Desperate Times

Down At The Clap Farm

Short of cash

It was raining and you were lost.

Your Muse was murdered on the corner of Malaise and 47th street. Like most things, it was a nonevent, and you barely noticed its absence at first.

You were now on 82nd street and all of the billboards were selling you unachievable dreams like it was life insurance.

As you were feeling low and miserable about your state of mind and state of income, you turned off the exit and followed the signs to Tony’s Clap Farm.

You pulled into the gravel driveway past the pigs, the bulls, and the sheep, and got out of your piece of crap vehicle you borrowed from the shared car scheme in the city.

Tony wore a flannel underneath a butcher’s apron with blood stains on it. The smell of pig shit and bull shit was intense.

What can I do you for? Tony asked gruffly.

You were looking above his head at the menu of items for sale.

I’m looking to rebuild my self-esteem, you replied. What do you recommend?

He scrutinized you like you were one of his pigs. It depends what you can afford.

You surveyed the menu:

50 Claps for 75 Cents. Or get Two for the Price of One: 100 Claps for 1 Dollar.

That doesn’t make any sense, you ventured.

Tony slammed down his butcher’s knife and glared at you.

You continued: Two for the price of One would mean I can buy 100 Claps for 75 Cents, wouldn’t it?

Tony rolled his eyes: That’s just semantics.

No it isn’t. It’s mathematics.

Do you want any claps or not?

You reached deep into your pocket to see how much loose change you had.

How much for a Boost?

Tony rolled his eyes: You can’t afford a Boost.

This pricked your pride:

Try me.

Fifty Dollars.

So much for pride.

Tony then appeared to take pity on you and started lecturing:

Your writing is too dark and depressing. Make it more heroic and uplifting and then you won’t need to buy so many claps to make up for the deficit.

Are you finished?

Trust me. Readers want sunny-side up. Up, up, up. Think Law of Attraction on steroids. That which you imagine most frequently you will manifest most abundantly.

You were skeptical: I don’t know, Tony. Sounds a bit too much like your 2 for 1 mathematics.

Then you got philosophical on him:

I mean take Donald Trump. Do you think he was imagining being President of the USA one day when he wasn’t dodging taxes, handing out fraudulent degrees from Trump University, grabbing women’s crotches, and buying silence?

Tony impatiently changed the subject: Are you going to buy something or not?

I’ll take 200 Claps please.

On a budget, huh? Tony snickered.

Just give me my Claps.

Tony handed you your hard-earned Claps. He then warned: Remember, we tax you for tagging writers. Tag sparingly.

As you were about to leave, you thought you would give yourself one more chance to boost your self-esteem:

How much are 30 Second Reads these days?

3 Dollars a pop.

Damn, you said under your breath.

Tony laughed: Inflation. Time is a precious commodity in these tough times.

In that case, I’ll buy 100 more Claps instead.

Tony handed over 100 more Claps over the counter like he felt sorry for you.

Don’t look at me like that. My Muse was shot dead, I’ve got writer’s block, and I’m writing short weird shit about Clap Farms that sell 50 Dollar Boosts and 3 Dollar 30 Second Reads. It would be enough to make Hemingway kill himself a second time.

You then got inside your piece of crap share car and drove off with your 300 discounted Claps.

© Carlo Zeno 2023

___________________________

Thanks for going the distance. Try these two below by Graham Lilley and Mark Tulin if you need a good belly laugh 👇