I'm sitting here now, in my changing room. I can hear the audience. They're restless. They're impatient to see the greatest Marlene Dietrich impersonator that ever graced the stages of Off-Broadway. It seems so long ago, that night that changed my life forever.
It was a hot sweaty summer night. The kind where everyone's drunk and cruising in their pickup just to stay cool. Drunk driving wasn't a problem there because if you passed out you'd just wake up in the morning and have to walk into town to get gas.
I went into town with a couple of the farm hands, Red and Tex. Red was a hard man, he'd spent most of his life traveling from farmstead to farmstead digging out stumps and working over livestock. Tex was different. He looked as young for 42 as Rex looked old for it. Tex was supple and gay, like the first springtime shoot. He always had a joke in mind and always managed to get the ladies to dance. Tex was a tractor driver, he could maneuver a tractor like he was leading a town-lady at an Oklahoma two-step. We were all men. Bronzed, rugged, American.
We walked into the arcade with pockets full of change. We'd spend what was left of our foldin' money here after hitting up ole man Jenkins' hooch shack.
As soon as you walked in the smells hit you. The cigarette smoke heavy in the air. The smell of fried taters and hot dogs from the eat-shack. The stale sour sweat of the high score. Rex slapped me on the ass and pointed over to a new game.
Big Rigs: Over the Road
There were a couple of Riverdale kids hanging around it. We hated them as much as they hated us. In their varsity jackets and smelling of the latest French perfumes from the town drug store. We derided them for being in their cage of a town, and they looked down on our boundless wandering in the country.
One of them laughed out loud and gave the game a kick. "This thing sucks!" he yelled out, his freckled face turning red, looking for a dummy to tackle. He glanced over at me and signalled to his team mates. "Hey farm-boy! Here's a game for ya! Ahoo hoo hoo! Shyeeeeeeeet!" his friends joined in the merry-making and they huddled over by the dance dance console.
I gritted my teeth. Tex held my wrists and whispered in my ear in that soft country drawl, "It'ss alright sweetheart, don't let them get to you. Let's just have a good time,". Rex slapped my ass again, "Let's check that game out, maybe Tex can get the high score on it?" He grinned and winked at Tex. "No, I'll do it, I'll show them," I walked proudly over to the game and sat down in the seat.
I dropped in two quarters and changed my life.
There were no boundaries, no limits. I could do anything I wanted. I was free. I didn't have to stay on the road, I could go wherever and through whatever I pleased. I could even go beyond the edges of the map. I drove for hours that night, and I was always a winner. That night changed my life forever. I was beyond the arcade, beyond the town, beyond the farm. I was beyond the world. There was nothing to stop me or slow me down. I had broken through.
My mother sobbed as she hugged me goodbye. My father shook my hand and told me to do the right thing. Red held me long and hard. We swayed back and forth on that train platform before Tex tapped him on the shoulder. Tex pressed his wet cheek to mine and kissed it softly. I'll never forget how his mustache was wet with tears. He whispered the line from the game into my ear:
"You're Winner"
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Sunday, April 20, 2008
The beginning with the Dr. or How I learned to stop worrying and love the Monster
I write this in an attempt to clarify how and why the Dr. and I did what we did. Over the years the liberal media has tried to portray the Dr. as some kind of maniac. Amoral, psychotic, blundering, and foolish. This is not how he was at all.
I shall try to be concise with this story. Perhaps in telling it from my perspective, from the beginning, it will help bring back some of the luster to the brilliance of the Dr.'s tarnished and sullied memory.
From the very first he was ahead of his time and treated as such out of envy or fear. He was ridiculed and labeled a lunatic by the more offensive members of European(and in some instances American) academia. He had applied to all the great schools, hoping to gain funding to study and prove his theories of reanimation. Everywhere he turned though was a dead end. The only place that allowed him a small room and a meager stipend was the Sorbonne, and even then it was only to ensure that they were able to control him and keep an eye on him.
Things did change however, soon after his uncle died. Leaving him heir and sole inheritor of the Frankenstein estate. He hired me on as his assistant, not only because I was the sole applicant for the assistant job, but in me I think he saw a kindred spirit. We were both outcasts, him with his marvelous ideas and I with my physical deformity.
I set to work. I gave all my time and energies to him to repay the kindnesses he showed me throughout our wonderful time together.
I bought all we needed, beakers, test tubes, electrodes, surgical tools. Some of the things were harder to find, but nothing was impossible for my beautiful Doctor... Generators, capacitors, scanning electron microscopes, and gas chromatographs.
The tricky part was in finding the parts he needed for implanting into the subjects for his experiments.
It was in this environment that our friendship blossomed. We found solace in each other's company on those long cold nights. He was a caring human capable of the greatest emotions. His favorite game was to chase me around the lab with whatever he could find.
Those were days that I shall always hold close to my heart.
