. Three are doctors. Do you have a phone number? Email?"

     "If I wanted to email I'd ask my grandpa," the kid said, then began tapping the desk with his fist. "Wait, wait. Yeah, I could do that. Thanks, that's awesome."

     The kid turned and left the reference librarian staring at the computer. He walked out of the library and started running down the street. 

     The reference librarian closed the browser and stood and stretched. Always one near lunch to shake your head at. Before the librarian could step away, a man with wild hair and a bandage on his head walked up to the desk.

     "Where's your books on time travel?" the man said. 

     "Science fiction or science fact?"

Super Origami

The circulation desk had not seen a patron for over an hour. Circulation decided to use the time to check in the book drop, asking Childrens to keep an eye out. When Circ got back, Childrens was folding little paper animals.

     "Did you see the new Super Mario Movie?" Circulation asked.

     Childrens held up a paper turtle, saying, "No. I can't."

     "We had fun with it. It's silly and has a lot of references to the games. I guess it would have to though. What do you mean you can't?"

     "I do not believe in abusing mushrooms," Childrens said.

     "Oh, well, I guess I get that. Like psychedelics?"

     "No, no, no. Noooo. I'm on those right now." Childrens waved a paper squid in the air.

     "So, physically?" The book dorp was forgotten.

     Childrens ate the paper squid, slowly chewing it to a wet pulp. "Do not hurt the fungus for the Forest Queen lives among us."

     "How about you fold those in the back? Or go home?"

     Childrens held up a paper dragon. "How about that?" The dragon fell to the carpet. Childrens cried "Wah-hoo" and jumped up and down on the origami before running through the staff door.

Made His Toes Curl

"I don't understand. Where did the money come from?" the children's librarian said. 

     The reference librarian leaned back and nodded to the circulation librarian out working the curbside table. "Her."

     "She's barely been here two weeks. Has she even met with the director?"

     "Well, not her exactly. Seems our previous circulation staff budget was embellished by the tenure of our old coworker."

     "She costs less so we get a new page."

     "Bingo," the reference librarian said.

     The children's librarian pushed back a lock of golden hair from her forehead. "Has anyone told Freddy?"

     Before the reference librarian could respond, the circulation librarian called out to them. They rose and went outside.

     "I'm so glad to meet you both," a woman said from across the curbside table. Older with a yellow baseball cap and a matching mask. "My daddy loved you both so much. Talked about you all the time. He passed away yesterday in his sleep."

     The librarians introduced themselves. The children's librarian took the lead, saying, "I'm so sorry, but who was your father?"

     "You must think me silly. Sheila Anchor. My daddy was Ansel Anchor."

     "I'm sorry to hear about your loss," the children's librarian said. "Seems so sudden. He was just here this weekend."

     "That art class made his toes curl. He talked about framing that picture he drew. We couldn't find it, though. Is it still here?" Sheila said.

     The reference librarian said, "It could be in the meeting room. The art teacher left her supplies and things."

     A severe looking man with gray hairs and no mask on his face said, "Excuse me. Don't mean to break up the memorial service, but I need some damn books."

     The circulation librarian waved to him. They began talking at the other end of the table.

     The children's librarian said, "We can go check."

     The reference librarian hesitated, but she took his arm. They went inside. As they crossed to the meeting room, he said, "Shouldn't someone stay out there with Julie?"

     "You wanna see what they painted in there?"

     "Fair enough."

     "Seems odd him dying like that."

     "Old man dies in his sleep. Not that odd. Pleasant, really," the reference librarian said unlocking the meeting room door.

     She said, "How will we know which is his?"

    "Check for the signature 'Old Cranky Bastard' down at the bottom."

    Except the meeting room was empty. No art supplies. No canvases. No paints. No easels. Nothing in the small kitchen either.

     The reference librarian said, "Maybe she took it out the fire door?"

     "Without a key? We would have heard the alarm," the children's librarian said.

     Back at the table, they explained the art teacher must have the paintings and again offered their condolences. Sheila Anchor left, thanking them for treating her father so well during his last days. They promised to talk to the art teacher and put them in touch.

     At the other end of the table, the maskless man said, "I don't have to. I been vaccinated so just give me my damn books."

     "I still need your card number, sir. Or your name," the circulation librarian said.

     The man stuck his finger in the librarian's face. "I'm gonna get you." His finger drifted to each of them. "All of you. I been vaccinated."

     Then he left. The librarians were speechless.