Tales of Amethyst part 1: If you're offering her Diamonds and Rust, she's already paid. Oh, right, Amethyst. Hey, we finally have a recurring female character. Yay, us. Oh no. now the scrutiny sets in.

Hello, reader(s?). As you may well know, brick is facing his demons right now and, although we're sure you'd be fascinated to read volumes and volumes of his tortured complaints or just see what that dastardly chameleon villain, G Mod, says next, we've got something much more interesting.

Wait for it.

Wait for iiiiiiiiit!

What is this? Psych?

C'mon, son!

Welll?

Well, what?

Well, what is so interesting that you're ripping off USA network shows and their catchphrases?

Oh, right. It's an ORIGIN STORY!

That's it?

What? I'm excited. It's like on Burn Notice when they say "We're putting you on notice, 'cuz you're about to 

get burned."

No, they don't.

Yeah, they do.

What show have you been watching?

I, uh...

Get on with the precious origin story.

Ok, ok. We now present to you an origin story that has been compiled from a variety of credible sources such as old school papers, a defunct Friendster account and excerpts from an unfinished memoir by the protagonist herself.

How did you acquire that unfinished memoir?

Um, do you really wanna know?

Do I?

Better if you don't.

Okey-dokey.

Now where were we? Ah, yes. Amethyst's origin story. Before today, little was known about the perky producer that has been inconsistently nice to poor old Brick. Yes, he's still being tortured psychologically by G Mod, now focus. We're talking about our girl, Amethyst. Well, she's not really "our girl". That's a figure of speech you see. She is not an object to be coveted but rather a three dimensional human being with hopes, fears, strengths and weakness that make her who she is. She is not a means to an end, but a fellow traveler on the F'd Up Journey that is life. Shall we continue?

I'm sorry. I was busy ogling Amethyst...

What did I just tell you? She's a person with feelings and thoughts, not some object to lust over.

Whatevs, dude. She's hot. And that perfume of hers is intoxicating.

Why do I even bother with you? You just embarrass me in public. Here I am about to reveal some back-story in order to set up a larger arc, and you're just being an ass.

Ah, her ass....

*facepalm* Let's just ignore the italicized voice. According to her unpublished autobiography...

You mean her diary.

Er, well...

Where'd you get the book?

It doesn't matter.

Mmm-hmmm. Sure.

Amethyst came from a small town in the middle of nowhere. She grew up as the typical girl next door-type... Don't even start, Italicized voice.

I didn't say anything...*cough*Elisha Cuthbert*cough*

C'mon! We never saw that movie. Anyways, Amethyst's home life was not exactly ideal. Then again, whose is? Her father was a tyrant, her mother a flake. There was no mention of siblings in the book, but you know how it is. They always turn up when the narrator gets lazy. She grew up with a sense of dread when it came to the men in her life. She either pursued meaningless flings or focused on advancing her career.

It's unclear what brought her to work for the same company as Brick, but it seems to be the kind of place that attracts lost souls like these two crazy kids. Having glanced at her contract, it doesn't look likely that she's going anywhere soon. It's some intense legal mumbo jumbo. But she still isn't  in as bad a situation as Brick... Or is she?

Some receipts that we discovered allude to some massive debt that may be too much for poor Amethyst to pay for, even with her fancy-schmancy young producer's salary. What are these untold appetites of hers that have landed our female protagonist into such a precarious situation? Who knows?

What we do know is that she has returned after a brief hiatus and she may as well be wearing an albatross around her neck. Her eyes are sullen and her spine is slouched as she checks the promos for next week's show. It seems to be a problem of a personal nature, so a direct intervention might be the last thing she needs.

Will Brick be able to outrun the devil long enough to lend her a sympathetic shoulder or will he be too late? Does she even need his help or will he just set her back 50 years?

Stay tuned... I'll be damned...

The G Mod: Brick's nightmare. Or Dostoevsky Breaks on through to the Other Side.

With a wheezing cough and slowed-down reaction speed, Brick moped around the office. He sensed the distant tower getting stronger everyday with each soul that it absorbed, but he couldn't bring himself to think about it. Such dark and important thoughts would find the right time, but not now. Now, despite his co-workers repeated  warnings, he headed over to the door that separated his division from the Other Side. With a bit of hesitation, brick finally opened the door to some unexpected results:

I am not a doctor, or an astronaut or a clown (not even of the 'class' variety), but yet I feel that I need to give the reader a hint about what the hell has been going on with Brick. Anticipating events I can say at least two things. One is that Brick had a severe cold that was complicated by an impending mental breakdown. The other is that It's not easy being a disembodied voice. I have needs too, you know.  Though Brick's health, mental or otherwise, was always suspect at best, he had done a good job of delaying any negative symptoms from crippling him. He knew his state was precarious, his mind and heart being particularly vulnerable at times, but he hated the idea of being ill. Who wouldn't? But he needed to be well, he needed his wits for what was to come, so he carried on, despite all of the warning signs.

His heart was plagued by confusion. While he still had an undying longing for she-who- shall-not-be-named in all her glory, he also had a gnawing in his heart for the beautiful producer who had captured his attention and affection during working hours. Unfortunately, because of  his perennial lack of hope and the terrible exhaustion he subjected himself to, Brick was letting himself become susceptible to hallucinations. His own boss had suggested the possibility to him, but Brick obviously ignored his concerns and continued along this self-destructive path.

