The following is an accumulation of information pierced together from my hazy memory, Google, Denmarkian historical record and Babette, who you’ll come to meet in a little bit. I can’t promise this to be one hundred percent accurate because of the old saying about winners and history books. What I can promise is that I tried to be truthful, or as truthful as one can be when the title of your story is,
“The Unquestionably False Yet Undeniably True Story of Tom Starita”
Continue reading “Chapter 23 – And Fools Shine On”
I’ll spare you the monotonous details regarding the build up to 4:15pm Denmarkian time and get straight to the point, the rebirth.
Continue reading “Chapter 21 – It’s All Pink…”
And I ran, I ran so far away. I just ran. Ran ran ran down the hallway, out the door, down three flights of steps and down the corridor looking for Vera’s room number, 151140. During this furious race against time I tried to plan out the subsequent conversation. The last thing I wanted to do was to waste time with “umms” and “uhhhs.” This talk needed to be quick and to the point if I was going to get back up to my room in time.
Continue reading “Chapter 20 – The Time Traveler’s Wife”
The wedding was ten days away and I was getting nowhere fast finding the Grandmother Nurse. My days were spent continuing to not learn the beautiful prose that is the Danish language and staring for an hour at the Cardboard Cutout of the Princess that was in fact, THE Princess trapped in some sort of weird cardboardian prison. If I had watched Star Wars I would have gotten the numerous Han Solo jokes made by my guards. Alas, the only frame of reference I had for Han Solo is what the one guard suggested I do with my alone time.
It’s tough being six.
Continue reading “Ch 19 – 32 Minutes”
I was cranky.
I hadn’t slept, I was overwhelmed and a cardboard cutout of the Princess that turned out to actually be the Princess just bombarded me with information that had nothing to do with my problem. Five minutes ago I was absolutely certain the year was 1984. I was so certain that if I had to write a check out to pay an outstanding balance I would have written “84” in the date line. Of course there aren’t many six year olds who have checking accounts, or those who pay their own bills via checking but that’s beside the point. The point was I wanted to know how the hell was it 2012, not be informed I perpetrated mass genocide on a race of half owl half men creatures.
Continue reading “Chapter 18 – The One Where I Tell You About Old Vagina”
As a six-year old with a fucked up childhood I’d say I handled myself well in all my previous experiences. No matter the severity or the heightened sense of ridiculousness I somehow managed to come through relatively unscathed. Even if I couldn’t process what was going on I could deal with it. I would just add it to the list of shit I would tell my therapist in twenty years.
Time travel, however is a whole different list of shit.
Continue reading “Chapter 17 – W….T………..F”