Introduction

A novel by R. Speen © 2017

(insert epigraph from Moby-Dick here, once I find it, and if I can't find it, insert something random, from Moby-Dick, or somewhere else, though I really do like the one from Moby-Dick, at least the way I'm remembering it, if I can find it)

This is the introduction to my new novel, The Golden Pineapple, though I'm sure no introduction is necessary, since you already know everything, at once, now that you're dead, in the future, and not only have you read this, you've lived it, because it's about you. But I'll just type away here, anyway, type away my fear and depression, just the worst possible excuse for anything. Well, it gets worse, because I'm typing on an Olivetti 65, the same typewriter that that one guy wrote all those screenplays on, I think; anyway, it makes a racket, and I'm sure that Lisa Denzler, acting like she's napping, or doing yoga, in the next room here at the Summer House, can hear me, and it's all about impressing her because she is the reason I'm doing this—writing, at all. I'd rather be playing cards.

Also, I know that no one reads “Introductions”—they go right to Chapter One (and well they should). How about that guy who started his book out with an Introduction, then a Preface, THEN a FOREWORD—that guy should have his head stomped. But knowing, as I do, that no one reads these things, I'm quite confident I can just say anything here. Hey, Corey Westgate? You suuuuuck! FourSquare and seven years ago our fathers who art in Heaven, hallowed halls of Montezuma's revenge... No spellcheck or word-count on a typewriter, unfortunately, but it sure makes a racket! I'll tell a joke, maybe, then get on with it. Dick Laurent is dead.

It was raining for seven days and seven nights and the roof was leaking all over the place and the farmer's wife had to use every pot and pan in the kitchen to catch the leaks. Why don't you get up there on the roof and fix those leaks, she asked the farmer, and he said, I can't, it's raining cats and dogs. Is this going to be another one of those projects (novels) that has an introduction, or maybe a Chapter One, and then nothing after that? Probably. The next day (would this now be the eighth day?) it finally stopped raining, so the farmer's wife said, hey, why don't you go up on the roof, now that it's not raining anymore, and fix those leaks. But the farmer just stood staring into the toilet, having completed his morning defecation, smiling as Picasso must have, once in awhile. As much as he wanted his wife to ask him what he was doing, she had had enough of his nonsense over the years, and knew better. “The Aristocrats!” he said, trying, but failing, to snap his fingers.

—R. Speen, June 20, 2017