Open mic night at the Cafe was an odd affair. It was the only time it was closed to the outsides.

Where it became a single nolocation.

Characters, concepts, and creatures vied for space to try and extend their lives.

Tonight, though, there was one speaker.

It stood there, impeccably dressed in a smoking jacket. It spoke, its voice unctuous, grating.

“Live, from the Side Track Cafe. It’s me.”

“I’m not just a bad idea – I’m The Bad Idea.

“You know what interests me? The Bleeding.

We know only conversation gets over, snippets of things in passing. Information. Ideas.

And at random.

Why.”

It didn’t question. It demanded.

“Why only at random? Why not designed? Why don’t we put ideas into their heads?”

Demanded this should happen.

The Bad Idea walked the stage. Paused for a drink. Flashed what passed for a smile with a face full of tentacles. It wasn’t friendly.

It paced back and forth across the stage, talking into the mic with one hand, gesticulating with the other.

“I mean…it’s not like it hasn’t happened before, right? Conjugations, ouija boards, hauntings.”

It stopped and looked directly at the audience.

“Religion.”

It let that one sink in before it started pacing again.

“Why don’t we direct it, that’s all I’m saying.

“And we also know that, as ideas pass, the walls get weaker in certain spots. You know this, right? If you spread an idea, which spawns an idea, it’s easier to get ideas across at that point? Or if you store a bunch of ideas together, that weakens the walls? You don’t know this? I thought this was common knowledge.

“Ok, well, there’s that. Maybe. I mean – we can’t prove it, it’s what we think.”

It stopped for a beat.

“AAAANNNNNYYY way.”

Another short pause for laughter… that didn’t come.

The pause was really short.

“There’s that. Places where we could put ideas across, where it’d be easier.”

It took another drink and, as if the thought had just occurred, turned to the audience and said, “Wait a minute. Wait. A. Minute.”

It walked up to it’s poster. “It’s The Bad Idea.”

He walked into the audience. “What about you, sir?”

“Hatred.”

The Bad Idea nodded. “And you?”

“Fear”

“We…we are all ideas. If they can pass ideas through, abstract concepts, or if they can summon us as Demons – why shouldn’t we go?”

It looked out over the stunned audience.

Then the tentacle smile. “I want to thank you tonight. You’ve been a lovely audience.”

He took a quick bow, the lights went out.

And then that voice. Unctuous, with an edge.

The tone goading.

“No. Really. Why shouldn’t we.”

***

Today’s photo is the lovely Tom Baker as H.P. Lovebox

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