The Practical Press

Clever

2011-12-23T21:42:00.001-05:00

I'm a mediocre person with aspirations towardsgreatness. I'm above average, butaverage isn't that great. I couldaccomplish great things, but I won't. Icould do great things, but I don't. I dogood enough that people always tell me I do great things. But they've always been wrong.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday is when I saved the world.

You're welcome.

I've always been a smart guy. A clever guy. The problem is that nobody likes clever guys. Most people hate us. They think we're arrogant and smarmy andother words that are less friendly. Andthey've got a bit of a point. I wasalways arrogant. Not in an aggressiveway, but in the way where I always knew the answer to the question. I always took charge when someone needed totake charge. I rarely made the bigmistakes and when I did, I always knew exactly what to do to fix them and makethings better.

People hate you for that kind of thing.

Part of it is jealousy. Part of it is feelings of inadequacy. Part of it is fear. Whatever it is, they always seem to be rubbedthe wrong way by me. I never reallydeveloped too many close friends. And Iwas almost always a better friend to them than they were to me. Everyone else always had this casual easewith which they made friends and had fun and interacted with each other. I never had that.

I soon figured out that people didn't like me becauseI was too clever. That stung. But I wasn't going to give anyone thesatisfaction of knowing it and I wasn't going to dumb myself down. So I just didn't make too many friends.

And sooner or later, every friend I had abandonedme. It was always something that theyfound surprisingly easy to do. I can'tsay as I didn't make it easy for them, since I was never the type to try toforce someone to hang out with me who didn't want to. If they wanted to go, let them go. Good riddance.

So then it becomes easier not to make newfriends. If they all abandon you in theend, anyway, why try. If they all becomeso easily offended, why offend them.

It's easy to offend people when you are clever. You make a comment they don'tunderstand. You make a culturalreference they don't know. You point outthat they have some basic fact wrong. You remember things a little better than they do. You know things they never knew.

And dating wasn't much easier. The same problem that existed with friendsexisted with lovers. Finding lovers wasnever too hard. Keeping lovers was nevertoo hard. When you are clever out ofbed, you are clever in bed. Butconnecting to those same lovers on a level out of bed that keeps them aroundonce the sex loses its newness is much harder. It's where that cleverness loses its handiness.

And to be honest, who wants a lover or a friend whoisn't clever, who doesn't have a thirst for knowledge and experience, whodoesn't want to actually live life and not just survive it.

Certainly not me.

But all that time alone can give you the freedom tolearn about all kinds of things. Including how to save the world.

Oh yeah, I was telling you about how I saved the worldyesterday.

That's a funny story. Not funny like a joke, but funny like something that isn't funny at all.

But who gets to save the world? I mean, unless you wear tights and work forStan Lee, it's not something that comes up a whole lot. Or ever.

And I only was able to save the world because I'mclever.

But, boy do I have a story for you. It'll be something you can write home about.

And nobody ever tells you a story you can write homeabout.

So how does one go about saving the world? It's not something you really have muchcoursework in. It's not something thatthere's an instruction manual for. Oh,sure, you can read a lot of books, watch a lot of movies, play a bunch of videogames. But despite what the average geekwill tell you, saving the real world is not something you can prepare for byleveling up and finding another health pack.

No, this is something you kinda have to figure out onthe fly.

But I sense that you are wondering now what exactly itwas I saved the world from. Goodquestion, astute reader.

Well, what could one save the world from? Let's take a look at the options...

Maybe there was a giant asteroid that was going to hitthe earth and I was the first to spot it with my little backyardtelescope. I told someone about it andthey sent up Bruce Willis and Ben Affleck and they blew it up and saved theday.

Nope, that wasn't it.

More realistically, maybe it was some new virus, thatif it made the leap over from the monkey world to the human world, it wouldbecome a supervirus and it would wipe out the entire human population. And I discovered it and came up with a cure.

Only problem was that I never went to med school andhave no idea how to spot a virus.

Alien invasion? I've read enough "Science of Star Wars" books to know howunlikely that is.

Nuclear war? What am I, some kind of diplomat?

The machines becoming sentient and taking over? I failed auto shop.

Vampires figuring out how to somehow, all of a sudden,survive in the daylight? What is this,some kind of Twilight bullcrap?

Superhurricanes? Nope, Al Gore hasn't taken us all out yet.

No, the reality of it all is that I stopped everyfanboy's dream apocalypse -- I stopped the zombies from taking over.

Now before you get into all that crap about howzombies aren't real and there's no way they scientifically could come to lifeand exist, I already told you, I don't know anything about medicalscience. Just because I'm clever doesn'tmean that I know everything. I alwaysthought what you thought. I thoughtzombies were sci fi. I thought they wereunrealistic. I thought we had morechance of being taken out by sharks with laser beams strapped to their headsthan being taken out by the walking dead.

But I was wrong.

And so were you.

I can't explain it, so don't ask. I'm sure when I go on Oprah, she'll ask. I won't know. And I doubt the government will let anybody tell me or you orOprah. But I'm already telling you mystory, so they won't be able to stop it from getting out. It's already out. It's not like they started the whole thing,you know, so I don't know why they would want to stop it from getting out, butthey always try to stop it from getting out, right? I mean, I guess we could go with the whole"they don't want the public to panic nonsense," right? But are you buying that? I'm not. They thrive off the public panicking. That's how they get elected and stay in power, right?

The reality, of course, is that the "invisiblehand" of the free market is what led to zombies and what led to all of usalmost being taken out by them. If itweren't for me, that is.

Again, you're welcome. It was the least I could do.

I can tell you this much, the zombie "groundzero" was at a lab in rural Kansas that was testing some corn-relatedstuff for a certain mega-corporation whose name I can't say for"legal" reasons, but we'll just say it rhymes with"Blonsanto." I think theirgoal was that by 2050, everything in America would be made fromgenetically-modified corn. Corn-basedsugar. Corn-based plastic. Corn-based gas. Corn-based alcohol. Corn-based cell phones. Corn-based wheat. You name it, they were working on a cornversion. Or Corn Version 2.0.

So, I don't know how they did it, but they somehowcame up with ethanol zombies. At leastthat's what we called them.

How do I know? Well, I worked for "Blonsanto," of course. I managed the network for their labs andplants and offices in Kansas. Goodmoney, too. Particularly since I didn'thave a degree. But it's still earlyenough in the game that if you can do the work, you don't need a degree. Give it ten years or so and you'll need adegree to change passwords for dorks who work in the secretarial pool.

Anyway, I work mainly out of their Lawrence office,but I have to drive around to various offices and labs and factories and sucharound the state when there are networking problems or the lab geeks can'tfigure out how to back up their data on the mainframe. Seriously, in 2011? Still?

So I was on a call to this little lab in some ruralarea. I'd tell you where it was, butthen I'd have to kill you. And let mesay, I've had a lot of practice killing people of late, so don't test me onthat one.

I arrived at the place to do my service call. It's a small lab, so usually less than tenpeople worked there. I knew thesecretary at the front desk. She'shot. Beautiful blonde hair. Way out of my league. I like to flirt with her, and, to her credit,she always flirted back. But I knew itdoesn't mean anything. She's not thetype that's into nerdy guys. Veryglamorous type. Lots of make-up. The kind of girl you'd see in a night cluband never ask to dance. Her name isShelly.

Shelly was there when I got there. She's always there. Never misses a day. I probably didn't have to make the servicecall since I think I could've walked the staff through the fix over the phone,but, you know, Shelly's there, so I told my boss it's a road trip I have tomake. He doesn't question it. He could care less. I.T. is not his thing.

I did the usually chit chat with Shelly. I asked her about some local bar that I oncewent to. She said she goes there all thetime. I said I do, too. She said she never sees me there. I said I see her there all the time. Then I realized how creepy that sounded andquickly asked her about the problem with the mainframe.

If she noticed my creepiness, she didn't sayanything. That was very nice ofher. She could very easily have reportedme for sexual harassment or something and I would have had no defense. I was relieved that she was either very, verynice or she was a complete moron and didn't understand in the first place. Either way, I was okay with it at the moment,as I envisioned trying to comply with the state's extensive unemploymentcompensation paperwork.

Funny thing was that she had absolutely no idea whatwas going on behind her in the restricted areas behind her desk. It was early enough in the day that I'mguessing she hadn't even gone back behind the protected doors at thatpoint. Right next to her desk was onedoor, with a glass window in the middle, which could only be accessed if youhad a key card. I didn't have one, butshe did. Next to the door was the"break glass in case of emergency" box with the fire axe in it. Beyond that and her desk, there was nothingin the front room except a couple of uncomfortable chairs. The first time I flirted with Shelly wasbecause I remembered those chairs from the previous visit and had no interestin sitting on them.

Shelly buzzed me back. I kind of wish she hadn't, but if I think about it, if she hadn't, we'dall probably be dead right now. I'm surethat Dr. Dole or Dr. Wyden would've come up to the glass window in the door atsome point -- completely infected -- and she would've let them out. Then she would've gotten infected. And then they would've gone out into the coolKansas afternoon and started an apocalypse.

Luckily for the world, Shelly buzzed me back.

Luckily for Shelly, I remembered there was an axe inthe fire safety box next to the door she sat beside.

Luckily for the employees of "Blonsanto's"secret lab in "If I Tell You I Have to Kill You," Kansas, only threescientists were working that day. Theaforementioned doctors Dole and Wyden were there. Also on hand was some kind of technicianwhose name was Woodring or something like that. In addition to Shelly, those were the only employees on hand that day atthe lab.

I guess you'd probably have to count their testsubjects in the count of people on hand. There were a man and a woman whose names I'll probably never know thatwere also in the lab that day. Sort of. It's hard to say whether or not you should count people who were deadwhen they came to the lab as being part of the body count or not. This was my first time staving off a zombieapocalypse, so I'm a little sketchy on the statistical analysis of such things.

Now I knew that this particular lab was designatedsolely as a lab for testing corn-based fuel for cars and such. Most of the labs they had in the state weresingle-subject. Or so I thought at thatpoint. It turns out that this labcertainly had a bit more going on that what was revealed to the average employee,much less to the public.

Later, I looked up the doctors who worked there onlineand it turned out that Dr. Wyden was a medical doctor and he apparently wasfrom some strange unaccredited school that no one I've ever met has ever heardof. He certainly wasn't qualified towork on ethanol or any kind of fuel, which makes sense considering the otherproject it turned out this lab was working on.

I should've known something was wrong when I walkedthrough the doors and nobody was there to greet me. One of the doctors was always there to greetme before then. They usually quickly escortedme directly to the workstation and watched over me like a hawk. They never let me wander around or use therestroom or anything. It's get in, getthe job done and get out. They werenever rude, but you could tell I was an unwelcome intrusion.

But no one showed up to escort me.

That should've been enough. But it wasn't.

I'd been there enough times that I knew where theworkstation was. I knew what they wantedme to do and I knew they didn't like me to wander or to stay very long. So I made my way down the hall to the onlyroom I had been in except for the one where Shelly sits. Or sat. She doesn't work there anymore.

As I walked back, I realized that I was going to havesome trouble if someone didn't show up soon. The room I worked in was always locked. All of the rooms in this place were always locked. And without a key card, I wasn't going to getin. I was just thinking about that whenI saw that the door was open. Somethingwas propping it open. As I looked, Irealized it was a shoe. A black andwhite Chuck Taylor. And it was attachedto a foot. A human foot. That was still on a body.

Times like that are when you really find out who aperson is. A less clever person would'vepanicked and probably would've caused the destruction of the world. I didn't know I was saving the world at thatmoment, but that's what I was doing. Rather than running out of the place, I went to check on the ChuckTaylor. And the foot.

