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I am watching/acting in the end of a movie about Pearl Jam. The band is playing a show, but the context of everything that follows is that they’ve just come back from an adventure in which they found themselves trapped in the 18th century fighting pirates. There is also the implication that my character was somehow involuntarily roped into helping them.
I am sitting at the wheel of a FedEx truck. Eddie Vedder is sitting next to me and we are working on networked laptops. The center of the steering wheel acts like a touchpad, so I can draw on it with a stylus and move the cursor on Eddie’s screen and mine. We’re editing the movie that the audience has presumably just watched.
I drop him off at the post office so that he can mail some kind of evidence that not only tells our story, but will also make sure the villains behind the whole plot are exposed and brought to justice. He says I’m free to drive any direction I want – “Pick a body part,” he says as some obscure instruction to go left, right or straight – but that after he mails the package, he’ll exit and turn left around the corner – there’s a meeting zone there if I want to meet him there.
I didn’t come this far in the adventure to abandon him now, so I turn left and pull into the zone (a parking lot, basically) to wait. A couple of his friends I remember from earlier are already there waiting – a tall man and a nude woman – as well as Jeff Ament. I tell them Eddie said he would be coming here soon. Jeff says there’s no telling which way Eddie will go, and starts talking about the time Eddie decided to scrap an entire album’s worth of material and remix it without telling anyone. “First he just wanted to fix a guitar level, which meant he had to fix two more levels, and it just escalated from there.”
Eddie arrives and says he hates that legend about him. Jeff laughs and starts vomiting small plastic fiber strips.
Scene shift: we are in the living room of the man and woman who were waiting in the parking zone. Eddie tells me thanks for waiting, and thanks for helping out, and that I can go home. We hug each other hard, and he says if I ever need anything, call him anytime. I ask him what he’s going to do now.
“Well, there is one piece of unfinished business,” he says as he takes out a strange 18th century machine pistol and loads it. “We still owe Forrester a bullet.”
“Damn right,” says Jeff.
“So I thought we’d go back to the 18th century and get some pirates,” Eddie grins.
At that moment silly ghosts start appearing in the background, doing “Boo!” and lightshow routines. The nude woman, who had been talking to Jeff, turns back to me. “Did you see anything just now?”
“No,” I say, not wishing to alarm her. Then a ghostly orb flashes across the kitchen door making a sound like a zip whistle.
I grin. “Gotta go, bye!”
Roll credits.
And then I woke up.
I’m still alive,
This is dF
I am sitting at the wheel of a FedEx truck. Eddie Vedder is sitting next to me and we are working on networked laptops. The center of the steering wheel acts like a touchpad, so I can draw on it with a stylus and move the cursor on Eddie’s screen and mine. We’re editing the movie that the audience has presumably just watched.
I drop him off at the post office so that he can mail some kind of evidence that not only tells our story, but will also make sure the villains behind the whole plot are exposed and brought to justice. He says I’m free to drive any direction I want – “Pick a body part,” he says as some obscure instruction to go left, right or straight – but that after he mails the package, he’ll exit and turn left around the corner – there’s a meeting zone there if I want to meet him there.
I didn’t come this far in the adventure to abandon him now, so I turn left and pull into the zone (a parking lot, basically) to wait. A couple of his friends I remember from earlier are already there waiting – a tall man and a nude woman – as well as Jeff Ament. I tell them Eddie said he would be coming here soon. Jeff says there’s no telling which way Eddie will go, and starts talking about the time Eddie decided to scrap an entire album’s worth of material and remix it without telling anyone. “First he just wanted to fix a guitar level, which meant he had to fix two more levels, and it just escalated from there.”
Eddie arrives and says he hates that legend about him. Jeff laughs and starts vomiting small plastic fiber strips.
Scene shift: we are in the living room of the man and woman who were waiting in the parking zone. Eddie tells me thanks for waiting, and thanks for helping out, and that I can go home. We hug each other hard, and he says if I ever need anything, call him anytime. I ask him what he’s going to do now.
“Well, there is one piece of unfinished business,” he says as he takes out a strange 18th century machine pistol and loads it. “We still owe Forrester a bullet.”
“Damn right,” says Jeff.
“So I thought we’d go back to the 18th century and get some pirates,” Eddie grins.
At that moment silly ghosts start appearing in the background, doing “Boo!” and lightshow routines. The nude woman, who had been talking to Jeff, turns back to me. “Did you see anything just now?”
“No,” I say, not wishing to alarm her. Then a ghostly orb flashes across the kitchen door making a sound like a zip whistle.
I grin. “Gotta go, bye!”
Roll credits.
And then I woke up.
I’m still alive,
This is dF
