I fail to understand why previous writers on this “blog” abandoned their real identities so readily. The truth, you see, is that this website has consisted of different authors each day but every single day these so called writers have pretended to be someone else.
   Let me explain.
   This morning, as I had my servant, Manfred, read to me my emails, an odd proposition came out from the blogosphere.  “I am emailing to present to you an interesting experiment on the web. Everyday at there has been a different writer contributing a story which is completely different from the last. Today is your day to add a story. Please post one story for today and then email the password of this blog to a random stranger. If you don’t do this your legs will swell, your tongue will burn and you’ll pee out your bum for the rest of your life. Keep art happening !!” 
    Instantly, I spat out my tea in wondrous surprise. “Chain mail tactics being used for the advancement of literature ?!” I shouted through a misty spray of Earl Grey. I was indeed taken aback but after some time spent in quiet contemplation, I realized that I was up for the challenge but I would forgo the trick of writing behind a mask.
   My name is Thurston Foster Carlston and the world shall hear my literature roar !! 

Taking the Madman Out for Tea

   For reasons too laborious and lengthy to enumerate within the tiny confines of this tender tale, my brother’s wife had become a widow while still in the bloom of her life. Sadly, our family’s fortunes were in a steady decline and there was no prospect of ascent in much the way a chimney sweep will snack on his cookies while at the bottom of a chimney that takes a week or two to clean. Under these conditions, with growth spurred on by adolescence he might increase the circumference of himself to such a size as to be inextricable, unmovable. Add to this metaphor three other people and you have the conditions of our family. Indeed, we felt short of breath with worry at times. As if we were all squeezed in at the bottom of a chimney.
    Two months ago, on a sunny Sunday afternoon, I had the occasion to take my sister-in-law out for tea with a most curious gentleman. He was a man of independent means and I was pushed by a hitherto unknown temerity to take my sister to meet him. Perhaps, cupid would also be in attendance I thought to myself. That this man was a strange creature who spoke in bursts of babble-talk was not lost upon me, but – as the poet says – love grows in strange places. Or does he say “groans in strange places” ? No matter, here was a chance to vastly improve our family’s future.
    Sir Cruise, a man of short stature but with large features of the face, shouted some obscenity after we sat down to tea. 
   “I fucking love tea. I love it and you know it’s only the Scientologists who can really appreciate tea. Enjoy it as it should be enjoyed. For what it is,” he drank back his tea as if he were a sailor swilling beer and then he sprayed it up into the air. “Yeah. I love tea !! Yeah I love it.” 
    I was in a quandary as to what to do. Would a life of poverty be superior to my sister-in-law’s betrothal with this madman ?  I looked to the silent blue sky and wondered.

   Dearest Reader: In the next serialized installment of our tale would you prefer to see the two potential lovers 1) separated, 2) betrothed to one another or simply  3) thrown together in a hay loft in an entanglement of passionate love-making ? 
  As always: you make the call.

    Okay my name is Tom Cruise ! Yes, the one and only Tom Cruise !!! I’m trying to dispel the notion that I have no sense of humor, that I’m arrogant and I wouldn’t do anything unless there were a huge amount of fanfare and money involved.  Most importantly I want you to see that all writers are a little crazy. Otherwise they wouldn’t be any good at what they do. (I’m typing this from a couch that I jump off of every couple of minutes because I’m so full of life ! That’s called carpe diem my friends !!  Have you ever watched a Beastie Boys concert ? That’s the energy I exude even behind closed doors !!!) For all the reasons I mentioned above I started this humble blog. 
    I know you’re asking your computer monitor right now, “Can I have an autograph Mr Cruise ?” And you’re laughing at yourself because it’s impossible. Why are you talking out loud to a blog ? But that automatic response is nature. My name has power and you’ve fallen under the spell of celebrity. We all do once in a while. (I just jumped from my couch !!!)
     As a people person, I find it very difficult to sit here and type in silence while I know there will be so many responses like the one above. I wish I could reach my arms through this monitor to give you an autograph right now. That’s my instinct. To reach out. But my other instinct is to try new challenges so that’s why I’m writing a story everyday on this blog. To let my inner writer have a voice.
   Hello, my name is Tom Cruise, pleased to meet you !
   Here’s a heroic epic in the form of a Greek myth.

Born on a Risky Interview with a Few Good Rain Men Maguires

    In the middle of the interview the Actor jumped off the couch because of a pain behind his eyes. He put his hands on his head and the whole world was amazed to see a creature burst forth from his brow. He wasn’t losin’ it at all but it was simply life that had sprung from his forehead on national television. Certainly it was strange for the world to see but all brilliance has a tinge of strangeness. The world kept reminding itself that. 
    “So where does that kind of without-limits brilliance come from ?” the interviewer-woman asked. She was a professional and was unfazed by miracles. After all, every smile that flashed off his face was a minor miracle, a communion of joy with millions.
    “Well as an actor I have to hold back a lot of myself in order to focus on certain roles. I suppose this is one aspect of me that just had to come to the fore. It needed to speak.”
    “Top Gun,” the little creature said. The audience swooned at the privilege of hearing the child’s first words, at the privilege of seeing all his very first right moves. The Actor rocked his child gently in his arms with his eyes wide open and then shut. The Actor was reaching deep inside himself to find a suitable name for the child.
    “Jerry Maguire ! How about I call him Jerry Maguire ?” The Actor stepped towards the audience with one hand cupping his ear. The audience shouted back, Yeah !! 
    “I can’t hear you.” the Actor shouted.
    “Jerry Maguire ! Jerry Maguire ! Jerry Maguire !”
    “Show me the diapers,” one larger woman in the back row shouted and everyone laughed.
     The Actor smiled and laughed.
    Mission Impossible. Done once again.