Edger Lives Excerpt 4

It has been said breaking up is hard to do. And in the history of inadequate things ever to have been said, this one’s a humdinger. It’s right up there with: Attention Hawaii! The incoming missile alert is a false alarm! Or: I’m really sorry your mom blew up, Ricky.

And while we’re on the subject of inadequate things to say, here’s another: This tale is the second in a series. If you haven’t yet read the first, you should. For one thing, you’re dangerously close to encountering spoilers. For another, you may have questions which were covered in the first installment. Questions such as: Why is this ancient Greek philosopher narrating? And: Where do you keep your stuffed grape leaves?

Essential for catching up you cheapskates (and those who may’ve slept since our last encounter):

I am narrating from inside your brain in a shared psychic stratum called the Collective Unconscious. Everyone living–and everyone who’s ever lived–is in this psychic stratum. No one fully understands it, how it started, why it started–nothing. Elvis’s theory is the whole thing got cooked up one night by an alien named Keeyop-derp-dee-lerp over some fried peanut butter and nanner sandwiches aboard his UFO. This is as good a theory as any, and that tells you all you need to know about that.

This brings us to the second point one must understand about the Collective Unconscious; namely, it’s akin to discovering the only toilet on the planet is a supersized outhouse with no walls and no door. There are certain things one takes for granted in a civilized society, and billions of people in the same door-less, wall-less outhouse, isn’t one of them. There are those who have developed the ability to cloak their consciousnesses. Most who do this are motivated by a sense of propriety. Some, however, are motivated for nefarious reasons. So that’s just something for you to think about.

Circling back: breaking up is hard to do. For Edger Bonkovich, this means breaking up with his entire life, his job, his family, and his best friend, Fabio Jimenez. This he did, because after his home was blown to bits by the evil global cabal called Nostradamus, Edger decided it critically important he be suddenly dead to ensure the safety of his loved ones.

Fortunately, Edger isn’t really suddenly dead.

He isn’t even mostly suddenly dead.

In fact, he’s very much alive and living in Burbank with the apotheosis of all hot blondes, a lethal and mysterious GSPOT spy called Mary Thomas.

For those of you willing to face the door-less, wall-less outhouse, travel with me now through the Collective Unconscious into the mind of the world’s first superhero, Zarathustra. For the forces of evil are (again) afoot, and the vulnerable world (again) needs its hero…