Then came the trials where I was granted immunity for testifying against him. He never knew it but I secretly had gone to the police with his crimes. But he denied it all, just like he denied my love.
I shall try to be concise with this story. Perhaps in telling it from my perspective, from the beginning, it will help bring back some of the luster to the brilliance of the Dr.'s tarnished and sullied memory.
From the very first he was ahead of his time and treated as such out of envy or fear. He was ridiculed and labeled a lunatic by the more offensive members of European(and in some instances American) academia. He had applied to all the great schools, hoping to gain funding to study and prove his theories of reanimation. Everywhere he turned though was a dead end. The only place that allowed him a small room and a meager stipend was the Sorbonne, and even then it was only to ensure that they were able to control him and keep an eye on him.
Things did change however, soon after his uncle died. Leaving him heir and sole inheritor of the Frankenstein estate. He hired me on as his assistant, not only because I was the sole applicant for the assistant job, but in me I think he saw a kindred spirit. We were both outcasts, him with his marvelous ideas and I with my physical deformity.
I set to work. I gave all my time and energies to him to repay the kindnesses he showed me throughout our wonderful time together.
I bought all we needed, beakers, test tubes, electrodes, surgical tools. Some of the things were harder to find, but nothing was impossible for my beautiful Doctor... Generators, capacitors, scanning electron microscopes, and gas chromatographs.
The tricky part was in finding the parts he needed for implanting into the subjects for his experiments.
It was in this environment that our friendship blossomed. We found solace in each other's company on those long cold nights. He was a caring human capable of the greatest emotions. His favorite game was to chase me around the lab with whatever he could find.
Those were days that I shall always hold close to my heart.
Then came the trials where I was granted immunity for testifying against him. He never knew it but I secretly had gone to the police with his crimes. But he denied it all, just like he denied my love.
Volunteers of America
I was a young, naive, and bright-eyed idealist out to change the world for the better.
I arrived at my new hometown after an 8-hour long, bumpy, bus trip. And not one of those luxury buses with a bathroom and shock absorbers. This had 4 wheels and that was enough.
I was met at the bus station (a bush with a signpost) by my host and translator Abu. He knew enough English to smooth over the embarrassing social situations and I knew enough Wolof to communicate with the babies and other foreigners.
We hiked back towards the cluster of mud huts. I was surprised to see a satellite dish near one of them. I asked Abu about it and he stated "Chaub Wegee". This word wasn't in the Wolof vocabulary builder courses I had taken so I shrugged it off.
A group of kids had formed as a tail to our procession. Yelping with glee at the new "Toubab" that had arrived. All of them were decked out in the latest from the Shady Limited line, and they all wore Air Jordans. I found it interesting that they all chose to wear the same name brands, but I didn't make a big issue of it. I was still new to the village after all.
Abu brought me to his home. Out front of it sat a Peugeot 205 riding on some serious dubs. We entered his hut and he introduced me to his wife Aissata and his children Ali and Mahmud. His wife was a charming woman with her hair coiled into tight little buns and his children were little balls of mischief grinning impishly. His wife was wearing a Louis Vuitton print dress that suited her perfectly. His hut was stocked with the latest in kitchen ware and home gadgetry. He had a stainless steel stove that looked like it could prepare dinners for a whole army. His fridge, microwave, and dishwasher were all stainless steel too. I was struck dumb. I asked him how they were able to afford such luxuries. He told me about the program that the previous Peace Corps Volunteer had started. It consisted of a local workshop that employed the artisans of the village in creating traditional crafts and then selling those crafts online.
I was amazed by it all. Abu offered to show me the whole operation and the "Chaub Wegee"(which I assumed was what they called the crafts they were making) after lunch. But I was too impatient and asked him to show them to me immediately. He smiled and agreed, understanding that I was still on Toubab time.
He showed me the hut where the artisans were creating traditional silver jewelry. They were very intricate and beautiful and fetched a high enough price online that the villagers did not want for anything. I was still curious about this Chaub Wegee though. I asked Abu if this Chaub Wegee was the head chief or the local protective Animist Spirit that the village prayed to. Abu laughed heartily and slapped me on the back. He grabbed my hand and ran over to the hut with the satellite dish. He ushered me in and pointed to the middle of the room. In the middle of the empty hut was a plastic table, a chair, and a computer. On the computer screen was Chaub Wegee.
I arrived at my new hometown after an 8-hour long, bumpy, bus trip. And not one of those luxury buses with a bathroom and shock absorbers. This had 4 wheels and that was enough.
I was met at the bus station (a bush with a signpost) by my host and translator Abu. He knew enough English to smooth over the embarrassing social situations and I knew enough Wolof to communicate with the babies and other foreigners.
We hiked back towards the cluster of mud huts. I was surprised to see a satellite dish near one of them. I asked Abu about it and he stated "Chaub Wegee". This word wasn't in the Wolof vocabulary builder courses I had taken so I shrugged it off.