I worked my way around the body and through the doorso I could get near the head. And it wasclear that this guy was dead. Blood waseverywhere. His blood. It was all coming from a wound on hisneck. A fresh wound. The blood was still wet and hadn't even begunto congeal. I was able to figure outpretty quick that it was Dr. Wyden. Orit had been Dr. Wyden.

I looked around the room. I saw the workstation that I wasn't meant toget to that day. I saw a bookshelfloaded with books that only a few people on the planet have ever read. I saw a few extra chairs gathered around theworkstation, as if people were gathered around to look at something on thescreen. I saw coffee cups with steamstill coming out of them. I saw a fire extinguisher against the back wall. I saw a poster with a "hang inthere" kitten on it.

Then I heard the gurgling sound. The gurgling sound that still wakes me up inthe middle of the night from time to time. At first I couldn't tell what it was. After Dr. Wyden stood up, I realized it was the sound of blood coming upthrough his esophagus. Blood that wasdripping down his face and onto the floor. As he looked at me.

This is the part where the clever guy with lots offree time realizes that he's facing a zombie.

I had to quickly figure out what kind of zombie itwas. The different kinds of zombies allhave different tactics with which one has to use on them. I did a quick hop, skip and a leap to theopposite side of the room, testing his reflexes and speed. He couldn't keep up with how fast Imoved. His head slowly turned as I went,arriving at my new location long after I did.

Okay, so that meant he wasn't a Danny Boyle-typezombie. That was good. I'm not that fast.

The next determination I had to make was if he was aNight of the Living Dead-style zombie or a Return of the Living Dead-stylezombie. If he was a Return zombie, therewas little I'd be able to do about it in such a confined space. I'd be trapped in the room with no way to getpast him. And judging by the bite on hisneck, he had friends. There was a goodchance they'd be here soon, once the commotion began.

I had previously planned my hop, skip and jump todeposit me right next to the fire extinguisher, the only item in the room thatcould be wielded as a weapon. I grabbedit as Dr. Wyden began slowly coming my direction.

This was the first moment of truth. Could I kill someone? Well, not someone, but something. Could I kill a zombie?

And I don't mean that in a "do I have the guts todo it" or a "will my normal pacifism stop me from hurtingsomeone" type of manner, I meant it in an "am I strong enough"kind of way. I raised the extinguisherover my head and brought it down with all my strength on his head. Has to be a head shot, right?

The first thing I noticed was that it hurt likehell. Not him. Me. The jarring of the extinguisher hitting his hard skull shook me all theway to the elbow. It hurt horribly and Ialmost dropped the extinguisher.

The second thing I noticed was his skull giving inunder the blow.

The third thing I noticed was the squishy sound allhis parts made after they initially crunched together.

The fourth thing I noticed was him falling to thefloor, apparently dead once again.

I hit him in the head again. Double tap.

Time to go. After he stood up, the door had closed behind him and lockeditself. No problem, I grabbed his keycard, swiped it and pulled the door towards me.

And that's when Dr. Dole grabbed my shoulder. Well, what was left of Dr. Dole's handgrabbed my shoulder. It appeared, when Ilooked at the hand later that his zombification was based on a bite to thehand. A bite that took off two fingersand about half his palm.

Of course when Dr. Dole grabbed me, I dropped the fireextinguisher and it skidded down the hall past Dr. Dole and the technician,Woodring, who had also joined the festivities.

So I was unarmed and alone in the hallway with twozombies, one of whom was holding on to my shirt at the shoulder.

Don't panic. Best. Advice. Ever.

I figured pretty quickly that I was strong enough tobreak the grasp of old-Three Finger Brown there, so I did and ran back towardsthe entrance. Luckily for me, I now hada key card.

A key card I had also dropped when Dr. Dole grabbedme.

I scanned around for it and saw that it was now beyondhim down the hall. No way I was gettingit now. He was coming in my direction,slowly followed by Woodring.

I was starting to panic a little bit at that point,but I did the only thing I could. I ranto the end of the hall and started banging on the glass window in the door likemy life depended on it. Which it did.

Unluckily, Shelly wasn't at her desk. Also unluckily, the hall was a pretty shortone.

I banged harder and started yelling. I looked back and realized that if Shellywasn't back in less than a minute, I would be engaged in fisticuffs with theundead. Great band name; horriblesituation to be in.

Luckily, although barely, Shelly had been outsidehaving a smoke and she was done. Shecame back through the door and saw my panicked face and heard me banging andscreaming. It actually worked and sheactually quickly came over and swiped her card to let me out.

It didn't work.

She looked at the card and then facepalmedherself. She had the card backwards inthe excitement. I banged on the glassharder and yelled for her to hurry. Shecomplied, but she was asking me what was happening. It was a good thing they hadn't informed herabout what kinds of things that were going on in the back of the lab and aneven better thing that this lab didn't have higher security measures than itdid. If it did, I'd be dead. And so would you.

The door opened just in time. Dr. Dole was about to grab me as I pushed the door back hard enough thatShelly was knocked down.

I turned to shut the door behind me, but I wasn't quick enough. I slammed it hard towards the door frame, butit didn't shut the way it was supposed to. It hit Dr. Dole's head hard enough to make a loud thunk. It didn't hit him hard enough to kill him,though, and it didn't hit him hard enough to knock him back.

I tried pushing the door harder, but it was no use. There was no way I was getting that door shutwith Dr. Dole still coming after me. Ijust wasn't strong enough. I called forShelly to help me, but her slight frame didn't bring much to the door-pushing,Dr. Dole-crushing party.

That's when I had to make a decision. That's when I had to be really clever.

So I was.

Like I said, I'd been to this place a number of timesand I remembered the one tool left in this office that would help me save theworld. The fire emergency box with theaxe in it. What better weapon to takeout zombies than an axe? If I had let goof the door, though, then Dr. Dole would've gotten through and taken me out. And Woodring was almost to the door as welland I doubt I could've held them both off. So I needed Shelly's help.

I told her this definitely was an emergency and that Ineeded her to break the glass and get me the axe. Luckily for the rest of the state of Kansas,Shelly was way smarter and more together than I ever gave her credit for. She quickly and calmly went to the emergencybox, busted the glass with that little metal thing on the chain and carefullytook the axe out and brought it to me. Itold her to get out of the building and lock the door behind her. She started to head in that direction.

I told her she needed run and get away if thingsdidn't go well. My plan, which I hatchedin mere moments, was to let go of the door and take out Dr. Dole the second Idid, that way Woodring would be blocked long enough, I hoped, for me to pullthe axe out of Dr. Dole and be ready to take Woodring out before he could getto me. I had to be quick or they'd takeme out. I had to be strong or it wouldn'tbe enough. I had to be perfect.

And that's exactly how that shit went down.

I let go of the door, drew the axe above my head andsplit Dr. Dole's skull like a Ginsu knife cuts a soda can. The fact that I split it so wide made it easyto pull the axe back out. I hit his headhard enough that if I were at the carnival using that hammer to hit the strongman game, I would've rung the bell and won a stuffed animal. That meant that I had enough time to be readyfor Woodring, who moved towards me mindlessly. I lined the axe up like Alex Rodriguez and swung for the fences. Woodring's head rolled down the hallway likea bowling ball about to pick up a 7-10 split.

I quickly pulled the bodies out of the doorway andshut the door. I took a few moments and relieved Dr. Dole of his head aswell. I've always been a "bettersafe than sorry" kind of guy.

Next I went over to Shelly and asked her if anyoneelse was in the building and she said that Dr. Wyden was the only other personthat came in today. I told her that wasgood news and that we were in the clear because Dr. Wyden was already takencare of.

Then I remembered the bite marks. Dr. Dole and his missing fingers and Dr.Wyden and his missing esophagus. Someoneor something had bitten them. That's howthey became zombies. They didn't biteeach other and although I never saw a bite on Woodring, I guessed -- correctlyit turned out -- that he wasn't patient zero, either.

I asked Shelly to unlock the door and give me herswipe card. She did. I told her to lock me in again and go callthe cops. She didn't understand so Itold her I thought there was at least one more zombie in the back and I wasgoing to take care of it before it escaped and did any more damage. She looked skeptical and then walked offdialing a number on her cell phone.

Iwanted to see what I was dealing with, so after I swiped the card and openedthe door, I yelled out down the hallway to see if anybody was home. I yelled out three times, each time louderthan the previous. After the second yell, I thought I heard something and afterthe third it was obvious I had. At theend of the hall, past the room where I first found Dr. Wyden, a really crustyzombie in a hospital gown slowly came out of a doorway and headed mydirection. This guy was pretty intactand had no visible bite marks, so I was guessing he was patient Zero. I decided then and there this guy's name wasZed and I proceeded to use my axe to make sure that Zed was dead.

After decapitating my third zombie of the day, Icalled out again to make sure Zed was the last. I heard a moaning coming from the same room Zed exited. I got the axe ready and waited for the nextconfrontation.

And nothing happened.

I heard the moaning again, but no other sounds camefrom the room. At a minimum, I expectedto hear a foot dragging or the sounds that zombies make when they exit labrooms in rural corporate zombietoriums.

Nothing.

So I walked on down the hall. And I came to the door. I went inside and saw what turned out to bethe last zombie. Or at least half of thelast zombie.

Whatever this thing used to be, I couldn't really tellanymore, although it appeared to have once been female. It was laying on a metal table and it had nolegs or lower body. What was left of itsupper body was made of what appeared to be rotting meat. I don't know to this day if she was somethingthey found in the wild -- she certainly looked like she could be -- or if Dr.Wyden and Dr. Dole had been doing some Dr. Herbert West-style experimentationon this poor sucker.

Either way I didn't want to hear any more of themoaning, so I engaged in the next-to-last decapitation I ever hope toparticipate in. I quickly went back andmade sure that Dr. Wyden would sneak up on me in the final scene by removinghis dead, crushed zombie face from his dead uncrushed zombie body.

I went around the building and checked every room Icould for anything else, but there was nothing. The bastards must have kept all their ethanol zombie experimentsconfined to the one room. They were allgone and I was ready to get the heck out of Dodge. And that's what I did.

The police came and the media came and I asked Shellyout and we went out and got married and had three babies and lived happily everafter. Well, the police and the mediacame, but I haven't really seen Shelly since.

So, that's the story of how I saved the world. By being clever.

So now I'm still clever, but I'm famous as that guywho saved the world.

I guess this clever thing is working out for meafter

Reality - You won't see this on TV.

2011-09-24T11:19:00.007-05:00

My friend M married a guy she was crazy about. Then he left her. She took it very hard. She ended up taking too much time off from work. On a Thursday, they called to get her to come back to work the next day, Friday. She was still depressed and spending a lot of time sleeping, so she told them she needed off Friday and the weekend. She would come back Monday. They kept calling her, while she was trying to sleep. She ended up telling them she felt like killing herself. They called the police. Police took her to the mental hospital where she had to stay for a week. Meanwhile, the job fired her. M managed to get unemployment, but couldn't keep up the rent on her apartment. She and her husband, R, got back together, but he didn't have a job, either. They were getting traffic tickets, like crazy, because the license on the car was expired, her license was suspended, and he didn't have one.

One early evening, driving toward my house, M got picked up and taken to jail. R called me and asked me to help him bail her out. He had the money, but he didn't know how to get a bondsman. I arrived at the jail, and he picked out a bondsman from the list the jail had given him. I called the bondsperson, and she came and bailed M out. I followed M&R home.