The last straw to test his patience was opening the door to the Other Side. The pressure proved so great, that it sent him into a deep delirium. And suddenly he was no longer in a postmodern television studio office, but the basement of the record studio where he had recorded his debut album. First he saw the mirror that had cast a cruel reflection of his double chin in years gone by. That was followed by the reflection of a familiar and despised face, though who-the-hell knows how he got there in the first place, since there were no doors in this space. This was a person of sordid deeds and a less than desirable appearance. His hair was dark brown and wavy, slicked back by a furious brush, with hints of scalp shining beneath the tufts of hair. His facial hair was thin and coarse, blonde yet dark. He was wearing a golden shirt that had lost its luster and khaki pants in non-khaki weather.

In brief, it appeared that the gentleman could not possibly be moral or even likeable except in that love-to-hate-them sort of way. His dark, plastic sunglasses were, of course, too dark to see through, giving the man the appearance of having no eyes, and thus no perceivable soul (no offense to the eyeless, it's just a story detail.)

The countenance of the unexpected visitor was that of someone prepared to annoy the hell out of you for no good reason. He was just that kind of rat bastard (no offense to rats, bastards, or illegitimate rats).

Brick was angrily silent and refused to talk first. The visitor waited and waited like that annoying guy at a party who tries to coax you into talking to him, even though he is a total douche and a terrible human being. The man was ready to pounce upon any conversation.

"I say," G Mod began to brick, "excuse me but, I mention it to remind you. You wanted to look up that movie that you watched last night to see if whatsername was in it, but you were busy with work, and probably forgot..."

"Yeah..." broke Brick and his ruddy face grew annoyed. "Yes, I forgot....but I would have remembered...ah damn, I forgot what I wanted to look up. Why do you bother me now, as if I'm going to believe that you were the one to remind me and I didn't just remember it myself?"

  "Don't believe it then," said G Mod, smiling like a shark, "What's the point of believing against your will? Just look at the music industry. Most of them sold their souls to me.... but does the existence of a devil necessarily prove that Zeus or Odin exist? I don't think so. I want to join a cult just to mess with them. Or maybe I just want to join the band called the Cult... or Blue Oyster Cult, he he."

"Listen," Brick says, trying to make sense of what was going on, "I seem to be having some sort of episode here. It'll pass and you'll disappear again, just like you always do. You disappear because you don't really exist. I, I'm the one that's saying everything, not you. I was delusional when I saw you last, and that's not going to..."

"I'm so glad that you're treating me with so much respect," extolled G Mod.

"Fool," chuckled Brick, "Do you think that I'm going to kiss up to you all of a sudden? I'm in a terrible funk because of my cold, so maybe that's why I'm seeing you show. Misery enjoys company. You're a phony and I regret finding any good footage.... Ugh, I can't even speak logically..."

"You poor idiot, you poor son. Yes, I am the way I'm supposed to be. What am I if not the source of some fatherly advice? You know, I'm listening to you and I'm really surprised that it took you this long to talk to me. I figured you'd want to whine much earlier. You accept me as someone real."

"Never will I think of you as anything but a bad lie, a sickness, a ghost. You are the worst I have to offer...and I really thought for a long time that that was Slate."

"Excuse me, your royal brick-headedness, but you are just playing deeper into my hands. You really believe  the extent of what is possible...and necessary for the future. You believe that this job of yours is what you need in your life. And what happens when the job starts disappointing you? Will you go into one of your downward spirals again like you did after whatshername..."

"That was a moment of weakness... I couldn't believe that I would care so much about someone like that..."

"And why were you so tempted to go to the Other Side just now? Do you just miss that cute and perky producer?"

"Don't talk about her! How dare you, you junkie!" Brick said, trying to stifle his nervous laughter.

"Ah, you can still laugh. Good I see you're not entirely dead yet. She's a sore spot for you, isn't she? They always are."

"Don't speak of such things.."

"I understand that you're sensitive about such matters. The great and powerful Brick is never one to open himself up to new things and people so, of course, the first skirt that's kind to you is suddenly elevated to some great status, regardless of who she is. Maybe you should write her a crappy love song like you have for all the women you ever met!"

"I'll kick you in the teeth."

"Come now, is that anyway to behave?"

"Ugh... you choose only my worst feelings and emotions and prey upon them. You are stupid and vulgar. I can't stand how you pop into my life and just drag everything into the gutter...."

"My dear idiot, above all things, I want to act like the best manager that a rock band has ever seen. I'm not the kindest person ever, but I feel the bitterness that gathers in tormented men's hearts. It would drag me down if it weren't for my special status... It's always exciting inside your head. The proximity to full chaos inside your mind is thrilling enough as it is. But seeing you, in-person, struggle is the pièce de résistance..."

"What right do you have to just sit there and criticize me in such a brazen manner?

"For one thing, your imagination is so decrepit, that you had to reference the Brothers Karamazov just to express yourself. You see, the outside world is shutting you down, literally. That Producer is just another in a series of pointless flirtations. This job? This career that you seem to be so whole-heartedly doing is just a box that you've chosen to hide yourself in while your life passes you by."

"..."

"Nothing to say? You can try looking to the book, if you're so afraid to think up something new..."

"No, I was just.... Remember when this blog used to be funny?"

"You poor man. Has this cushy desk job robbed you of everything? Perhaps we should ask Milton Friedman and his sweatshop friends. That's always an effective cover story: Brick whines, sweatshop workers still denied basic human rights. Hey, it's fun going off-book."

"Leave me alone..."

G Mod finally burst into laughter, "That should be your catchphrase: Leave me alone! Be careful, or the universe just might grant you your wish."