A group of kids had formed as a tail to our procession. Yelping with glee at the new "Toubab" that had arrived. All of them were decked out in the latest from the Shady Limited line, and they all wore Air Jordans. I found it interesting that they all chose to wear the same name brands, but I didn't make a big issue of it. I was still new to the village after all.
Abu brought me to his home. Out front of it sat a Peugeot 205 riding on some serious dubs. We entered his hut and he introduced me to his wife Aissata and his children Ali and Mahmud. His wife was a charming woman with her hair coiled into tight little buns and his children were little balls of mischief grinning impishly. His wife was wearing a Louis Vuitton print dress that suited her perfectly. His hut was stocked with the latest in kitchen ware and home gadgetry. He had a stainless steel stove that looked like it could prepare dinners for a whole army. His fridge, microwave, and dishwasher were all stainless steel too. I was struck dumb. I asked him how they were able to afford such luxuries. He told me about the program that the previous Peace Corps Volunteer had started. It consisted of a local workshop that employed the artisans of the village in creating traditional crafts and then selling those crafts online.
I was amazed by it all. Abu offered to show me the whole operation and the "Chaub Wegee"(which I assumed was what they called the crafts they were making) after lunch. But I was too impatient and asked him to show them to me immediately. He smiled and agreed, understanding that I was still on Toubab time.
He showed me the hut where the artisans were creating traditional silver jewelry. They were very intricate and beautiful and fetched a high enough price online that the villagers did not want for anything. I was still curious about this Chaub Wegee though. I asked Abu if this Chaub Wegee was the head chief or the local protective Animist Spirit that the village prayed to. Abu laughed heartily and slapped me on the back. He grabbed my hand and ran over to the hut with the satellite dish. He ushered me in and pointed to the middle of the room. In the middle of the empty hut was a plastic table, a chair, and a computer. On the computer screen was Chaub Wegee.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Another go at it.
It was another lonely day on the metro when I spotted her. She first caught my eye when I noticed what she was wearing. A pocketed skirt in camouflage pattern and an interesting t-shirt. She had on strappy sandals which went well with the skirt. Her luxurious blond hair was held back with a whimsical hairpin. She wore glasses but her eyes were a beautiful and deep green color. The same color as the Mediterranean Sea in full sunlight. She wore a nostalgic wristwatch on her left wrist and she was listening to her magnetoscope through headphones. She had a series of fashionable bracelets on her right arm with bright colors and patterns, reminiscent of the trendy models from the popular Design Houses.
I worked up the courage and shuffled over to where she sat. "Hello, I love your hairpin," I tried to sound nonchalant. She looked up, not hearing me through her heaphones. I smiled and nodded and waved my hand in greeting. She smiled back, a smile that gave me wings. She took off her head phones. Je fuis la loi the headphones blared just before she turned down the volume. "Sorry," she giggled sweetly, "I'm learning French,". I melted a little more inside.
My dream woman, right here, under my nose in this boring old city. Classy, smart, cultured, fashionable and gorgeous. That's when I truly knew what love was about. Love for her, love for the city, and love for life.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Test, test.
Here's a little something I worked on as a guest blogger post. I'm hoping that it's up to par and grammatically... grammaticly... correct. The blog for Chaub Wegee is hilariously witty and I don't want to make a complete ass of myself... Huzzah!
Yes, we’ve all heard these words before but not with this sense of urgency or expectation. For whatever reasons you believe will bring it about, there is no reason why you should not be ready for it. In this post I hope to provide you with an idea of the basics you will need and want.
Firstly, and most importantly, you will need a shelter. Underground shelters are a little bit more expensive but they provide the best protection from meteorological disasters and roving bands of heretical devil worshipers, to airborne space bacteria or the long arm of the law. I also recommend setting yourself up with a good quality composting toilet. The more you pay now for quality, the less plunging you do later, and you can use the compost for your herb garden! As for the rest it's all a matter of personal preference so I'll let you decide on that.
Now, the next most important survival related issue: Nourishment. I prefer your good old fashioned MREs. High caloric content for joules of energy, plus an excellent variety to suit any occasion! Remember to buy in bulk! Because there won't be any convenience stores to shop at after the Communists take over! Ha Ha!...
You probably will want to supplement your MREs with some goodies. Cakes, puddings, meats, breads, and special bachelor treats are all exciting options! You may also want to look into special drinks and food alternatives. And it all doesn't have to be bought food! Some of the best meals I've ever had were ones that I procured and prepared myself(Nucular fall-out permitting)!
For the tertiary area of concern: What to do? You will want to fill your hours with activities that don't take up a lot of space. I'm an avid jigsaw puzzle enthusiast so I have a lot stored in my bunker. As we jigsawers say: the higher the piece count, the higher the fun count!
FYI: Just make sure you don't lose any of the pieces though, it's a long long time to live with disappointment...