M could not get hold of the friend that used to work on her car, so I asked a friend to fix the brakes. I paid him to do it, too. It took several days. Meanwhile, they didn't have a way to town, so I took her to donate plasma. I didn't realize how long that took! In the middle of the summer, hot as all get out, I waited for her in my car. I finally went to the park and walked around. When I finished, I went back to the center, and waited some more. I was able to get a good spot, but had to keep putting money in the meter. I watched a car get a ticket, so when the next people parked there and didn't put any money in, I told them they needed to.

Finally, the brakes were fixed. She took the car to get inspected. The people inspecting told her she had a bunch of things wrong, and it would cost quite a bit more to fix. I told her we would take it to where I get my car worked on. My mechanics looked it over and told me it would cost about $100, to fix. I told them to do it. It took a couple days because there was a part that needed to be ordered. Meanwhile, she was trying to get her license unsuspended. When the car was finally fixed, I picked M &R up and took them to get it. From there, we went to DMV and got the plates.

While I was on vacation, M was driving the car when it broke down. She called her friend who had worked on it in the past, and told him that he could have the car, it was sitting on the side of the road. The friend picked it up. After looking it over, he told her that it wasn't worth fixing, the motor was bad.

M&R needed to move, so another friend told her that his brother could let them stay at his place, a trailer, if they paid $65. a week. The trailer owners moved all the stuff to their trailer, and gave M&R a small room without a door. M&R had six cats. There were three adults, five children, a dog, and a cat already living in the trailer.

The first week, M paid $65. for the week, plus $30. for gas, to get a ride to places she needed to go. She got to go to the bank, and one store. Then, she was told the car had a flat tire. When M needed to go to court, she asked if I could take her. I decided to work through lunch, so I could do that. She and R weren't often allowed to take showers. They weren't allowed to wash their clothes (the washer and dryer were theirs). They had to leave the trailer several times for several hours. Their cats were also supposed to stay in that doorless room. One of the cats was put outside. Also, apparently, the trailer owners (they rent, but it's easier to call them owners) wanted R to put the gas in his name, because they couldn't get gas unless they paid a large bill - which they must not been able to pay. Finally, on a Friday night, R took a handful of sleeping pills. M walked him to the end of the lane and called 911.

R was taken to the hospital. M called me, the next morning, stating she could use a ride, if I could do it. I told her I would get back with her in the afternoon, because I had to be somewhere that morning. When I found out about the living situation, I couldn't take it. My house is very cluttered, and I have five cats, but I told her they could take the spare room for a week or so, while they figured things out. We went to the trailer where she picked up five cats, some clothes, and her makeup. I dropped her off at the hospital, because she thought they were going to keep R overnight. She called a bit later, and said they were releasing him, so they could use a ride home, or did I want her to try to get a taxi pass. Since I was working with my niece and her son, I told her to get the taxi pass.

So, M&R came to live at my house. Only two of my cats felt comfortable with strangers in the house; the others hid in my bedroom. One of the cats developed a nasty wound on his neck. I don't know how it happened, but I put salve on it and it seemed to be healing. M&R are both good young people. They have a habit of drinking a sugary soda pop, that if spilled, causes a lot of stickiness. Soon, the mouse for the computer was sticky, and I noticed the chair arm was also sticky. They used both my cell phone and landline to try and make contact with friends and relatives (their phones had no minutes left). They needed to put stuff in the refrigerator, so my stuff got moved around. They don't sleep during the night, so sometimes, they would be out wandering around at night, or sitting on my small deck. As I said, they are good kids, but I am not used to having people at my house, underfoot. The washer was put to use before I could tell them how to use it. It turned out that M didn't let it go the whole cycle, so it hadn't gotten a chance to do the final spin. Her clothes took several dryer cycles. My dryer is not real hot, so it normally takes two cycles, already.

I think it was Sunday that M said her father talked to his sister, and they could go live there. We decided we would go on the coming Friday. Monday, C from the trailer sent a text to M asking if she could take the inflatable mattress, M&R had picked up at Walmart, back because an emergency had come up. M explained that Walmart wouldn't give them money, they would only be able to get a replacement. The next day, I thought about it, and asked if they would be able to go on Wednesday. I was worried about their stuff being over at that trailer, and what they would come back to. It was decided. Tuesday, I called and made a reservation for a van. There were no trucks available, unless I wanted to get a U-haul and pay $.99 a mile. Tuesday, R had to go to court, and they were going to do some wrapping up of business before they left. It turned out that they weren't able to get to all the places they needed to be. The bus they needed was going to be two hours, and they didn't feel like waiting. They started walking home. Luckily, they got a ride after a mile or two of walking.

The evening before, I drank too much coffee. I tossed and turned and couldn't sleep until around 3:00AM. I was also upset that the kids didn't seem to realize the need to find all their belongings and get them together. M did realize she needed to wash some clothes. The load of laundry dried, and when I mentioned that it needed to be folded, they did other things. Finally, I folded the clothes. When it was time to go to bed, they decided to go to the end of the lane and wait for her best friend who might be able to come to town, so they could see each other before the big move. I didn't hear them come in because I was busy tossing and turning. When I got up again, I saw their shoes in the living room, and realized they must have gone to bed.

The next morning, I took care of my cats, took my shower, and got ready for the day. At 7:00AM, I knocked on their door and told them time was wasting; we needed to go pick up the van at 8:00. We actually got to Avis around 8:30. I went in, and they drove to Walgreens, to see if there were any sales. I got the van and drove to Walgreens. Because I used Hotwire to order the van, I also took the insurance option $18. At Avis, the guy told me that his paperwork didn't show insurance. Since my car doesn't carry full coverage, and I had no idea how to contact the Hotwire insurance, I took the Avis insurance, too. $27.95. All totalled, that was going to be a hefty bill - it was around 125.00 total for van and insurance - besides the original $18.

Once at Walgreens, they found that there were no sales, and I found a pair of sunglasses to fit my glasses. I was going to wear them on the trip. Of course, to get out of Walgreens is a trial. I finally pulled out and made a right turn, then backtracked through side streets, to get back to the road I needed. We dropped my car off at my home, and piled into the van, taking the rest of their dirty clothes, and enough quarters to use the Laundromat. We arrived at the trailer court where their stuff was. There were people milling all over. As we drove to the lane we needed, there was a fire truck, blocking the road, at the one trailer we needed to get to. The kids jumped out and ran to the trailer. One of the firemen yelled, "hey, you can't go in there, there's a gas leak!"

Not knowing what to do, except wait, we decided to go back to my place, get my car, and do the rest of the errands. As we were leaving the trailer park, one of the trailer owners, M needed to talk to, came driving by. M ran to her car and got her attention. She told her that they were leaving and needed to get their stuff. C told M that she owed her $65. and until she got that, M wasn't getting her stuff. She could get the police, and get a warrant. M said C was wearing M's coat, which M had dry-cleaned and hadn't yet worn. It should've been hanging in the closet of that small room.

We drove back home where M called the police and explained the situation. She wanted to know what her options were. The person taking the call told her that an officer would have to call her back, because they were all currently unavailable. M gave the home phone number.

Meanwhile, the following texting went on.

M: "we will give u 65 but i have to have the stuff as soon as the gas leak is fixed."

C: "its not 65 its 100 and i got three witnesses to a verbal agreement. possetion is 9/10 the law. im not stupid. u fucked me. you or the police cant come in my house without a warrant. Its a domestic and ull have to take it to court. also will be a no trespasing on my house. This is ur warning U will b arrested if u come on my property. Im sorry it had to come to this but u both know I went out of my way to help you."

We jumped into the car to take care of the rest of the errands and wait for the police to call. M called back and gave them the cell phone number. We went to DFS where M had to make further application to her unemployment and then reapply for food stamps, and R needed to get the paperwork to get his permit. R came back quickly, and we went to the DMV to get the permit. After a wait, he came back stating they gave him the wrong paper. We started back to DFS building. M was walking toward us, so we pulled over and she jumped in - she got the unemployment problem fixed, but the line for food stamps was so long, she decided to wait until she was relocated. R ran in to DFS building. After a while, he came back with the proper paperwork. We drove back over to DMV. He ran in and got his permit. A police officer called M and she again explained the situation. After asking several questions, he told her to not do anything until he called back.

Once those things were finished, we headed for the food bank, so they could pick up some food for their new home. They came back with enough food for a week or so. After they jumped in, a car pulled up so close to mine that it was a very slow and careful process to back up without hitting it. The passenger stayed in the car to make sure I didn't, I guess. Once I was safely out of the space, he got out and went inside (or perhaps, he was afraid of hitting my car with the door?)

Meanwhile, the police called M back, and explained that he had gotten hold of C, and M could now go over and pick up their stuff. If there were any more problems, she could call him back. After the police called C, the following text came through: "U can have it but u need to give me the 65...m I helped u wen no one else would. Im working on getting ur stuff out now."

M called C and assured her she would pay the $65. and would 30 mins be okay? C told her she could get her stuff in 45 minutes, as she and her boyfriend were moving the stuff outside. As we drove back to my place, C sent a text saying they could come over now. We got back to my place, and moved the food inside. We jumped in the van and headed over.

When we got there, we had to figure out where to put the stuff, because there were many large items. Finally, M and R had to make choices on what could go, and what would have to stay. They originally had 114 videos. All that was left was about 20. She told C that there were a bunch of videos missing. C said all the neighbors had been milling about and poking through the stuff, asking if they were moving. The neighbors must have taken the videos. Yeah, right! M asked about one of her cats, the one that had been put out and had come back, but after feeding, C put it back out, and now it was gone. It was still gone.

Anyway, after filling the van as full as possible, M&R decided they would search for the missing cat. I drove the van as they walked, searched and called. We never found the cat. We went to the Laundromat where we realized we had no detergent. M decided we could go to Walmart and get it. I drove the back way, took an alley, and found there was all sorts of construction in my way to get to Walmart. M realized she could go to HyVee, instead. She ran inside, got the detergent, then ran back inside to get the necessary things. R and I drove back to the Laundromat. We threw the stuff into a washer, and then waited. M came back with stuff in a cart. They emptied it at the van, and started moving things around, to make the back window available for my view. When the wash cycle finished, I moved the clothes to two dryers, and put quarters in. I walked over to the book store, and found it was no longer there. I walked back to the van. R took the shopping cart and moved it to a side area. I saw that it was close to HyVee, so took it to one of the corrals, then went inside. I was hungry. I bought 3 slices of pizza and a drink. I took the pizza back to the van. I took my slice and went back into the Laundromat.

Soon, M&R came in, too. They ate their pizza. Once we were finished, R and I started folding clothes. When we finished, we took the load out to the van, and headed back to my house. M&R gathered up their stuff, and put it outside by the van, then they started catching cats, and putting them into carriers. There were five total, but they only caught three. After moving stuff around, and looking in the places they thought the cat might be, we were very frustrated. M finally said, "if you find them, take them to the pound". I looked around, and decided there was one more place to look. Sure enough, they were both there...so far back that M had to crawl under to get them. Finally, we had everything ready to go. Once the cats were packed, we jumped in. It was now 3:30PM. I had planned to be out of town before noon.

After about 12 miles, M said, "what about your cat? He gets his shot at 6:00PM. Do you want to go back and wait until after you give his shot?"

"No," I yelled. "Let's just get this done!"

M called her friend, the brother of the guy in the trailer, and told him he would need to go over and get the items she left behind. He could sell them and send half the money to her. During the trip, there were several conversations and texts about it - all on my cell phone. Apparently, C told him that he couldn't have any of that stuff. M sent a text to her and itemized, with amounts, the things that needed to be picked up by her friend, otherwise she was taking C to court.

