Dear Mr. Dickle, I fixed it for you.

The other day my good friend Pilliard Dickle (no really) showed up in my labyrinth and gave me a copy of his new book, Avocado Avenue.  It is published by Boll Weevil Press, who will also publish Lichtenbergianism: procrastination as a creative strategy in a few short weeks.

It is, like all of Billiard’s work, inventive and twisted and funny and highly entertaining.

However,  I have to say that after reading the first eleven pages I was fully expecting that it would end in cataclysm and flame.  It only made sense, given the subtle buildup of absolute stasis on Sally and Rodney’s front porch.

I was severely disappointed, then, when it failed to live up to my expectations.  It was much the same when George Lucas failed to end Episode III: Revenge of the Sith in an appropriate manner.  Or when Peter Jackson made three Hobbit movies instead two.  Or when Michael Bay made movies.

This time, though, since Dilliard is such a dear friend, I am able to fix it for him.

And now, the exciting conclusion of Avocado Avenue


Sally opened the front door.  It was long past midnight.

“What on earth are you doing out here?” she asked. The old man was standing there, agitatedly staring out into the dark.

“It ain’t right,” the old man muttered.  “It ain’t right.”

“What’s not right?” asked Rodney, who had wakened to find Sally gone from their queen-sized bed.  Rodney had actually wanted a king-sized bed, but their bedroom wasn’t big enough handle a mattress of that width.  It still nagged at him.

Rodney never found out what was not right, because at that moment the old man trotted off the front porch into the night, picking up speed as he ran.

Sally and Rodney stared at each other in shock as they listened to the cries of “It ain’t right” diminishing in the distance.  Rodney fleetingly wondered whether the old man’s bedroom would hold a king before he too ran off into the dark.

“What on earth…?” Sally said, then she too began to run.

The old man was standing in the back yard of Doris and Delores’ house when Sally and Rodney caught up with him.  He was weeping openly.

“Whatever is the matter with you?” Rodney gasped as they ran up.  The old man turned to them.

“This…” he began in a hoarse whisper, but what he said next was overwhelmed by the sound of an explosion behind them.

Sally and Rodney never had time to realize that their house had exploded because Doris and Delores’ house was now similarly engulfed in a roaring fireball.

“Just like in the movies of Michael Bay,” thought Rodney, or at least that’s what he began thinking before thinking was no longer an option for him or for Sally.

“This is for you, Horace!” screamed the old man as he plunged into the conflagration.

Then there was only the night and the flame.

No one ever saw the lone female figure escaping into the darkness.  If they had, they might have wondered why she was nude.

There you go, Gilliard, a proper ending.  You’re welcome.


[1] You should probably read the book first before reading this.

3 thoughts on “Dear Mr. Dickle, I fixed it for you.

  1. WOW! Mr. Llyle’s review has me…what’s the word? Overcome? Overwhelmed? Overklempt? (I fancy myself the writer—one would think I’d know all the best words and stuff.)

    For someone actually to read your book—that’s a pretty big deal. Especially in today’s increasingly reading-adverse society. And especially someone of Mr. Lile’s literary breadth.

    For that person actually to comment on it, with something more substantive than “that was really good, I really enjoyed it”—that’s the next level of overwhelmedness.

    But for said person actually to rewrite the ending—that’s the part where the WOW comes in.

    I am taking this as a compliment. As well as an endorsement: All you have to do is read the book proper, then read Mr. Llyle’s alt ending and you’ve got yourself a novella.

    I don’t know that I would have the wherewithal to blow up all my characters—I don’t know if I have that much Quentin Tarantino in me—but I must say, I really like the image of the one lone, shadowy figure escaping into the night. The identity of whom was, of course…well, you’ll just have to read Avocado Avenue to find out.

  2. Oh, one more thing. I just have to add this. I mean, my reply would not be complete without observing that…

    OK, I got nothin’. This is just an excuse to add the back cover. On which you will find a review even more complimentary than the one above.

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