You may want to bring along a pet with you. I strongly recommend a cat or small dog. Anything larger and they tend to take up too much space. Anything smaller than that really won't provide an emergency supply of food if your rations run out early. And stay away from noisy birds.
I've got a little nook all set up for my Mr. Bootsy the Cat. And I've got treats for him too! He can provide his own compost, fun for everyone!
Now I hope that you have a better idea of what it takes to survive the upcoming Second Coming of Christ. And have fun with it! Let this post be your guide to a new world of your descendants!
Remember: Survivalism, not just for luddites and militamen anymore!
p.s. You may want to order your items soon before the United States Postal Service is activated to do it's real job. Avoid embarrassing shortages by buying in bulk!
Monday, April 14, 2008
Pompous old buffoon
So I decided the other day that when I have kids I'm going to show them the Star Wars double trilogy in the order that I saw them. That is starting with the oldest one first. I feel that this is necessary because the effects and story line of the older ones are way better. In seeing the older ones first there are certain questions that are left open and the imagination is left to it's devices. Plus the new ones are complete douchebaggery. Do I sound disgruntled or jaded? Well that wasn't my point. But anyways: I've always thought that a cool bit of addition to the story line would have been if Darth Vader got his light saber from the remaining part of Darth Maul's double light saber that didn't fall down the hole with his two halves.
Some light reading to start your week off with:
There was once a capricious king who had two favored slaves. One day in a fit of boredom he called them to audience in front of his court and subjects. He granted them both freedom at the same time but then made them both the other's slave. His royal majesty and his majesty's court laughed heartily for some time. The two slaves stood baffled, frozen, trying to think of how to resolve their dilemma. Who was master and who was slave? One ordered the other: "Bring me wine slave!". The other was about to fulfill his master's command when it occurred to him that they were both the other's slave. "Bring it yourself!", he confronted his master/slave. They stood puzzled trying to outsmart the other as the palace filled with laughter as their story spread. "Listen, the only way I can think of us both being free is if we both free each other from the other's servitude," the one told the other. "Yes, that is a good idea, I agree, so let us both free the other on the count of three," the other told the one. "One, two, three... I free you from servitude!" the one stated. But the other did not keep his end of the bargain. And so the one was found by the king and the laws of the land to be the other's slave.
Years later, after a life full of succes and riches and family, the other lay dying in his death bed with a soul full of guilt, he called the one to his bedside. "You have been a good slave and I have gotten you through ill means, I free you from your bondage!". The one stood up and strangled the other and murdered his entire family.
Moral of the story: Don't expect gratitude for doing the right thing.
Some light reading to start your week off with:
There was once a capricious king who had two favored slaves. One day in a fit of boredom he called them to audience in front of his court and subjects. He granted them both freedom at the same time but then made them both the other's slave. His royal majesty and his majesty's court laughed heartily for some time. The two slaves stood baffled, frozen, trying to think of how to resolve their dilemma. Who was master and who was slave? One ordered the other: "Bring me wine slave!". The other was about to fulfill his master's command when it occurred to him that they were both the other's slave. "Bring it yourself!", he confronted his master/slave. They stood puzzled trying to outsmart the other as the palace filled with laughter as their story spread. "Listen, the only way I can think of us both being free is if we both free each other from the other's servitude," the one told the other. "Yes, that is a good idea, I agree, so let us both free the other on the count of three," the other told the one. "One, two, three... I free you from servitude!" the one stated. But the other did not keep his end of the bargain. And so the one was found by the king and the laws of the land to be the other's slave.
Years later, after a life full of succes and riches and family, the other lay dying in his death bed with a soul full of guilt, he called the one to his bedside. "You have been a good slave and I have gotten you through ill means, I free you from your bondage!". The one stood up and strangled the other and murdered his entire family.
Moral of the story: Don't expect gratitude for doing the right thing.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Two more dialoguey bits.
These were on facebook. Twig and berries!
Onstar commercial June 24, 2006
-Hi this is Megan with Onstar, how can I help you today.
-Hi Megan this is Al, I'm just on a long drive and I was wondering what Onstar does.
-Well Al, Onstar can provide you with directions or we can call up emergency services and direct them to your location if you need it.
-Wow, that's pretty impressive Megan... Do you mind if I ask how old you are?
-Not at all I'm 34.
-Wow, I thought you were just over the legal age from the way your voice sounds.
-*giggles* Thanks, no I'm 34.
-Tell me Megan are you 5'6" to 6', approximately 150-190 pounds with blond to reddish hair and grey eyes that change color depending on your moods?
-Uuhh... No I'm actually sh...
-Yeah that's good Megan. Tell me, what are you wearing right now?
-Sir I don't think this is appropriate, would you like directions to a destination or emergency services to be notified?
-Do you ever get really turned on during long drives Meg? Do you mind if I call you Meg?
-Uh.. no... Sir if you don't need my services today I'm going to sign off.
-Don't play hard to get Meggy. You know you want it...