We drove and drove. By the way, the sunglasses were sitting at home on the computer keyboard. One of the cats made potty, and the smell wafted through the van. When I could no longer take it, we pulled into a carwash, where M and R transferred the cat to another carrier. M wanted to hold the cat and have R spray his feet, then spray the nasty carrier, but I told them we didn't have time. M put the carrier into the trash. She was smoking a menthol cigarette that caused her to cough profusely. She puked a bit on her hand. When we got back into the van, the smell was now of kitty pee, and human puke. M asked if I had any wet wipes or tissue. When I went in to HyVee, I had used the wet wipes, they provide, to clean my hands. I had two in my purse. They were almost dry, but I handed them to her. It made the smell a little less, but it was still very odoriferous in the van. M found a can of air freshener (which really wasn't the best of smells) and gave it to R to spray when the other smells overwhelmed him (he was in the back seat where the cats were). I told him not to spray the cats! He agreed that he wouldn't.

Mind you, I could have stopped at a gas station, and let M clean her hands. I realize that, so I really shouldn't complain. It seemed that all the stations were on the other side of the road, and I didn't want to have to make a left turn, then try to get back to the road I was on, plus, when we picked up the cats, the back window was covered again, and I couldn't see through it. I wasn't used to the van, and I wanted to get there before dark. I also wanted to drive home at an early as possible time, as Mango still needed his shot.

We drove south for a very long time, winding up and down curvy Missouri roads, finally getting to a little country store, near where M's aunt lived. Now, M had been trying to get hold of the aunt for a couple days, since the last time they talked when the phone cut out. M had to get the address and directions from the Internet, the night before. Luckily, she was able to find them. At the country store, they tried to call M's aunt and couldn't get hold of her. Finally, they gave M&R directions. We followed the directions down a country road, then another long rutty gravel road, and made it there. M's aunt was on the deck, and so were several other family members. M hadn't seen her aunt in many years, and was just now meeting the rest of the people there. M's aunt directed us to the small RV that was hooked up, ready for M&R to move into.

We took the cats to the RV, and unloaded all the rest of the stuff to the ground. Once that was finished, I headed for home. Ten miles from home, I called my neighbor and explained that I needed to gas the van, give my cat his shot, and could she follow me to Avis where I would drop off the van, and she could give me a ride home? She agreed that she could. I passed a gas station that had $3.09 a gallon, because I thought a closer station would have the same price. Nope, it was $3.15. I decided to get it there, anyway, I needed to get home. Almost $40. to refill the van. Behind me, there was a car filling up, and a woman came out of the store yelling about that black bitch inside. The store clerk came out, and a yelling match ensued. I needed no more drama. Apparently, the woman had thrown her money at the store clerk, and it hadn't been the right amount, anyway. The clerk said the woman needed to show courtesy, instead of being such a bitch. I heard "bitch" several times from both mouths. The woman walked toward the car, then turned back and started running at the clerk. The boyfriend (who had been quietly trying to get her to go to the car) grabbed her, and more yelling went on. There were several other bystanders standing around, so I figured I didn't need to be there. I went home.

The cat got his shot, my phone got wiped down, and I went to the neighbor's, using some wet wipes on the passenger side armrests and other things M might have touched with her pukey hands, on the way. My neighbor followed me to Avis, where I locked the van and dropped the keys in the drop box. We headed for home, while I told her about the wild day.

My cats are all out and about, now, and my stress level has lowered drastically. I'm not sorry that I helped M&R, but I'm not letting anyone else stay here for a very long time.

Spot

2011-04-16T09:21:00.006-05:00

Spot lay on a nice round rock and enjoyed the nice sunny day. The lake around him shimmered from a soft spring wind. The grass moved in slow motion, and made slight hushing noises. As the rays of sun baked him, Spot felt at peace with the world. All the stresses and worries left his body, the soft grass music started to lull him to sleep.

"QUACK, Quack, quack,” sounded several ducks as they flapped their wings, and fought in the water near Spot. The noise wakened and frightened him. When the ducks moved closer, Spot quickly slid into the water.

Spot was a painted slider turtle. He was a medium sized turtle, about five inches long, and four inches across. The stripes on his yellow bottom shell had a large amount of orange. His face had pretty reddish orange and black stripes. He looked like most of the turtles in the lake, except that some were smaller, and some were larger.

Cat and her two sons, Chuey and Tony, drove into the lake parking lot and parked. They were going to meet Cat's Aunt Sara (you can call me Sa, you can call me Ra, you can call me Sara, just don't call me late for dinner, ha ha) to walk the trails around the lake. They looked around the parking lot, but didn't see Auntie. Cat pulled out her cell phone and called her Aunt.

"I'm at the big parking lot," said Aunt Sara.

"Oh, we're at the smaller parking lot." replied Cat.

"I'll meet you at the lake," Aunt Sara responded.

Cat, Chuey, and Tony started walking west. Aunt Sara started walking east. When they met on the trail, they turned and walked east, together. Soon, they turned to the path that led to the larger trail around the lake. It was a beautiful day, and they passed people walking their dogs, joggers, and people pushing babies in strollers. Everyone was taking advantage of the nice weather.

Spot decided to try sunning again. He got up on his rock, and lay there. The sunshine warmed his hard shell. He started snoozing. Soon, he was dreaming that he met a girl turtle, and they were swimming in the lake together.

"QUACK, Quack, quack.” The ducks started fighting, again. Spot slid into the water.

About a half mile into the walk, the boys started lagging behind. They were cool enough, as both were wearing t-shirts, shorts, and sneakers. They both would have preferred to do something else. Chuey was the older boy. He was eleven years old, and he wished he was riding his bike. He picked up an old weed trunk, and started hitting it against the other weeds. Tony, the nine year old, thought about a movie he wanted to watch again, as he walked slowly in front of his brother.

"Come on, catch up," Cat called to the boys.

Tony started moving faster. Cat and Aunt Sara stopped to wait. They were wearing t-shirts and sweatpants. Their brisk pace was making them sweat. While they stood there, a soft breeze dried the small beads of sweat that had formed on their foreheads.

Chuey walked slowly toward them. Tony caught up to the women. The three started walking again. Soon, Chuey increased his speed, and caught up with them. The weed he was carrying had roots and a clump of dirt at the end. He swung it to one side, then the other.

"Stop swinging that dirt around," his mom said to him, when a clump hit her leg. He threw the weed into some brush, and began to skip.

As they continued following the trail, the boys passed up the women.

"Aunt Sara, we'll show you something really cool!"

The boys ran ahead. When the women caught up, the boys walked off the trail and onto a rock bridge end. The bridge was gone, but the huge rocks that originally held it up were still there. They stood at the end and looked at the swirling creek below. Aunt Sara hiked down the rocks and looked down at the quickly moving water, too.

Every time Spot tried to sleep on the rocks, the ducks made such a noise he woke up. He was missing out on a lot of sleep, and that made him mad. He decided to go to the small pond on the other side of the lake. He swam the length of the lake, and crawled out onto land. Slowly, he levered himself along, dodging dog poo and high grass. He managed to get several yards up the bank of the lake, when he had to take a break and rest. He pulled his head and legs into his shell. He didn't close all the way, because he wanted to see what was going on around him.

As they walked along the trail, Cat, her Aunt, and the two boys looked at the redbud trees that were in full bloom. They spied small purple and white flowers in the grass. They stopped to watch hungry squirrels digging in the grass and running up trees. They watched small birds flying from tree to tree.

Finally, they made it back to the beginning of the trail. Since they hadn't walked the smaller trail in full, they decided to walk it, as well.

There, at the beginning of the smaller trail, the boys spied a turtle. It was laying in the grass, and looking out at them. Chuey picked up Spot.

He said, "we need to get this turtle back in the water."

"Hey, let's take it along, and when we get to those rocks that the turtles like to sun themselves on, we can put him there," said Tony.

And that's what they did.

Spot was livid! He cursed all the bad words he knew. Finally, he calmed down. As he slid into the water to start his trek again, he said, "all that work, and here I am, back where those stupid ducks insist on making noise. Stupid people!"

The Cable Guy

2011-03-08T21:25:00.007-05:00

To tell you the truth, I forgot about it. And anyway, I was busy moving furniture. I was also cleaning dustbunnies and cat hair from their hiding places.

It started about six months, to a year, ago. Frustrated that I was overweight by about sixty pounds, I removed my clothes, stood in front of the bathroom mirror, and took a picture.

In paintbrush, I put a black rectangle over my lower face, my breasts, and my crotch. I then opened another paintbrush window. I pasted the picture on one half, and a picture of when I was eighty pounds lighter, on the other half. After I saved it, I pulled it in to use as my desktop, with hopes that this would encourage me to lose weight. So far it hasn't.

At the time, I had broadband that worked well. The company started upgrading to 4G, and I had trouble logging in to a very important site, for several months. Finally, I cancelled the broadband, and hooked up to DSL with a different company. The DSL company would call from time to time, wanting to upgrade my services. Finally, one day, they made an offer I couldn't refuse.

They told me that for eight dollars more, a month, they could upgrade my DSL and give me cable TV. The DSL would work better because the line would be upgraded to fiber optics, and I would no longer have trouble bringing in television shows. It sounded so good, I set up the appointment for the cable guy to come over and hook it all up.

When the day of the appointment came, I rushed into action. I moved furniture away from the phone line so the guy could get to it. There were so many dustbunnies, and cat hair, that it took quite a while to clean the area. Finally, I decided I had done enough. I sat down to wait.

The guy arrived in a timely manner. I said, "I hope you're not allergic to cats!"

He said, "Well, I am, but I take the allergy shots."

I was so glad I had cleaned up all that cat hair.

The cable guy worked on the phone line for quite some time. He hooked up the TV to the receiver. He added wire from the phone line to the TV. He came over to the computer (which had a black screen at the time) and started to mess with the mouse. I grabbed it and opened an Internet browser so he could go to his company's site.

The cable guy completed the passwords, and chose the options needed. He moved to the TV and showed me how to record and how to change channels with the remote. He checked to make sure everything worked properly.

After he gathered up his tools, he stepped back to the computer, and closed the browser window.

With an abrupt head turn he stepped back from the computer screen. I looked at the screen and saw what he saw.

Yes, there was the picture of me in all my glory! Without mentioning what he saw, the cable guy handed me the paperwork, and told me to give him a call if I had any trouble with the service, as he headed for the door.

Once the cable guy departed, I started laughing. That poor guy. He had to be embarrassed. Actually, in the picture, my body is covered as much as a bikini would cover, but still, you can tell I had been nude when I took the picture.

I called my mother, and told her about it. We laughed and laughed. I called my sister, and told her about it. We laughed and laughed. Finally, she said, "Oh, that poor guy, imagine having that seared onto his retinas!"

Keys

2011-01-22T13:09:00.006-05:00

ONLY PRAYER CAN SAVE THE WORLD! DiDi read the billboard as she drove to work. She was a religious woman. She began to pray, "Lord, please save the world, Lord, please save the world." She continued to pray, once she arrived at work. While she typed, she prayed. When she went to the bathroom, she prayed. When she went to break and lunch, she prayed. On her way home, she prayed. During the evening, while watching television, she prayed. Her routine was unchanged, except for praying every minute she was awake.

That Sunday, at church, as the tithing plates were passed around, Minister Blay admonished the congregation to get more involved with the needy. He announced that he was holding a prayer meeting, the upcoming Tuesday evening, for the needy. Didi figured this was a sign from God. After the service, she made a point to talk to Minister Blay. He was such a handsome man, with his brown curly hair, and soft brown eyes, she was a little intimidated to approach him. He was so caring, when she asked what she could do to help, that when he told her that the prayer meeting was going to be held in the poor section of town, she decided to attend.

