Your Imaginary Best Friend 9/5-9/11

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RE: Your Imaginary Best Friend 9/5-9/11

Postby Davidgnj » Tue Sep 12, 2006 2:17 am

I know I am a little late, but...

My imaginary “friend” is very similar to me. We choose the same clothes and like the same foods. The big difference is that my friend has “the luck”. Whether he is playing cards, gambling at a casino or picking up lottery tickets you can be sure he will win. And he doesn’t just win the scratch off for five bucks – he hits the mega lottery for the biggest pot ever seen.

Fortunately, my friend is also very giving and loves to share. So we will spend the time decided how to spend our new found riches. Even after taxes, arranging for the children’s trust funds and setting up the tax-free gifts to his in-laws, there is still time and money to do something good. His favorite thing is to run for an office within the school board. There is no reason why all of this money can’t be used to help the kids and make sure they get a good education.

But my friend’s other favorite past time is to really decide how he would spend his new found riches. Sure there are cars to buy, houses to fix up or build, but mostly there are trips to take. His wife’s favorite destination is Paris so I am sure he will buy an apartment with the perfect view of the Eiffel Tower. And with all of that money he may as well buy the new Gulfstream so they can fly there whenever they want – even if it is just for the weekend.

Surely with all of that money, and all of the good things he is doing for the kids and others… surely they will love him now?

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RE: Your Imaginary Best Friend 9/5-9/11

Postby JohnOBX » Tue Sep 12, 2006 3:33 am

Wilbur is a bit cantankerous from time to time.  Usually he sleeps in my pocket during the day and perches on the edge of my desk when I’m writing.  If he feels slighted or underappreciated he’ll disappear for awhile.  Things tend to grind to a halt till I can find him again.

“Wilbur, come on out.”  I waved a graham cracker back and forth, the distinctive scent flavoring the air in the room.  Wilbur loves graham crackers, but he was being stubborn.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” I said finally.  “I shouldn’t have called you a mean spirited gnome.” 

I heard a “harrumph” from somewhere behind the couch.  Peering underneath, I could see two gleaming eyes.  I’d made the mistake of trying to snatch Wilbur out from under the couch once before and nearly lost a finger for my troubles. 

I held the cracker just under the edge of the couch. 

“Let’s go Wilbur, I got a deadline.”  I could see the beady eyes blink and shake back and forth.  He was going to be difficult today.  I put the graham cracker down and fished around in my pocket for his toy.  The rubber band was one of those thick ones you find in the grocery store around stalks of celery. 

“Look what I found,” I said, holding it out to him.  Wilbur waddled out from under a couch, his little stubby arms held out in front of him reaching for the rubber band.  He was an ugly little thing.  He labored to breath through his squashed nose and I was again reminded how much he looked like a malformed bulldog.  He snatched the rubber band then scooped up the graham cracker from the floor.

I handed him another graham cracker after he gobbled down the first.  He played with his rubber band a few moments before accepting the treat.  Even the industrial sized rubber bands didn’t last very long with Wilbur, but he could always make more.  One of his little tricks I never quite figured out.

“You ready to go back to work now?” I asked him.  He nodded.  Wilbur didn’t say much unless he had to.  His voice was a deep baritone, smooth as Glenmorangie whisky.  I loved hearing him speak, and wished he was a little more talkative.

I picked him up gently and set him down on the edge of my desk.  He held out his hands and made a grabbing motion, so I gave him another graham cracker. 

“Now where were we?” I asked.  I read over the last few lines of my story and started typing again.  Wilbur watched the screen, his eyes following the words as they appeared. 

“It’s effect, not affect,” he said suddenly.  “And Samantha had blond hair in chapter two.” 

“Ok, thanks,” I said making the correction. Cracker crumbs were getting down in the keyboard.  I’d try to remember to shake them out later so my wife wouldn’t find them.  She never believed me when I told her it was Wilbur’s fault. 


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RE: Your Imaginary Best Friend 9/5-9/11

Postby jchambers » Tue Sep 12, 2006 5:51 am

Take heart, Linda. It's not really present tense. About 20 years ago I got shuffled out of Pittsburg on one of those little air taxis with a couple of real young pilots. I'm age prejudiced when it comes to pilots. I always liked those old guys that looked to be retired USAF B29 pilots. The writing's an exaggeration of several such flights when you start off on a 737 and wind up in some little apple crate.

I did spend a considerable amount of time trying to convince myself the pilots were a lot more experienced than I really thought they were. The destination, in that instance, was a little airport outside of Charleston West Virginia. Apparently there wasn't enough flat ground in those parts to build a proper airport so someone had erected a steel runway that extended from the side of a hill. My story mostly concerns my recollection on approach to that "airport." :)


I'm glad you finally got him out from under the couch, John, been noticing your absence. If you run out of crackers let me know, I'll send you a box. :)

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RE: Your Imaginary Best Friend 9/5-9/11

Postby 4thtroika » Tue Sep 12, 2006 4:14 pm

Any snakes?;)

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RE: Your Imaginary Best Friend 9/5-9/11

Postby 4thtroika » Tue Sep 12, 2006 4:38 pm

My imaginary best friend isn't imaginary- not the physical part of her. She's been with me for as long as I can remember. I used to see girls playing with her and would "just go nuts," as Mom told me. But boys don't play with dolls, right?

My parents finally broke down and got her for me for Christmas of 1970 (I was a year and a half old). The name on her box may have been Drowsy, but to me she's been, and always will be, Rosy.

She's seen me through it all: sick nights, tonsils removed, you name it. No matter how rough it got, she was always there waiting for me.

My parents thought maybe I was too attached to her, but I've told them I have no regrets. After all, there are worse things guys could get into than having a doll for a best friend.

She's never really helped me with my writing, but she has inspired a few stories in me. And she was very understanding when I had to replace her with a doll that had a turning head with three faces on it (Little Lost Baby) in this one story I'm working on. After all, it is a horror story and a three faced doll kind of heightens the creepy factor, you know? But if it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have gotten the idea in the first place.

I don't turn to her as often as I used to. But I know she'll always be there, always waiting, always loving. Which is more than I can say for some people.

Now if I could just get her to call me Daddy instead of Mommy whenever I pull her string.


RE: Your Imaginary Best Friend 9/5-9/11

Postby Urchins_Rule » Thu Sep 14, 2006 10:22 pm

Wansor?? My ultra-cool little dragon spirit-guide?? He's not imaginary! He can't be. (so sue me I'm late on this one).

But I saw him just yesterday, when we went wandering in Kritter. He'll probably come with me to Middle Earth next week when I start my yearly LOTR reading, to help me with the scary parts. And he's always there if I have nightmares or hallucinations at night, to remind me to write them out.

I love Wansor.

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RE: Your Imaginary Best Friend 9/5-9/11

Postby by the bay » Fri Sep 15, 2006 7:35 am

Thanks for the reply, I did have nightmares there for a while. I had a similar trip from Sedona AZ to Phoenix. One young pilot and me in the plane. All was well until we bounced landed and lost power on the runway and a huge American Airline 727 was bearing down on us. I do not have any recall of the next 3 hours. Yes give me an old ex carrier pilot anyday.

You seem to be in a writting frenzy lately. I'm familiar with that too. Feasting on words or the diet. later


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