-This is Steve Smith, I'm the Onstar Customer Service supervisor. According to our records this is not the first time you've tried this sir. We are cancelling your subscription to Onstar. Have a good day.
-Hi Stevie what are you wearing?
*disconnect*
When Love and Culture Collide:
-Hello?
-Hey bro, what's good?
-Same ole same ole here, you?
-Same ole...
-So what's goin on?
-Nothing really, i finally saw your Myspace...
-Yeah, you can get addicted to that shit, it's like crack! haha
-Yeah I know, I started a page or whatever it's called.
-Oh yeah? What's the address on it?
-I think it's boobsnooper69. Well that's what I put in as my page name, use my email and get it.
-Cool, I will.
-Listen, there's something else I wanted to talk to you about.
-Okay, what?...
-Yeah, um. I saw your pics. I thought the one of you blowin' the statue was hilarious.
-Yeah! Those were the ones by the canal.
-Yeah I know! But listen, I saw the pics of you and your girlfriend...
-Yeah, her name's Chevalia.
-Yeah, that's good, how long has it been going for?
-What? Me and her? We met a couple months after I moved down here.
-Listen, I'm gonna have to be brutal with you, do you think it's right?
-What?
-I mean, you know. She's different from us.
-What?!?! I can't fucking believe this! I didn't expect this from you dude.
-Come on, you know I'm not like that at all. I'm so fucking cool that way, but I mean...
-Mean what?
-She's not like us dude!
-I fucking know that, that's why I love her, she's not the same as us. She's beautiful, different. She's smart, funny, kind. I really love her.
-Oh fuck, no!... Don't fucking say that. You only think it's love, you can't.
-I DIDN'T EXPECT THIS FROM YOU!!!!
-Calm down man...
-Them I knew, Jon, Mike, Stu. All of them, I knew they wouldn't understand, but not you! I thought we were like brothers man.
-We are! I love you like one, that's why I have to say this!
-No man no! You're fucking killing me right now!
-Have you guys had sex?
-WHAT???
-Did you use protection? My God, think of the kids!
-YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!!! I can't believe you're being like this...
-DUDE: She isn't one of us! That's fucking sick. Think of your people man!
-No fucking way! I'd leave the whole world for her! Fuck you, don't ever call me again.
-No bro please! She's not even one of our kind!
-SHE'S A CENTAUR! AND I LOVE HER!
-No dude, what are your kids gonna be like? Mules?
-YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! YOU'RE DEAD TO ME!
*click*
Onstar commercial June 24, 2006
-Hi this is Megan with Onstar, how can I help you today.
-Hi Megan this is Al, I'm just on a long drive and I was wondering what Onstar does.
-Well Al, Onstar can provide you with directions or we can call up emergency services and direct them to your location if you need it.
-Wow, that's pretty impressive Megan... Do you mind if I ask how old you are?
-Not at all I'm 34.
-Wow, I thought you were just over the legal age from the way your voice sounds.
-*giggles* Thanks, no I'm 34.
-Tell me Megan are you 5'6" to 6', approximately 150-190 pounds with blond to reddish hair and grey eyes that change color depending on your moods?
-Uuhh... No I'm actually sh...
-Yeah that's good Megan. Tell me, what are you wearing right now?
-Sir I don't think this is appropriate, would you like directions to a destination or emergency services to be notified?
-Do you ever get really turned on during long drives Meg? Do you mind if I call you Meg?
-Uh.. no... Sir if you don't need my services today I'm going to sign off.
-Don't play hard to get Meggy. You know you want it...
-This is Steve Smith, I'm the Onstar Customer Service supervisor. According to our records this is not the first time you've tried this sir. We are cancelling your subscription to Onstar. Have a good day.
-Hi Stevie what are you wearing?
*disconnect*
When Love and Culture Collide:
-Hello?
-Hey bro, what's good?
-Same ole same ole here, you?
-Same ole...
-So what's goin on?
-Nothing really, i finally saw your Myspace...
-Yeah, you can get addicted to that shit, it's like crack! haha
-Yeah I know, I started a page or whatever it's called.
-Oh yeah? What's the address on it?
-I think it's boobsnooper69. Well that's what I put in as my page name, use my email and get it.
-Cool, I will.
-Listen, there's something else I wanted to talk to you about.
-Okay, what?...
-Yeah, um. I saw your pics. I thought the one of you blowin' the statue was hilarious.
-Yeah! Those were the ones by the canal.
-Yeah I know! But listen, I saw the pics of you and your girlfriend...
-Yeah, her name's Chevalia.
-Yeah, that's good, how long has it been going for?
-What? Me and her? We met a couple months after I moved down here.
-Listen, I'm gonna have to be brutal with you, do you think it's right?
-What?
-I mean, you know. She's different from us.
-What?!?! I can't fucking believe this! I didn't expect this from you dude.
-Come on, you know I'm not like that at all. I'm so fucking cool that way, but I mean...