Tuesday evening, Didi took care to dress as neatly as possible. She decided to wear her best skirt and jacket outfit. Her part time job only allowed for a little bit of finery, but she did what she could. She pinned her fake diamond brooch to the lapel of the jacket. Flicking her short permed gray hair back, she stuffed her feet into her comfortable sensible shoes. She was ready to go. She picked up her purse, walked out to her older model car, and drove to the prayer meeting.

Minister Blay gave such a caring service, DiDi was moved to tears. She was glad she decided to tape the sessions. She could listen to them at home, and get the full benefit of his teachings. When Minister said that if he had a house, he would take every one of the needy people in the room to his house, DiDi wiped her tears and thanked God that she had remembered to bring tissues along. She was teary eyed, again, by the time he finished the thought, saying he would let them live with him, if he had a house. It was the most thoughtful and wonderful thing she ever heard.

When the tithing plate came around, she noticed the people around her didn't donate much. After looking at them closely, she understood why. They were down on their luck. She counted about forty people. They were different ages, different ethnic makeup, and genders. They all had one thing in common. They were scruffy. Some looked like they engaged in drugs, others looked like they engaged in illegal pursuits of a different sort. They were people, too, though, and they needed prayer and God in their lives.

As DiDi left the prayer session, Minister Blay asked her why she only put a dollar in the plate. She was surprised he knew what she tithed, but didn’t say anything. He told her that all these people needed help from others in better situations. She was embarrassed. She scrounged in her purse to find some errant coins, and gave them to him. Minister Blay looked at her brooch and said, "perhaps, you don't care as much as you pretend. Good faithful people would help out more."

DiDi saw that he was eyeing the pin, so took it off and gave it to him.

"Thank you so much, good lady. I hope you will come next week, too."

During the week, DiDi prayed for an answer to help all those needy people. She wanted to help Minister, too, so he could have a house to share with the needy. God came through again. DiDi canvassed the neighborhood, asking for donations of anything. She explained her mission and many of the good neighbors remembered items they were holding back for garage sales. She asked some of her strong neighbor men to help carry all the wonderful items. Her next door neighbor, Ray, agreed to get a moving van, because his pickup couldn’t carry it all.

Once all the donations were packed into the van and truck, Ray stopped by the church and asked to see the minister. Minister Blay was in consultation with a very wealthy parishioner, but Ray couldn't wait. The moving van had to be returned by tomorrow, or else they would be charged another day. Minister Blay quickly pulled him into the hallway, and pulled the door shut. Ray told him he had the van full of stuff for the needy. Minister Blay was in a quandary. He wanted to look through the stuff, before doling it out to the poor. Finally, he pulled his key ring out. He pointed to the garage key and told Ray to put the stuff in the garage. He wrote out his address and asked Ray to bring the keys back as soon as he was done.

DiDi was riding along with the guys, and when they arrived at the huge ostentatious house, she was moved to tears. It was so large, it could house all those needy people. The brick exterior was bright and inviting. The huge windows, even though the heavy burgandy curtains were closed, would allow the sun to shine through and brighten the interior. The large lawn would allow games, picnics, or fine gatherings to occur with ease.

Obviously, Minister was so busy he hadn't gotten keys made for the needy. She was going to help him. After Ray unlocked the garage, DiDi took the key ring. She quickly located the key that opened the front door. While the unloading was going on, she realized they were close to a key shop. Crying with happiness, she walked over and had forty copies made for the front door. She was so happy she would be able to help!

That Tuesday, after everyone left, Minister Blay locked the service room so he could finish his notes and count tithes. DiDi had been first out the door, so she could make sure that all the people were given their own key and a ride to the Minister's house.

What a wonderful surprise it would be for Minister Blay, when he saw all his people there! He would be so pleased!

They all piled into Ray's pickup truck bed, DiDi’s car, and a few other cars, and drove to the house. Once there, so they wouldn’t feel out of place, DiDi played the recorded service where the minister told them he would house them. The homeless and poor made themselves at home. Tubs were utilized, refrigerators were unloaded, TVs turned on. Praise be! Praise God! What a wonderful day for all!

Online Play

2010-11-27T23:49:00.007-05:00

I heard about the poker site. It cost nothing to play. It cost nothing to join. Hesitantly, I downloaded the program. Once downloaded, I ran the application. The software opened up a brand new world. I created a user and password. It was time to enter the room. I didn't know what to expect. I checked all the dropdowns and read the information available to the user. I took the tour offered at the click of a button.

Finally, I was ready. I’d learned the terms, flop, turn, and river. I picked an avatar. I clicked to enter a room. There were nine of us in all. There were some odd names, and the avatars were mostly different. A drop down offered me one thousand points to wager with. I took a seat, and cards were dealt. I found out that if I used up my initial thousand points, I would have to leave the room to get more. I found that if I used up my points within five minutes, I would have to wait to get more. As I made my bids, I found that the others in the room were cutthroat. I was timid, but I ended up making more points. Once I made it to five thousand points, I wanted to go to ten thousand. Unfortunately, I bid too wild. My full house was topped by a four of a kind. My straight was topped by a flush. My flush was topped by a full house. My two pair were topped by a straight. My pair was topped by two pair or a higher pair. The river didn't give me the card I needed to make a straight. I ended up back down to three thousand points. The three thousand went fast. I had to go back and get another thousand points, and try again.

There were higher stakes rooms, but I couldn't enter unless my points were higher than the original thousand. When I had enough, I went to the higher stakes. I won some there, and got out. Those people liked to bid. Those bids were high. I could make a lot of points, but I needed good cards. Every time I got two of the same suit, the dealer dealt other suits. Very seldom could I get a flush. When I was dealt a pair, the flop, turn, and river gave out better cards. Once in a while, it would throw out a third card to my pair. Once in a while, I would win with the three of a kind. Most often, the dealer would deal better cards to other players. Every once in a while, though, the river would come through and give me the card I needed to win.

When I got up to thirty-eight thousand points, it was right before a weekend. I played all that weekend. Irritation and anger would arise when I started losing. However, I was able to remind myself that it was not real money. Playing too long, and getting pissed off, I managed to lose it all. I had to go back and get another thousand points. I lost that, and had to get another thousand. I lost that and had to get another thousand. Finally, I made it over three thousand, again. I moved out of that room and checked into another. Playing there, I managed to get another couple thousand. Finally, I was able to get up to fifty-five thousand points. Over the weeks, I played more, and... you guessed it. I was back down to four thousand, before I started winning again.

I finally managed to crawl back up to twenty thousand points, but my goal was now to get to one-hundred thousand. It probably wouldn't happen soon, but I was thankful I finally took that step to download the application. It kept me focused. I made sure the chores were done, before I played. I also ran laundry during the games, because I could always sit out while moving the clothes from the washer to dryer. My cats found that while I sat in front of the computer, they could sit on my lap. Sitting in front of the computer kept me from going out and spending. I saved money. I saved gas. All in all, it was a great experience.

Jason & Valarie

2010-11-06T11:17:00.004-05:00

Steelhead Brokerage was having a good Monday morning, if still the awful lunge back into five days of the grind. Traffic was light, the dawn view of the Cascades clear, early birds brewed good coffee, and there was none of the sullen resignation of a company in trouble or going down. Jason Villadovich perked along happily with a quarterly report and Hawaiian coffee, while his division partner Valarie Scanlon sulked efficiently.

Kurt Baslin, professionally cheerful and quick, breezed around the corner to Jason’s open cube office, opposite of Valarie’s. “That Heritage report is ready today, right Jason?”

Jason grinned. “Just a few minutes, Kurt.”

Kurt nodded quickly. “How’d it go this weekend?” he asked with an arched brow of mischievousness.

Jason’s smile split to show fine white teeth. “Learned a little Braille,” he said.

Kurt smiled broadly and raised a outreached palm, slapping it down to Jason’s automatically open hand. “My man!” he said.

“Cashmere,” Jason replied easily, Kurt laughing and waving a hand as he walked back to his office. “See you at eleven,” he called back happily, glad that Jason worked at Steelhead.

“What was that about?” Valarie asked wonderingly across the aisle.

“Nothing,” Jason said quickly.

“Jason,” Valarie said firmly. “It was obviously something, Kurt laughed at good news.”

“It was nothing, Valarie,” Jason said with outward calm serenity, inwardly instantly on maximum alert at that tone in her voice.

“Jason,” Valarie repeated with a trace of impatience. “Come on, I want to know.”

“It was just coded dude talk, Valarie, that’s all, nothing,” he said with an acted innocence.

“We are friends, Jason, I want to know,” she repeated.

“I know we’re friends, Valarie,” he said evenly. “Some things are not discussed at work, that’s all,” he said with a airy confidence.

“Oh yeah, not unless it’s in some stupid man-code,” Valarie said impatiently. “We went over this last week, did we not? Would I go whining off to HR at something sexual we would talk about?” she asked.

“No,” he said shortly.

“Would I break our confidence as friends and blab to my co-workers some sexually harassing or incorrect thing you might tell me?”

“No,” he said flatly.

“Isn’t it true that your lack of faith of me in these areas in fact demonstrates some kind of half-assed friendship without trust?”

“Yes,” Jason said, sighing.

Valarie opened he hands. “Well?”

Jason looked at her defiantly. “You’ll think less of me,” he said with quick certainty.

Valarie tilted her head in faint exasperation. “No I won’t, I’m over twenty-one,” she said.

“Yes you will,” he said.

“No, I will not,” she said a little louder.

Jason shook his head. “Yes, we did go over this last week, and when I finally did tell you you damn well did think less of me,” he said strongly.

Valarie rolled her eyes to the heavens. “Yes, it was such an edifying experience to learn tuning that woman’s engine in facilities had nothing to do with her car,” she said, shaking her head.

Jason opened a hand. “See?”

“Ja-son,” Valarie replied earnestly. “It was the context of how I heard it, remember? I’m no prude,” she said defiantly. “I thought you were being chivalrous, that you were talking about doing something nice for her and car, not on your ability to bring her to multiple orgasms,” she said.

“So you say,” Jason sighed, wondering how he could get out of this.

“We’re friends, Jason,” trying a warming tone in her voice.

“Amanda Marcotte is right, Billy Crystal in When Harry Met Sally is full of shit, men and women can be friends,” Jason said wearily. “I know.” He slightly worked his head to a side in one of his tics. “You’re not a morning person, Valarie, I really don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said dismissively.

“Low blow,” Valarie replied with instant hurt. “Questioning mental ability is a tactic of mean desperation, and you know I’ve been working on it,” she said with a little more pain, secretly very glad he had crossed the hurt line. Jason tried to make up for it when it happened, every single time.

Jason looked at the walls in quick succession, as if they were crowding him. “Fine,” he said at last in exasperation. “I protest. It’s meaningless dude talk but you will think less of me,” he said firmly.

Valarie looked at him with slight affection, waiting.

Jason looked at his printer. “Not a good idea,” he said, as if the machine could magically stop the explanation.

“Jason,” Valarie said with a serene exasperation. “For fuck’s sake, spit it out,” she said.

Jason sighed with a few short nods, finally looking at her with an open honesty. “Okay,” he said. He shook his head again. “Well, many women have these little dots on their nipple areola’s, they’re exactly like raised Braille dots.” Jason worked his head to the side again and looked at her a little abashedly. “If you learn her Braille, well, obviously there was some nipple exposure,” he said.

Valarie stared him with her mouth slightly open, amusement and incredulity flitting across her face. She finally threw up her hands. “Where!” she demanded.

Jason looked back her, saying nothing.

“Where do you get this shit?” she asked wonderingly. “My god, the level of objectification there…” She placed her hands on her hips. “And cashmere?” she asked acidly.

