Dawson Filter as He Relates to Rock ‘n’ Roll

Sylvester Denny was not yet certain of the legitimacy of his new traveling companion as a person. He seemed obsessive (After all, who really cares about the answers to questions?), and Dodecadawson didn’t quite have the same sort of “pop” as real names tend to. Nevertheless, he held the key to Sylvester inheriting nothing from his great-uncle Barack; and so, Sylvester Denny was pleased with himself that he had accepted the man’s offer of adventure.

“Where ever shall we start?” Asked Dawson, poising his arms in a way which strongly implied that he wanted an answer.

“We should probably find good a search engine to, like, look up addresses and such. Or, like, if we wanted to know some trivia, for some guy asking us or something; or if we just wanted to know; and we didn’t know, or wanted to be sure, we could just type stuff in, and answers and stuff would pop out.” Sylvester responded.

“My sister owns stocks in Bing®, so I’m kind of into that.” ~Dawson Filter, 2016, when asked by Sylvester Denny his search engine of preference.

“That sounds pretty good. We should probably test it out first, though, just to make sure that their servers are stable and all that.” Said Sylvester, afterword, to which Dawson promptly responded:

“When I walked in here (here referring to Walter’z Breakfast and Midday Snack House), I thought I saw a computer next to the cash register; and the monitor had what looked to be Blackjack scores. Most computers just come with solitaire, maybe Minesweeper. They had to have downloaded it somehow; and the internet is currently the leading method of downloading software, so I figure  they probably have a connection.”

“I’m sometimes allowed back there, to fetch pens and such.” Sylvester said, with a look in his eye which seemed to say “I’m sometimes allowed back there, to fetch pens and such.”

“Neat.” Dawson Filter said, fully confident that this was a full sentence. He made a motion with his hand to signal Sylvester to walk towards, and behind, the restaurant’s counter. Sylvester Denny responded by turning his back to Dawson, as the first step in walking toward his destination of the counter. Opening the door to the most coveted place in the building, he reached down to scratch his left knee; and, while he was down there, he saw a button which read “12 Kicks”. Like any 5”11 man would have done, he pushed it. Immediately afterword, a banner fell from the ceiling, along with a wolf; a flower pot; a real pot; a rock ‘n’ roll musician; and an anvil, which landed on the wolf.

“Woooooooohooooooooahaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggxxxxxx” The rocker crooned, adapting Bob Dylan’s smash hit, “Blowin’ in The Wind”.

“Dodecadawson, I’ve just begun to experience fear, and it’s not stopping!” Sylvester cried, in an effort to alert Dawson Filter of his fear. Dawson ran to his side, and muttered some empty words of comfort before Sylvester’s field of vision faded to black.

He awoke to find Dawson sitting at the company computer, looking over his right shoulder, and saying “I was right. Bing® truly is the best search engine for all my business and personal needs.”

And so, in the year’s most subtle moment of product placement, Dawson Filter and Sylvester Denny discovered that there was more hope in their quest fo’ the true meaning of feelings than they had ever imagined in the previous six minutes.


5 thoughts on “Dawson Filter as He Relates to Rock ‘n’ Roll”

  1. I really appreciate the inclusion of the anvil. It used to be a commonly used, well-respected comedic device. Now, in this age of the internet and globalization, anything could be dropped on someone’s head, from a bowl of chicken masala to a carving of Mount Rushmore with the faces of Waylon Jennings, Willy Nelson, Johnny Cash and Bono, etched into the tusk of a narwhal that was raised at the San Diego Zoo by a matronly Jamaican man with a one-eyed Latvian wife and a penchant for cheesy knock-knock jokes, before dying of a stroke, hastened by a love of Red Bull and Cuban cigars, laced with khat. Those things make me chuckle, possibly even titter a little, but they are just no substitute for the sheer comedic power of an anvil.

    I should point out, however, that, in order to reach its true potential, an anvil must be dropped on a coyote, not a wolf.

    Much love,



    1. Were I to write this chapter again on our current budget, I would most certainly have employed a coyote; but in the story’s earlier days, we simply didn’t have the resources. I sometimes shudder at how poorly this has aged.


      1. Augh, Micah, you disgust me. Can’t you let your blog’s users converse among themselves, create their own friendships, instead of stealing all the trains of conversation for yourself? Granted, I am you, and am merely under the pseudo name “Desmond, son of Reality”, but this was meant to be a home of community, not “live in a vacuum with Micah” fest.
        ~ Anonymous


        1. I’d like to talk to you about this; but given that you are me, that wouldn’t do a whole lot to combat the “with Micah in a vacuum” thing.
          That being said, I completely agree with you. I’d love for people to build off of each other’s thoughts; and I feel like me responding to everyone stifles that; but I’m worried that not replying would demotivate readers from giving input.


  2. That’s why 5’11” men are among the most boring in this solar system. A 5’10” man would have known that button was meant to be kicked 12 times, using the 12 kicks of the Shaolin Tam School of Kung Fu.


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