-Mean what?
-She's not like us dude!
-I fucking know that, that's why I love her, she's not the same as us. She's beautiful, different. She's smart, funny, kind. I really love her.
-Oh fuck, no!... Don't fucking say that. You only think it's love, you can't.
-I DIDN'T EXPECT THIS FROM YOU!!!!
-Calm down man...
-Them I knew, Jon, Mike, Stu. All of them, I knew they wouldn't understand, but not you! I thought we were like brothers man.
-We are! I love you like one, that's why I have to say this!
-No man no! You're fucking killing me right now!
-Have you guys had sex?
-WHAT???
-Did you use protection? My God, think of the kids!
-YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!!! I can't believe you're being like this...
-DUDE: She isn't one of us! That's fucking sick. Think of your people man!
-No fucking way! I'd leave the whole world for her! Fuck you, don't ever call me again.
-No bro please! She's not even one of our kind!
-SHE'S A CENTAUR! AND I LOVE HER!
-No dude, what are your kids gonna be like? Mules?
-YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! YOU'RE DEAD TO ME!
*click*
Monday, April 07, 2008
The Da Clowny Code
He was sharply dressed. His gray hair cut very short and serious. He wore a fitted single breasted, gray, heavy suit. His gold rimmed glasses were the only thing that would have made him stand out in a crowded room. Everything about him was angular and sharp. Hair, chin, build, eyes, shoes, watch, tie. Even the cologne he wore. He walked in, set his simple yet expensive looking brown leather suitcase on the overhead rack and sat down across from me.
I looked up from my newspaper and met his eyes. "Hello," I smiled politely. "Hello," he returned in greeting. He had no discernible accent that I could pick up. He settled in and looked out the window. I went back to giving the impression that I was reading the newspaper. I didn't notice any unwieldy bulges that he was trying to hide. People like him didn't usually carry weapons around, so it usually shows right away if they are hiding any. He reached into his left inside coat pocket. "Do you mind if i smoke?" he asked, the slightest little accent I could faintly pick up in his question. He was sizing me up too. "No, please do. Could I bother you for one?" I asked, he nodded in agreement. He reached forward with his pack of Gauloises Blondes. I picked one out and patted my pockets for a light. He reached a lit, golden, elegant, lighter forward. I leaned in and puffed until my smoke was lit. His lighter and his ring both had the Eclipsed Sun on it. "We meet on the Square," I watched him stone faced as I spoke. His face blanched and the cigarette nearly fell out of his mouth and onto his expensive suit jacket. "And we part on the Level...." he reflexively responded. "Not here, please.." he pleaded. "No, I'm no longer a brother. I'm here to help," I reassured him, watching him relax considerably, "I was once like you and there was someone there, I'm paying back my debt,". He swallowed and cleared his throat, "Thank you," his eyes glistened with tears. "Give me everything you have with the Sacred Emblem," I told him, pointing at his ring. He looked down at his finger as he reverently pulled off the ring. He was in awe. As though he would die the instant it came off. He handed me the ring and pulled out his lighter and bill fold. He handed those to me and lifted his left lapel and unpinned the little brooch he wore.
"Forget everything you've learned," I told him sternly. "You die today,". He looked sad. This was a new chapter in his existence, more than a chapter. It was a whole new book. "My family?" he asked as a look of remorse and pain played across his face. "When you're taken care of then you won't have to worry about them anymore, all this will be just a bad story," he looked relieved. I reached under my seat and pulled out a small blue shopping bag. I gave it to him. "Put this on," I ordered. "But it's a clown mask and pantyhose?" he looked suspiciously at me. "Oops! sorry I brought the wrong bag!" I giggled.
I looked up from my newspaper and met his eyes. "Hello," I smiled politely. "Hello," he returned in greeting. He had no discernible accent that I could pick up. He settled in and looked out the window. I went back to giving the impression that I was reading the newspaper. I didn't notice any unwieldy bulges that he was trying to hide. People like him didn't usually carry weapons around, so it usually shows right away if they are hiding any. He reached into his left inside coat pocket. "Do you mind if i smoke?" he asked, the slightest little accent I could faintly pick up in his question. He was sizing me up too. "No, please do. Could I bother you for one?" I asked, he nodded in agreement. He reached forward with his pack of Gauloises Blondes. I picked one out and patted my pockets for a light. He reached a lit, golden, elegant, lighter forward. I leaned in and puffed until my smoke was lit. His lighter and his ring both had the Eclipsed Sun on it. "We meet on the Square," I watched him stone faced as I spoke. His face blanched and the cigarette nearly fell out of his mouth and onto his expensive suit jacket. "And we part on the Level...." he reflexively responded. "Not here, please.." he pleaded. "No, I'm no longer a brother. I'm here to help," I reassured him, watching him relax considerably, "I was once like you and there was someone there, I'm paying back my debt,". He swallowed and cleared his throat, "Thank you," his eyes glistened with tears. "Give me everything you have with the Sacred Emblem," I told him, pointing at his ring. He looked down at his finger as he reverently pulled off the ring. He was in awe. As though he would die the instant it came off. He handed me the ring and pulled out his lighter and bill fold. He handed those to me and lifted his left lapel and unpinned the little brooch he wore.