Jason squirmed. “Fine--” he began.

“Wool!” she finished with an incredulous disgust. “Jesus Christ, it would have to be that after the Braille nipple-reading.”

Jason sighed, looking at the carpet. “A terrible idea, and you do think less of me,” he said resignedly.

Valarie raised her chin. “No I don’t,” she said as plainly as she could.

“Yes, you do,” Jason said a little more firmly.

“Nope,” she said nonchalantly.

“Valarie,” Jason plainly. “Objectification, boastful male conquest, code-talk to exclude females, you don’t approve and of course you think less of me.”

Valarie looked at him thoughtfully. “Some juvenile sexual exhibitionism in there too, don’t you think?” she asked.

Jason looked at his clock. “Certainly,” he said with resignation.

Valarie flipped a hand to the air. “I don’t think less of you, and you did tell me.”

“Yes,” he replied. “I did not want to, but we’re friends,” he said firmly.

“Yes,” she said herself. “We are friends.” Valarie quickly wheeled in her chair back to her keyboard. “I’ve got my own stuff to finish before eleven.”

____________________

Catherine Trevor, a middle-aged, supremely capable and happily serene admin that every good company seemed to have was pleased to see Kurt Baslin stride down the corridor, so very glad this handsome young black man worked for their company.

“Morning, Mr. Trevor,” she said with a perfectly mocking formality.

Kurt smiled back. “Morning, Catherine,” he said, pausing beside her cube. He slightly jerked his head toward the back of the office where, once again, muted animated chatter and gesticulating arms where the norm in that small division.

“They’re in love, aren’t they?”

“Those two?” Catherine said. “Oh ya.”

Kurt nodded. “How long before they admit it?”

“Those two?” she asked, enjoying saying the phrase again. She sighed and looked at her hands. “Maybe too long,” she said.

Kurt nodded. “Yeah,” he said, turning on a heel and walking on to begin his day.

Seven

2010-07-13T20:43:00.003-05:00

(This may have a slight similarity to an old fairy tale, but to work, it had to be used.)

Sitting around a table in the Passion Donut Shop, Captain Big Gip and three of his men were eating donuts and drinking coffee. They'd come to get away from the office, and to try to figure out their next steps in a horrible new case. Captain Big Gip bit into a powdered jelly donut. As he chewed, the three officers sitting with him noted the jelly on the side of his mouth, but no one said anything. Gip picked up his coffee cup and took a large swig. He swirled it around in his mouth before swallowing. His men noted that the jelly was still at the side of his mouth.

Captain Gip picked up a napkin and swiped it across his mouth. The jelly disappeared. Sitting tall in his chair, he ran his hand through his closely cropped blond hair. Clearing his throat, he said, "Men, we have to find a suspect for the seven men killed last week. We've gone over their wills, and found that three bachelors willed all their possessions to Star Piper. The other three bachelors willed all their possessions to Mar Tap. The lone married guy left everything to his wife, Lidaw Blowck. All three women had alibis for the time their men died. We've looked at the tapes from the movie theatre parking lot, and each time, the woman's car was within taping distance, and she left when the movie ended. We've got to come up with a suspect!"

Officer Het Trung, the youngest officer, spoke as he picked up a filled longjohn, "Captain, even though I was off when you brought Al Fulgy in, I didn't get to watch the interrogation. Are you sure he's innocent?" His voice was stressed from nervousness.

Big, beefy, Officer Ab Papoc, after taking a bite of chocolate donut, said, "Kid, that gardener even had an alibi. He said he was 300 miles out of town, at his relatives, on vacation. We did the routine on him and he never faltered. We had the lights on him. We put food in front of him, but didn't let him eat. We sleep deprived him. He didn't break. We finally had to let him go when the police force in Salem County provided a tape of a routine traffic stop of him that week." He pushed his glasses up to the top of his nose, and looked through the bifocals at the slender, dark-haired, young officer.

Officer Og Coopdoa picked up his coffee mug and said, "yeah, we need to find a suspect. The media is poking fun at our department. They're saying we can't even find truffles. Shit! Those assholes!" He took a swig of coffee. Setting his coffee cup down, he started meddling with his uniform collar. He made a mental note to get a haircut soon, as he flipped his dark hair from under the collar.

Trung opened his blue eyes wide. He nervously plucked at his right ear as he said, "I think we should interrogate those women. I wanna get some experience!"

"Boy, I got a date with the widow, Papoc got a date with Star, and Coopdoa got a date with Mar. You know, and I know, they won't be dating us for long. After they break up with us, we can interrogate them to your heart's content. Until then, though, we gotta find a suspect!"

Captain Gip waved over the waitress, "need some more coffee over here."

Sue Wenyotirlgg, wearing a cute, short, pink skirt, heels, and a fine white cotton blouse, "Sue" sewn above the left breast, came over with the coffee pot. "Fill em’ up boys?"

As she filled each mug, the officer swatted her on the butt. She went back to the kitchen, "mom, how can I get those bacon strips to stop hitting me on the butt?"

"Oh, sweetie. I'm sorry they do that." Reaching into the refrigerator, her mother pulled out a pot of coffee. "Next time you go over there, take this pot of iced coffee with you. After one of them smacks you on the butt, pretend to slip. Slop coffee all over them. They'll be expecting it to be hot, so it will be double the shock when it's cold... and they can't sue for burns. Apologize profusely, and give them napkins to mop the mess. You can say, ‘oh no, you startled me so!’ It's worked very well in the past!"

In the house next door to the Passion Donut shop, Pat Sacego was holding a large, white, long-haired cat. "Now hold still, Princess. Let me get those fleas."

He petted Princess and she relaxed. He picked up his tweezers, and slowly ran it through her fur. He saw a flea, and grabbed it with the tweezers and squeezed. When he was sure it was dead, he placed the flea carcass on a paper towel that was sitting on the table next to his chair. He ran the tweezers through again. He found another flea. Quickly, he nabbed it with the tweezers. He placed the carcass on the paper towel with the other. Five more times, he did this. Finally, Princess was fed up. She squirmed around and quickly jerked to the side, escaping and running down the hallway.

Sue took care of some tables, and soon, the captain waved her over again. She brought both pots of coffee. She filled his cup, and set the hot coffee down on the table. Sure enough, he swatted her on the butt. Slipping and tripping, she managed to get ice cold coffee all over the officers.

"Oh no, I am so sorry!" She grabbed a handful of napkins. Handing them around, she said, "Again, sir, I am so sorry. I think you startled me when you slapped me on the behind. It caused me to trip. Please forgive me?"

Mopping the coffee from their uniforms, then men grumbled, but accepted her apologies. She picked up the pot of hot coffee and finished filling their mugs. She went back to the kitchen, and brought out a towel and mop. She cleaned the excess coffee from their table, and mopped the coffee from the floor. After she replaced the cleaning tools, and washing her hands, she came back with a plate of donuts.

"Here's an extra plate of donuts, my way of apology."

"Thanks, Sweetie, you didn't have to do that, but we'll sure enjoy them!" said the captain

The other men muttered a muted "thanks", as well.

Pat counted the flea bodies. "Seven! I killed seven of the pesky bastards!"

Patience, his wife, looked up from the television and said in a flat tone, "nice." She turned her head back to the television.

"Don't you get it? I killed seven!"

Patience nodded her head.

Pat, very proud of his deed, felt he didn't get a good enough response for such a difficult task. He got up from the chair and crossed to the door. Swinging it open, he stepped out. As he closed the door, he yelled, "I killed seven, I killed seven!" He was jumping up and down with the thrill of success. "I killed seven, I tell you!"

Officer Papoc, in the donut shop, said, "Shh. Did y’all hear that?" He picked up a napkin and wiped donut filling from his lips.

The other officers all nodded. Captain Gip motioned to his officers to the door. He would take care of the donut bill later. Mrs Wenyotirlgg would know he was good for it.

As the officers stormed out the door, they pulled out their tasers and aimed them at Pat Sacego. "Lay down on the ground! Lay down on the ground!" yelled Officer Coopdoa.

Sacego looked at them in astonishment, "wha...?"

"I said, Lay down on the ground!"

"But..."

Trung moved closer, "you don't get down, you're gonna get tasered, fella!"

Sacego finally realized they meant him. He got down to his knees then lay face down on the ground.

"Get your arms out like a plane!"

Sacego moved his arms out as directed.

The officers rushed up and put handcuffs on him. They pulled him up, and walked him to the squad car, parked in the donut parking lot. Actually, they had to carry him, since he wouldn't put his feet all the way to the ground. Opening the door, and making sure he didn't hit his head, he was placed in the backseat.

"Now, what did you say, fella?"

"I killed seve..."

"That's what I thought you said," replied Trung, and proceeded to read him his rights.

Patience, wondering what all the noise was about, looked out the window. She nodded her head, and went back to the television set. She'd get her husband out of jail in a couple hours. Right now, she wanted to finish watching her soaps in peace.

The Path.

2010-03-21T16:39:00.004-05:00

On the edge of town, ten year old Tyler walked down a heavily dusty path of red dirt, carrying something in his hand. Adults usually didn't travel the path, because it was too dusty and because all the town kids loved it. Adults didn’t like walking past the crude commenting goth kids. They knew, too, that if their own kids were hanging out on the path, they would most likely ignore their parents, instead of greeting them. Parents knew they should just call their children on their cell phones, when they wanted them to come home. That was, after all, why God made cell phones.

The bright sun, beating down, was wickedly hot, as Tyler made his way to the downward turn of the path. Sweat poured down his face, arms, and bare legs. His blond hair curled at the edges, with little droplets of sweat. The moisture dropped into the dust, creating minute puffs in unison with the dust clouds from his feet. Cupping his hands together, he increased his speed, and jogged down the hill. He came to the big rocks and shade trees where the kids liked to stand or sit.

All of a sudden, Tyler stopped. He stepped out of his dusty lace-less sneakers, sat down in the soft red dirt, and started crying.

"I killed 'em," he bawled.

He sat there crying for several minutes, rocking back and forth. His tears irritated his eyes, and with fists, he rubbed them until they hurt.

Brad walked down the thick dusty path, kicking dirt to watch the dust puffs fall to the ground in different patterns. His white sneakers quickly turned red. He was glad he remembered to wear his khaki shorts, instead of the jeans he had picked out that morning. His white t-shirt had already picked up dust particles, and the intense heat was causing wet sweaty underarms, and neckline.

Coming down the hill, and approaching the trees and rocks, Brad wasn’t surprised that the goth kids weren’t there. It was probably too hot for them, what with their black clothing, black makeup, and black hair. They would probably bake during the hot summer day. There was a fair in town, and most of the other kids would probably be there. He figured he would be the only kid on the path. He was glad because he was going to dig for buried treasure, behind the big rocks. He was surprised when he saw the strange boy sitting there crying.

As he approached Tyler, he heard him cry, “I killed ‘em.”

Brad stopped in his tracks. He tried to make himself invisible. He could see Tyler had blood all over his face and shirt.

With soft footsteps, Brad turned around and started back the way he had come. When he figured the other kid couldn't catch up with him, he broke into a run, his feet equipped with wings of fear. As he raced to town, he looked for a policeman. Having a history of kleptomania, he knew where the police usually parked.

He wasn’t a bad boy, he just picked up things, and they stayed with him. The new neighbors, Betty and Carl Brison, found that out the hard way. When they first moved in, they tied their cute beagle outside, and Brad walked by. He stopped to play with the beagle. Somehow, the lead untied, and as he left, the beagle trotted in front of him.

The Brisons called the police. The police knew right away who had taken the dog. They found them quickly, and took them back. Brad apologized, and the Brisons forgave him. With therapy, Brad was doing better.

