Beer Club 3 Excerpt...or something silly I started working on this summer
From my summer NaNoWriMO project:
In the Beer Club Great Hall where the current edition of the International Society of the Beer Club had gathered, Kareem Abdul Crosby Lemieux, formerly Kyle Jones, the Beer Club Beer Master, stared at his flock.
No one looked forward to these talks anymore. Not even Kyle.
“What’s the deal with lunch, anyway?” Kyle began, headset on, projecting to the group. “Lunch is simply a constructed meal. We never had lunch back in agrarian times. You had early breakfast and you ate dinner when the sun went down. Then suddenly it became a meal in its own right, with set lunchtimes and early lunches and power lunches and late lunches and then it transitioned into breakfast slash lunch and then brunch…don’t get me started on brunch…”
It was quite apparent that their leader had lost his mind. With every random tirade and stray message sometimes leaked to the public and the general population of rank and file dues paying members, Beer Club lost credibility. It was getting harder and harder for Kyle’s advisers to keep him under control.
“Allow me a minute to pontificate on the value of lunch and the point of religion…”
Since the Legacy plan had failed, his replacement was not immediately apparent. The organization was in flux, waiting for something big to happen, waiting but not quite understanding. Beer Club was full of men who owed their lives to this group, one way or another. At one point even Kyle himself had been saved from a gambling debt and initiated into the group, where he had risen quickly to the position he occupied now, that of Beer Club Beer Master.
But something had changed since the early days. He had become despondent…moody…taciturn…wild and unpredictable. Mumbling about old times and how things ain’t what they used to be and sometimes even disappearing for days, only to come back and offer up another incomprehensible Kyle Talk to the group, like nothing had ever happened.
The leader was sick. No one knew just how.
But he wasn’t right.
In the Beer Club Great Hall where the current edition of the International Society of the Beer Club had gathered, Kareem Abdul Crosby Lemieux, formerly Kyle Jones, the Beer Club Beer Master, stared at his flock.
No one looked forward to these talks anymore. Not even Kyle.
“What’s the deal with lunch, anyway?” Kyle began, headset on, projecting to the group. “Lunch is simply a constructed meal. We never had lunch back in agrarian times. You had early breakfast and you ate dinner when the sun went down. Then suddenly it became a meal in its own right, with set lunchtimes and early lunches and power lunches and late lunches and then it transitioned into breakfast slash lunch and then brunch…don’t get me started on brunch…”
It was quite apparent that their leader had lost his mind. With every random tirade and stray message sometimes leaked to the public and the general population of rank and file dues paying members, Beer Club lost credibility. It was getting harder and harder for Kyle’s advisers to keep him under control.
“Allow me a minute to pontificate on the value of lunch and the point of religion…”
Since the Legacy plan had failed, his replacement was not immediately apparent. The organization was in flux, waiting for something big to happen, waiting but not quite understanding. Beer Club was full of men who owed their lives to this group, one way or another. At one point even Kyle himself had been saved from a gambling debt and initiated into the group, where he had risen quickly to the position he occupied now, that of Beer Club Beer Master.
But something had changed since the early days. He had become despondent…moody…taciturn…wild and unpredictable. Mumbling about old times and how things ain’t what they used to be and sometimes even disappearing for days, only to come back and offer up another incomprehensible Kyle Talk to the group, like nothing had ever happened.
The leader was sick. No one knew just how.
But he wasn’t right.
No comments have been added yet.