"Forget everything you've learned," I told him sternly. "You die today,". He looked sad. This was a new chapter in his existence, more than a chapter. It was a whole new book. "My family?" he asked as a look of remorse and pain played across his face. "When you're taken care of then you won't have to worry about them anymore, all this will be just a bad story," he looked relieved. I reached under my seat and pulled out a small blue shopping bag. I gave it to him. "Put this on," I ordered. "But it's a clown mask and pantyhose?" he looked suspiciously at me. "Oops! sorry I brought the wrong bag!" I giggled.
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Good Vs. Evil
Okay, so the other day I was walking around. There was a man walking towards me on the sidewalk. He was about 5'7"ish, 150-170 lbs. He seemed to be an albino. he was wearing red sweat pants and a red baseball cap and had sunglasses on and he was listening to a walkman, which I thought was old-school. As I was walking by him I smiled and said hello. He replied: "Gorgeous day for a walk huh?". I smiled and agreed. Just as we were passing he said "Have a blessed day,". Now I respect most viewpoints and beliefs but I hate it when people try to sneak in Godliness into things. Especially when they don't know you. Usually, when someone says God bless you to me, I retort with God bless us all without even thinking about it. But how am I supposed to reply to have a blessed day? Oh well. That's not all, the weird part was that two blocks after there was a woman and a man walking past. The woman completely ignored me she had on tight-fitting blue sweat pants and a white t-shirt. The man had on red pants and a white t-shirt and sunglasses. Much like the first guy, except this guy had a large bottle of some tea colored liquid. It was alcoholic cause I could smell it. I smiled at him and said hi. He tracked me as I walked past and uttered some weird gibberish. Hoo baba roooo. Along those lines. It occured to me that these guys could have been the demon team shadowing the angel. It was all rather weird and surreal, and I wonder if I was caught, for a few moments, in some Heaven vs. Hell intrigue that was taking place. Both sides had pretty lame representatives though. Not like in the movies at all. But I guess that's how it is.
I want to put more first rate stuff up rather than this half-assery. But whatev. Not like the internet is a critic.
I want to put more first rate stuff up rather than this half-assery. But whatev. Not like the internet is a critic.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
media buzz phrase: Out like a lion
As compiled from personal experiences and stories related to me by my cousin:
Is it just me or are there more and more ignorant kids everywhere? Ignorant in the sense of not knowing or caring about anything except whatever cheap thrills they get and materialistic urges they can satisfy. One can argue that that is all they are led to be by society at large, and that they are not taught to think for themselves. Now, I've been in those low-paying dead end jobs but I don't think I was such a tool about it.
Our intrepid hero: Hi, does this company practice fair trade and environmental conservation?
Casual Dining Restaurant Customer Care Associate: How should I know?
Intrepid patient hero: Okay, I'll have the fish burger then.
Casual Dining Care Associate: Do you want fries and shit?
Patient hero (Realizing what kind of evil he's dealing with): Uh yeah, small fries, hold the shit and a small drink.
Casual Care Associate: What kind?
Hero: Do you have Tab?
Casual Associate: No.
Hero: Do you have Shasta?
Associate: No.
Hero: Do you have Fresca?
Associate: No.
Hero: Fanta?
Associate: I don't think so. We got whatever there. (Lethargically stabs a thumb behind her at the drink machine)
Hero: I see, could I get half coke and half ice tea, and half sprite, and half punch? I call it my superdrink...
Associate: Are you fuckin' surrious? You playin' right?
Hero: No, surrious. And a little ice too.
Associate: Grumbles and grabs a small cup and tries to make a simple super-drink.
Hero: No that's alright, it's kind of confusing I know, just make it a Coke with ice. Yeah... no, with ice if you could... thanks.
Associate: Is that it? You want a pie or some shit?
Hero: No that's cool, I got enough shit. But could you make sure they don't put too much mayo on my burger?
Associate: (With obvious exasperation turns to the back of the house and yells down the line) Ey yo Beebo, make sure there ain't no fuckin' mayo on that shit.
Beebo: Fuuuuuck Youuuu!
Associate: Oh no you di'n', fuck you bitch!
Hero: Uh... could you tell Beebo that I would like a little mayo, not too much though.
Associate: Yo stankass! He say he want a little mayo on that shit, not too much.
Beebo: Make up your fucking mind man!
Hero: Sorry, whatever you want is good. Just don't abuse it...
Associate: Is that it? (She says as a sour look on her face tries to discourage me, she sets her heavy mass leaning against the counter)
Hero: Yeah.