Even so, before he made it to the path, he walked by Wren’s outdoor cafe, and stopped at a table that had a pair of teacups and saucers on it. He picked up a cup and admired the fancy pink and purple flower pattern. When he started to walk away, it was still hanging from his finger. It was a good thing Darla Wren saw him, before he had gone too far. She called him back and asked for the cup. Looking at his hand, he was surprised it was there.

Brad looked over to the park abutting the path, and saw a parked police cruiser. He ran over, “Officer Lens, Officer Lens, I need to tell you something.”

Officer Lens looked up from the crossword puzzle he was working. Lifting his sunglasses, he smiled. “Hey Brad. What’s going on? I haven’t had to run you down, lately. Therapy must be working.”

“Yeah, it’s working some, but not all the way. I’m going to be going for a while.” In an excited voice, Brad added, “Officer, there’s a kid down the path that killed some people. He’s sitting there, rocking himself, and saying, “I killed ‘em.” I think you need to come and see.”

“Sure, Brad, let me call for backup.”

Soon, another cruiser pulled up. Out jumped Officer Sandy Duthers. Her curly blond hair bounced, and her brown uniform looked fresh and wrinkle free, but she had donut sprinkles on her chin. “Hey Brad, what’s up? Hi, Greg. Is Brad going with us?”

“Yeah, I need him to show us where the kid is.”

The three walked down the path, dust kicking up in puffs which settled on legs, and pant cuffs, as they walked along. At the bottom of the hill, they saw the boy sitting on the edge of the path. He was still rocking and crying. His faint, “I killed ‘em,” could be heard as they moved closer.

Apprehensively, the tall dark-haired Officer Lens walked over to the kid. “I need you to get up and come with us.” He picked up Tyler’s shoes. “Put these on, please.”

Tyler rubbed his eyes as he watched the dust that had been under the shoes. He saw movement. He lunged down and pulled up a toad. “Em! I didn’t kill you after all!“ His wide grin showed ultimate happiness, as he kissed his pet toad. He looked up at Officer Tyler, and they all could see that his face was smeared with the red dust and his tears, creating blood-like patterns. His red t-shirt and green shorts were covered in sweat, dust, and tears, too.

Asked Officer Duthers, “so, all this time, you were worried you killed your toad?”

Tyler sighed. “I dropped her and accidentally stepped on her. I just knew I killed her.”

Officer Lens asked, “don’t you have something you could put Em in, so you wouldn’t drop her?”

“Well, sure, I have this!”

Tyler pulled out a gallon ziplock bag from his shorts pocket. “I guess I could dump these sunflower seeds out, and put her in here.”

“NO!” yelled Officer Lens, Officer Duthers, and Brad, together, as one voice.

Dunder Head knocks it off.

2010-03-14T10:51:00.003-05:00

Dunder Head set his alarm for 6:45AM, Friday night. At 2:00AM, he awoke, no longer feeling tired. He got up, and went to the kitchen. He got a bottle of orange juice, and took it to the living room. Sitting down at his computer, he logged on, and browsed for a bit. As he drank his orange juice, he smoked a cigarette. He turned off the computer, and just sat there, thinking. He began to tire. He got up and went back to bed.

When the alarm rang, Dunder rolled over and punched the snooze button, immediately falling back to sleep. After several snooze punches, he finally got up. He took a shower, and pulled on his jogging clothes. He grabbed a cup of coffee and headed out to his car.

Arriving at the start of the St. Patrick's Day 5K run, at 7:40AM, he got out and looked for his friends, Leslie and Robyn, who were meeting him there. He found Leslie, and they kept a look out for Robyn. At 7:50, they started for the race line. He still hadn’t found Robyn, so he sent her a text from his phone, “we’re here, where are you?” The day was cool, and drizzly. Dunder was glad he had his jacket, his ear warmer, and gloves.

Dunder and Leslie walked to the very back of the pack of runners lining up for the race. They looked at the people in front of them, checking to see if they recognized anyone. Terry, taller than most people, stood out from the crowd. Dunder waved. Terry smiled and waved back. Terry walked over, “I’m trying for 28 minutes,” he told them.

Dunder said, “I’m trying for 45 minutes,” thinking he would do better than that. Last year he’d run it in 43 or 44 minutes.

A minute later, the buzzer went off. The pack started out. People in front ran. Slowly, the pack started to break up, and the runners in the middle were able to start jogging. The back of the pack still didn’t have room to run, so Dunder and Leslie walked. Up a slight incline, turn right and up the hill, they walked in the slowly falling raindrops.

Soon, there was a level running area, so Dunder started jogging, darting past the people walking in groups, in front of them. Leslie said, “I’ll see you later,” and kept walking. The track turned downhill, and Dunder continued to run, his legs feeling heavy, breathing heavy, his chest feeling tight. The trail turned upward. Dunder slowed down to a walk, as his lungs worked heavily, trying to get the needed oxygen. He tried to breathe less noisily, as people ran past him. He cursed himself for smoking at 2:00AM, that morning. He cursed the weight he’d gained over the past couple years. He told himself he’d start running more and lose some weight.

Robyn came running by. “Come on Dunder, you can do it,” she yelled as she jogged up the incline.

Dunder walked until he came to the intersection lights. Volunteers had stopped the oncoming traffic so the runners could keep running. Dunder ran through the lights, and kept jogging. He saw Robyn, ahead, a couple feet. He ran past the three people walking directly in front, until he caught up with her, then started walking with her. She looked at her timer, and started to jog.

“Come on Dunder, let’s jog.”

Passing some walkers in front of them, they jogged for a minute or two. Dunder slowed to a walk. Robyn kept jogging. Two girls, trotting by, were talking in loud voices, “We have to have gone at least a mile,” said one. The other, looking at her watch, replied, “We’ve run 20 minutes, so we’ve probably gone a little farther.”

The volunteer at the stop sign said, “good going, keep it up!” as Dunder, and several others jogged by. Dunder caught up with Robyn, and ran past, “come on Robyn!”

“I’ll catch up with you soon,” she replied.

Dunder felt the cool rain as it soaked through the light jacket. The sweat from his body soaked his t-shirt. He pulled off his glasses, and using his fingers, wiped the rain drops from the lens. As he walked, he wished he had put his contacts on. He couldn’t see without the glasses, and the rain kept interfering with his ability to see.

Nearing an intersection, Robyn caught up with him. “Come on, Dunder, let’s run. There’s the two mile mark, on the ground over there.”

“I can’t!” he replied.

“Knock it off, Dunder. Come on, let’s run through the light.”

Taking his arm in hers, she began to run. He started slowly jogging. Passing a couple of girls, they ran through the light.

“Now, let’s run to that sign.”

They ran to the sign.

“Let’s run to the next light.”

Dunder ran, but soon, had to walk. Robyn continued to run.

One of the girls they’d earlier passed, ran past Dunder. The other caught up to him, and they walked side by side. “We’re almost there,” she said.

“Yup, I guess we need to start running, again, but that hill coming up is pretty steep. I think I’ll walk until I get there.”

At the top of the hill, a couple older men came jogging by. Dunder caught up to Robyn again. “Let’s run,” she said.

“I can’t, I’ve got to catch my breath.”

“Knock it off, Dunder, we can do this.”

“You go ahead, save yourself,” he replied, as he puffed noisily.

Several older women ran past Dunder. He decided to try a slow trot. His legs felt tired, and his shoes were heavy and wet. His t-shirt stuck wetly to his back. His gloves had been pulled off and placed in his pocket, about a mile ago. He ran until he caught up to Robyn. They both walked. Groups of people stood around the side of the road, and some were standing in the road. They annoyed Dunder, because he would have to pass around them, instead of walking a straight line.

The finish chute loomed into sight. “Let’s run!”

They ran together, until they got to the chute. Dunder kept running and passed Robyn. Tearing off the bottom of his running number, he gave it to the volunteer, and walked out the end. Stopping at the side, he waited for Robyn to tear off her number and give it to the volunteer.

She walked up to him, “we made it!”

As they stood there, watching the runners and walkers still competing, they saw Leslie running toward the chute.

“Come on, Leslie, you can do it!” they both shouted.

Dunder turned to Robyn, “our time was 46 minutes and some seconds. Fifteen minute miles aren’t that bad.”

“Yeah, but let’s do better, next year!”

Christmas 2009, a writing exercise.

2010-01-21T19:44:00.003-05:00

Christmas 2009, I went to the hospital to have lunch with my 92 year old, hearing-impaired, father. He'd not been doing well for the past couple years, spending a lot of time sleeping. His body has been producing too much potassium, and in May or June, his doctor told him he wouldn't make it to his next birthday, in August, unless he was hospitalized. At the time, he refused to be admitted, stating they wouldn't admit him the last time he was complaining about being in pain.

Finally, in December 2009, he could take the pain no longer, and had my mother take him to the hospital. They hospitalized him for a week, then sent him to a nursing home. Meanwhile, my mother put him on the waiting list for a room on the hospital's skilled nursing floor.

I was planning to go see him at the nursing home, but within a week, the hospital called my mother and told her there was an available room. Good thing, too. After being at the nursing home for less than a week, he was already losing ground. His room-mate was also hearing impaired, so they didn't converse. My mother told me that, at meal-time, he was put at a table with several other old men. As the old men stuffed their food in their mouths, Pa just sat there watching them. I'm not sure how often he didn't eat, but he wasn't very strong when he left the nursing home.

Once he was at the hospital, my sister found him some sort of hearing headset, which makes conversation much easier. My sister told me that when people can't hear, they tend to sit with their heads down, looking inward. Pa doesn't eat as much as he should, so they've halved the food on his meal-time plates. One day, I took cheeseburgers, french fries, and apple pies. My father was able to eat half his cheeseburger, and a small portion of his apple pie. When his supper arrived, he tried some of it.

While I was there, Pa asked me to get hold of my older brother, and my brother and sisters from his first marriage, to let them know he was hospitalized. I E-mailed the siblings from his first marriage. I wasn’t sure how to notify my older brother, because we haven’t been in contact for twenty-some years. I was very lucky. I managed to find his blog, and I sent him an E-mail. He responded back, and I was able to share the good news with Pa.

The next time I went to visit him, I took original KFC. Pa waited to see what his meal tray contained. He then ate a KFC leg, the biscuit, and a small amount of the cole slaw. I ate some of the food on his tray, so it all wouldn't go to waste.

Christmas day, I drove through the cold snowy streets to the hospital. I went to Pa's floor, then to his room. He wasn't there. I went to the room with the nurses station, and found him sitting in a wheelchair, and a man in a wheelchair on each side of him. They were facing the large screen television set, but Pa was reading his book. I don't know if the other guys were watching the television, or not.

There was a couch behind the men, so I sat down behind/to the side of Pa. I leaned forward and talked to him. While we were conversing, the man on the left (his wheel chair had a tray locked on - probably to keep him from falling out) stuck his arm toward me and grabbed a handful of my hair. Startled, I turned toward him. I took hold of his hand and lightly opened his fingers.

"Don't!" I said to him.

As Pa talked about his book, he handed the book to me so I could see the planet pictures shown. The man on the left tried to grab the book. I'm not sure if he was trying to talk, but if he did, I couldn't understand what he was saying, it was so garbled. I handed the book back. When I brought my arm back, the man clamped his hand around my lower arm. Once I peeled his fingers off, Pa said, "lets go for a stroll, or a roll."

