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The Crew Shouts at Bingo

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"Hey," "Oh. Hi." "How's it going?" "Um. I'm okay, thanks." "Nervous?" "Are you... a clown?" "No, but I am dressed up like one. Just kidding, that's a joke. Yeah, I'm a clown." "Okay. I was wondering." "Let me guess. It was the nose? Look. It squeaks."  "Nice. But, no, actually, it was the shoes." "Ah, right." "Do they squeak too?" "Only when I run away."  "Okay. What are you doing here?" "What am I doin'? I'm a part of the crew. I'm working the set." "Here?" "Yeah. Why? Is that so strange?" "I just. I thought this was... I thought this was a porn shoot?" "Oh my god. Wait, this is a porno? I'm kidding. That's a joke. I know. I'm a clown, not an idiot." "Okay. I guess I need to re-read the script?" "Don't worry. I'm not your costar if that...
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The Flood & The Ark

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All right, is this thing on? Okay. Well, I've been compelled—stop beeping at me!—I've been compelled, sort of, by powers greater and more mighty than my own, to give an accounting of myself. An accounting. That’s perhaps the best way to put it. An accounting of myself. So, who is “myself”? That's a good question. No. The best question. The greatest question. And probably the best way to start. “Myself” is Virgil Walter Nevins. “Walter” Nevins. No relation. Well, if tradition is to be believed—and why not?—if tradition is to be believed, I am Virgil Walter Nevins the Eleventh. X. I. Eleven. Okay, that is anecdotal at best. Not that I've ever really endeavored to do this, but there may have been those who have been interested or curious to separate out the truth from the fiction, or the truth from the friction, and sought verification of far-reaching family records confirming exactly that. Exactly what? To see if there's a way to verify whether or not there's a di...
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