Associate: $5.39
Hero: Wow. smelted catfish...
Associate: Escuse me?
Hero: Oh sorry, I'm a stock investor, I was just thinking about buying stock in smelted catfish cause it seems to be a very valuable commodity, at least at the prices Macdonald's is charging... (She didn't appreciate good sarcasm)
Associate: stares
Hero: Here you go. Thanks.
Associate: Mmhhmm...
Hero: (After checking my sandwich I realize that it has been over-mayoed) Uh.. Ms. I hate to be a jerk about this but it seems as though Beebo has over-mayoed my smelted catfish sandwich.
Associate: Beebo you stupid bitch, you put too much muthafuckin' mayo on the shit!
Beebo: (Walks around to the front. He's got light blue hair with dirt blond roots and he's wearing black pants with more zippers than required. He looks at me like he's secretly chanting a vampire curse.)
Hero: I grab the sandwich and throw it in my bag and decide not to inquire about where my small fries and the ice in my drink is. Thanks! Seeya!
Associate: Mmmmhhhhmmm.
Our hero takes apart the overpriced sandwich and flings it piecemeal onto the glass door. The slurpy smack of the mayo splattering against the dirty glass satisfies whatever feelings of regret there were. Feelings of guilt for that act are allayed when some of the mayo and sandwich are washed off by the warm Coke.
Is it just me or are there more and more ignorant kids everywhere? Ignorant in the sense of not knowing or caring about anything except whatever cheap thrills they get and materialistic urges they can satisfy. One can argue that that is all they are led to be by society at large, and that they are not taught to think for themselves. Now, I've been in those low-paying dead end jobs but I don't think I was such a tool about it.
Our intrepid hero: Hi, does this company practice fair trade and environmental conservation?
Casual Dining Restaurant Customer Care Associate: How should I know?
Intrepid patient hero: Okay, I'll have the fish burger then.
Casual Dining Care Associate: Do you want fries and shit?
Patient hero (Realizing what kind of evil he's dealing with): Uh yeah, small fries, hold the shit and a small drink.
Casual Care Associate: What kind?
Hero: Do you have Tab?
Casual Associate: No.
Hero: Do you have Shasta?
Associate: No.
Hero: Do you have Fresca?
Associate: No.
Hero: Fanta?
Associate: I don't think so. We got whatever there. (Lethargically stabs a thumb behind her at the drink machine)
Hero: I see, could I get half coke and half ice tea, and half sprite, and half punch? I call it my superdrink...
Associate: Are you fuckin' surrious? You playin' right?
Hero: No, surrious. And a little ice too.
Associate: Grumbles and grabs a small cup and tries to make a simple super-drink.
Hero: No that's alright, it's kind of confusing I know, just make it a Coke with ice. Yeah... no, with ice if you could... thanks.
Associate: Is that it? You want a pie or some shit?
Hero: No that's cool, I got enough shit. But could you make sure they don't put too much mayo on my burger?
Associate: (With obvious exasperation turns to the back of the house and yells down the line) Ey yo Beebo, make sure there ain't no fuckin' mayo on that shit.
Beebo: Fuuuuuck Youuuu!
Associate: Oh no you di'n', fuck you bitch!
Hero: Uh... could you tell Beebo that I would like a little mayo, not too much though.
Associate: Yo stankass! He say he want a little mayo on that shit, not too much.
Beebo: Make up your fucking mind man!
Hero: Sorry, whatever you want is good. Just don't abuse it...
Associate: Is that it? (She says as a sour look on her face tries to discourage me, she sets her heavy mass leaning against the counter)
Hero: Yeah.
Associate: $5.39
Hero: Wow. smelted catfish...
Associate: Escuse me?
Hero: Oh sorry, I'm a stock investor, I was just thinking about buying stock in smelted catfish cause it seems to be a very valuable commodity, at least at the prices Macdonald's is charging... (She didn't appreciate good sarcasm)
Associate: stares
Hero: Here you go. Thanks.
Associate: Mmhhmm...
Hero: (After checking my sandwich I realize that it has been over-mayoed) Uh.. Ms. I hate to be a jerk about this but it seems as though Beebo has over-mayoed my smelted catfish sandwich.
Associate: Beebo you stupid bitch, you put too much muthafuckin' mayo on the shit!
Beebo: (Walks around to the front. He's got light blue hair with dirt blond roots and he's wearing black pants with more zippers than required. He looks at me like he's secretly chanting a vampire curse.)
Hero: I grab the sandwich and throw it in my bag and decide not to inquire about where my small fries and the ice in my drink is. Thanks! Seeya!
Associate: Mmmmhhhhmmm.
Our hero takes apart the overpriced sandwich and flings it piecemeal onto the glass door. The slurpy smack of the mayo splattering against the dirty glass satisfies whatever feelings of regret there were. Feelings of guilt for that act are allayed when some of the mayo and sandwich are washed off by the warm Coke.
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