I was just standing there wondering what to do one day and I was suddenly struck with a blinding bolt of realization. I could tell the lives of two individuals in monologue form from me. So here goes...

Once upon a time, there were two very unique individuals, we'll call them Fred and Frankie. They were both good friends, and so, for this reason, they did virtually everything together. One day, Fred called Frankie up on the phone.

"Frankie," Fred said, "today has been a relatively uneventful day. Let's go do something really cool!"

"Wrong number," came the voice on the other end of the line, "there's no Frankie that lives here."

"Damn!" Fred exclaimed as he placed the phone back on the hook, "I hate it when that happens."

Fred could have tried calling Frankie again, but as he was now in a rather foul mood, he refrained. And so, Fred and Frankie both ended this relatively uneventful day relatively uneventfully.

The next day, however, things began to pick up. When Fred awoke that morning at exactly 8:17 am, as he was in the habit of doing, he was mildly surprised to find a note attached to his pillow that read, "meet me at the Grover Street Market at noon." The note was otherwise unwritten on and Fred began to wonder who could have possibly sent such a request in such a bizarre manner. As he sat pondering this most unnerving dilemma, his telephone began to ring.

"I wonder who that could possibly be?" Fred pondered as he picked it up. Much to his amazement, he was greeted by the voice of his good friend Frankie.

"Fred!" exclaimed Frankie, "you wouldn't believe what just happened to me!"

"What?" Fred almost shouted into the phone, "what?"

"I woke up at 8:24 am as I have recently fallen into the habit of doing, and when I rolled over to punch my alarm clock so that I might receive a few extra minutes of sleep, I felt the crinkle of paper behind my head. You'll never believe what the paper said!"

Oh no! Fred thought as he stared into the phone What are we going to have to do today?

When Fred arrived at Frankie's door, he was quite out of breath. He had just run nearly a mile in about five minutes and had shoved a pop tart down his throat on the way. This note on the pillow thing had obviously shaken him quite badly as he had always previously believed that he was safe in his quiet little neighborhood of only a couple thousand. Now, he felt the adrenaline pump through his veins as he knocked on Frankie's side door.

"Fred, man, thank goodness you're here! I was starting to get really freaked out by this note thing." were the words that greeted Fred as he walked through the entranceway.

All that Fred could say in return was, "yah...puff, puff...I was...puff, puff...pretty...puff, puff...freaked out too!...pant, pant, wheeze, huff, puff, gag," but this language barrier posed no problem what-so-ever as they were both really good friends and had learned after years of friendship to decipher the speech of the other in virtually any situation.

Shortly, the two took their conversation to the kitchen table where they slowly sipped raspberry iced tea and formed a strategy.

"I bet this is one of those sick-o stalkers who sits around and plans morbid ways to kill people," Frankie said with no small measure of feeling. "I wish sick-o stalkers were just all sent off to an island and shot!"

"Now Frankie," Fred said with just as much feeling, "let's not go and jump to conclusions. It could be anybody. Just think reasonably...it might be the mail-man..."

"But they send letters to the mail box, not our pillows!" Frankie interjected.

"...or it could be a pretty girl..."

"There's two problems with that," Frankie exclaimed, "first, we're both uglier than dirt, and second, the same note was sent to both of us."

"Good point," Fred conceded, "but it still might have our moms trying to remind us of some errand we had promised to do earlier."

"That might have been the case if either one of our moms had ever shopped at the Grover Street Market, but the fact is that they haven't!" Frankie blurted out, "Quit your damn rationalizations and come to the obvious truth that we are being stalked by a maniacal psycho killer who plans to get rid of both of us at the same time!"

At this point, Fred silently admitted his error by lowering his head and covering his face. Then, "Yes, you must be right. I was just rationalizing. I guess that that's just one of my body's fear defense mechanisms kicking in."

"I can't believe that we're really going through with this!" Fred almost yelled as they headed for Frankie's pickup truck. "What if we're totally wrong? What if we're right, but the killer's too good for us and kills us anyways? What if we get the wrong person? What if nobody tapes The Simpson's for us while we're gone?"

To these questions, Frankie gave no response, and they began to make their way across town to the Grover Street Market.

Upon arrival, they immediately spotted the person that they believed to be the culprit.

Suddenly, this man began to move swiftly towards them. He held up his hand in a seemingly menacing way and began to speak..."excuse me," he started to say, "you're walking on the freshly waxed..."

But he never finished his sentence as Frankie had already snapped his neck and Fred had slit his chest with a box cutter. Quickly they left the crime scene, took off their gloves, and un-gummed the security camera. As they were walking back into the pickup, they recalled the events of the day, from the note to the sudden "daring necessity" that they had just performed. They happily realized that they had done the right thing as they drove away and headed home to play a quiet game of Parcheesi.

At 8:17 am, Fred woke up as he had been in the habit of doing. As there was no disturbing note on his pillow, he felt no sense of urgency and fell asleep again and stayed sleeping until about 3 pm when he woke up to a phone call.

"Fred," said the voice on the other end of the line, "today has been a relatively uneventful day. Let's go do something really cool!"

"Wrong number," said Fred groggily, "there's no Fred that lives here."

"Damn!" said Frankie as he placed the phone back on the hook, "I hate it when that happens."

And the two went on to have a relatively uneventful ending to another relatively uneventful day.

At this point, you're probably wondering, "What happened to Fred and Frankie after their crime was found out? Who really put the notes on their pillows? How come Fred and Frankie are such losers?"

Well...it would be really nice for me to give you a more appropriate ending, but that would be a lot of work for me! And anyways, I promised you a pointless monologue...well, um, yeah...I guess I didn't really give you the monologue part either...sorry. But at least you can now realize the wonderful truth that you are now about ten minutes older than when you began reading. That should be motivation enough to read anything...especially such a rousing story as this one! So don't say I never did anything for you! Hehehe!

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Note: there were no real animals or people injured in the actual production of this story. Also, the names of the characters in this story are entirely fictitious and are not meant to be representative of any real individuals that may have the names Frankie or Fred. Another thing...this story does not wish to advocate the use of violence in solving problems. These events in the story are totally fictitious and are meant entirely for the entertainment of the reader.