About halfway to the meal-room, his arms began to tire, so I pushed him the rest of the way. We found a nice chair for me to sit in, as we waited for meal-time. There was a large screen television in the room, with a football game playing. A family was sitting on a couch nearer to the television set. Their old man sat in his wheelchair with them. There were several tables in the dining area, and they were placed end to end, creating a large L. Quite a few old men, and some women, were already sitting at the tables closest to us, eating chili. We decided we would sit at the tables and wait, too. The staff told me that Pa usually sat on the other end, but we could sit where we were, because the person who usually sat there was out on day-pass. They asked Pa if he wanted some chili. He did, so they gave him a bowl of it, and some crackers. He ate most of the chili.

When the meals arrived, they gave Pa his, and they gave me the guest tray. Pa's contained two chicken wing parts, some vegetables, fruit, coffee, milk, and a dessert of some type (I can't remember what it was, but I didn't think Pa would try it). My tray had a chicken cordon bleu, some vegetables, coffee, milk, bread, cherry pie, and ice cream. Pa hasn't been eating very much, but he did try all of the food on his plate, except the fruit and the dessert. I asked him to trade me his dessert for the cherry pie. I scooped half the ice cream to the pie, and the other half for the dessert.

The man sitting across from us took a bite of his chicken wing parts, then he ate some of his chicken cordon bleu. He said, "imitation garlic!"

At the far end of the table, a staff person was talking to a man they thought would be on day-pass. He was wanting a meal, but they didn't have one for him. She managed to locate a tray for him, but he told her he couldn't eat that stuff, he was supposed to be on liquids. Staff corrected him that he could have semi-solids.

She asked him if he wanted some chili. He said he would take it. As she ladled out a bowl for him, the guy across from us yelled, "imitation garlic, they put imitation garlic in my food." I'm not sure if staff was ignoring him, or just didn't hear him. He presently said to us, "my parents died when I was young, so I lived with my grandparents. We were poor, but we NEVER used imitation garlic!" With that, he put the cover over his food, and wheeled away.

As Pa and I finished our food, another old man came wheeling by. He lifted the cover from the plate of the guy who had just left the table. I don't know if he took any of the food, because we were ready to go to Pa's room by then.

My Cars - a writing exercise

2010-01-10T17:02:00.007-05:00

In December, 2008, my sweet, beautiful, dark green car (car1) was totalled, when someone ran into me as I was driving to work. While he was being fixed, I needed a car to drive, because the rental ran out when the insurance claim was settled. I looked for, and found, a cheap car (car2), close to the desired color. Ultimately, I did get car1 out of the shop, so I then had two cars to drive.

During 2009, car2's axle broke (not that I knew what was wrong with it until I took it to the shop). I was parking, and turned the steering wheel all the way to one side when I heard a loud crack. As I straightened and parked, I heard an expensive jingle-jingle. I knew something broke. Later that week, I took off early to get the driver window fixed on car1 (someone had broken it with a brick). The window fixer shop fixed it with time to spare, so I got home and jumped into car2. Slowly, I drove to a shop. Once they looked car2 over, they told me I was lucky to have gotten there without having to get a tow. They explained the problem (broken axle), and I had it fixed.

A couple months passed and I used both cars as the feeling took me. A friend ran into a truck, and totalled her car. I let her use car2, until her car was fixed. That took about two weeks.

Later, I decided to get the ignition changed on car2, because it had a bad fault of locking up and not starting, unless I gave the steering wheel hard yank to the side. Currently, I’m toying with the idea of getting the door locks changed, too, because the passenger door does not unlock with the key.

New Year's Day, 2010. I agreed to pick up my friend, "Kim", and take her to do some needed shopping. Since I had driven car2, the day before, and knew the tank was almost full, I decided to take him. I'm not sure what the morning temperature was, low teens, probably, but car2 thought it was way too cold to start. His battery turned over once or twice, then nothing.

I tried car1 and he started right up. When I got to Kim's place, she came out in shorts and flipflops. I asked her why she was wearing shorts. Kim said, "all of my clothes are at the laundrymat." That was definitely one of the four places we stopped.

Later, in the afternoon, I decided to try car2, again. He started right up. I knew the battery was close to needing to be changed, so, since the television weather people mentioned that it was going to be frigid weather for the upcoming week, I decided to get a new battery. I took car2 to the Wal-mart Automotive shop.

People walk in through the customer door with no problem, but have to be buzzed out, if they want to exit through that door. The employee manning the desk, "Tex", discussed batteries with me, and people piled up behind me, patiently waiting to be helped. After we decided what battery I wanted, I sat down to wait. While I was waiting, I found that it was a great spot to people watch. As I sat there, a policeman came through the customer door and walked into the store. Several other people came through, and some had to be buzzed out. Tex went about his business, paging people whose cars were finished, taking new orders, selling stuff, and talking to people about batteries and tires.

A policewoman came through the customer door and walked into the store. Another employee, "Tom", came to take over for Tex, so he could go to lunch. Tom asked me what I was waiting on. I told him, and he looked out into the bay. He said my car was in there. He asked several people, walking by, if he could help them. Some took his help, others didn't. The policeman came walking back, with a young woman in handcuffs. Tom buzzed them out. Soon, I told him that this seemed to be a great place to hang out, what with so much going on. He agreed.

Tom asked me how I liked my car. I told him it was pretty good. He asked if it was warm. I explained that this one really wasn't a warm car, not like my other car. He told me that he had to spend some bucks, recently, getting the fan fixed in his car. More customers came up and he helped them. One couple asked how much it would cost to change a headlight. Tom told them it would be $7.50 plus the cost of the light. They didn't seem to like that answer, but I filed that information away. That's cheaper than the shop charged when car1 needed a light changed. Soon, the policewoman came walking through, with a young woman in handcuffs in front of her. The policewoman carried an oversized purse, which I figure was the young woman's. Tom buzzed them out.

A couple came in with a battery. The guy told the woman that he would meet her out front, when he got the battery taken care of. He explained his problem to Tom, who took the battery to be charged. Tom told the guy that it could take a while, and the guy explained that it was his son's battery, and it was needed tomorrow, so his son could get to work. While he waited, Tom started chatting sports with him. Ten minutes passed, and Tom went to check the battery. It was not charged, so he discussed options with the guy. The guy said he would have to find his wife and discuss it with her, so he left to find her.

Finally, Tom told me my car was finished. I stepped up to pay. After the transaction was finished, Tom what I was going to do with the rest of the evening.
"Drive my car," I told him. I then explained that car1 had gotten a battery about five years ago, from Wal-mart, and I wondered if I should think about getting a new battery for him. Tom told me that I probably didn't need to worry about it unless I started having problems.

Car2 started right up. We made it home, and I expect car2 to start for the rest of the winter. In fact, he should start for a good long time. As Tom explained it, the battery has a three year warranty - if it has to be replaced within the three years, it would be free. After that, the battery has an additional six years that it would be replaced for a reduced amount, dependant on how much had time passed.

The next morning was frigidly cold. At most, it was 1 degree Fahrenheit. I knew car2 should start. I went out to car2, and put my key in door lock. I tried to turn it, but it wouldn’t turn… at all.

Car1 to the rescue.

Problem Solvers

2009-12-30T23:18:00.002-05:00

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ACTIVITY REPORT FOR 773-555-2151

MESSAGE SENT: 29 November 2009 8:03:49 PM

RECIPIENT: Jason Thurston, 773-555-7523

SMS: Your problem is solved.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I really hate getting text messages.

First off, most of them are totally devoid of anything of value. Sure, people use them sometimes to pass along information like where to meet someone or something like that, but I can get that info just as easy from a call. The rest of the time, text messages are loaded with scintillating conversations like: “How r u?” “Fine.” “Good.” “Ok.” I’d rather shoot myself in the face than engage in that type of conversation.

Plus, I really hate typing with my thumbs. It’s slow, cumbersome and annoying, particularly when the message is basically pointless.

And I hate hearing that damn tone that blares every time someone sends me a stupid message anyway. I’ve tried changing it, but something is wrong with my BlackBerry and I can’t get a new tone or even set it on vibrate. It’s killing me!

But some text messages are worse than others. Like the one I got this evening. It reads simply:

Your problem is solved.

It came from a local phone, right area code, but it came from 555-2151, a number I’ve never seen before. I look through my phone book, no luck. Try a look-up online. Nothing. Even call it back to see who it was. Get the familiar “We’re sorry, the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected.” WTF?

So I text back:

What problem?

Simple problems often call for simple solutions. Most of the time. Not this time. It doesn’t help at all.

Oh, I get a response, but it isn’t particularly useful:

You know what problem.

Further messages go unanswered.

Thing is, I don’t really think I have too many problems, so I’m not sure what the hell the anonymous texter is talking about.

Okay, let’s see. I haven’t had a date since Mary dumped me. I had been thinking about asking her to marry me, but she obviously didn’t see things that way. I’ll check my e-mail, texts, phone calls, voice mail and all the rest. Nope, no messages from the ladies telling me it’s time to go out on a date, that problem appears not to have been solved.

Last time I checked my bank account, I was down to $23 and some change. I’ll check my account online. Balance is only $23.07. That problem is certainly not solved.

There’s also that leaky pipe behind the washing machine, but if the landlord hasn’t gotten to it in the three months since I first reported it, then I doubt he got to it today. Besides, his number is programmed into my Berry and the message certainly didn’t come from him.

My family is fine. My mother is a big-time judge and dad is retired. They are in good shape and living happy. No problem to solve on that front.

Hey?! How can a disconnected phone number send me text messages?

That’s about it on the problem front. I’m gainfully employed by Soh-Tap Industries as an accountant. Don’t have any problems at work, but I guess I could check in the morning. This text has to be some kind of joke. I’ll tell anonymous as much:

Thanks, but I don’t really have any problems to be solved. Don’t know what you are talking about.

That’s enough of that nonsense. Maybe I’ll pick up a movie before I hit the house. Isn’t there a new Tarantino movie out?

* * *

That movie was pretty damned good. A little long, but Tarantino’s always a bit long. Funny stuff, though, particularly the part with Brad Pitt trying to do an Italian accent. Priceless. Should check my Berry before going to bed.

Ah, another message from anonymous. This one is a photo. It’s loading. Loading. Loading.

Oh.

That problem.

Seems I neglected to mention that whole thing about me embezzling money from Soh-Tap Industries to pay off that shady loan to that shady guy to pay for that shady procedure for Mary. I try not to think about that. In fact, I thought it was over with, I didn’t even know it was a problem anymore. Unless somehow the cops were to find out about it, it’s all good, right?

I guess at this point I’ll have to see what’s going on at work in the morning. See if anybody’s on alert for anything. But if the problem’s solved, then what’s to worry about?

* * *

Damnedest thing. I get to work and what has happened? Some kind of virus has erased everything on the company network permanently. All files, all transactions, any possible record of anything I did. It wasn’t me. Don’t know how it happened, but can’t say I’m upset. Especially since the boss told us that there had been some kind of investigation into someone having stole some money from the company. A federal investigation.

That’s when the damned ring tone went off. A new text message. From 555-2151. Another photo. Of an FBI document. With my name on it.

Another text right afterwards has an address in it. I look it up. It’s the address of a local FBI branch office. Why would anonymous send me that if it wasn’t for a reason? I guess that means I need to check the place out. Is anonymous setting me up? How does that solve my problem? I need to be careful.

* * *

Wow. I don’t know what to say. I need to find out who this anonymous texter is and why they are “helping” me.

The FBI office in question is no more. It burned down. I’m guessing that someone burned it down. All of it. There’s nothing left. And it looks like nothing can be salvaged. Certainly not any evidence of any shady activity on my part.

Wouldn’t you know it? Another text from 555-2151. Another photo. Some guy I don’t recognize. Another text:

Expert FBI witness John Craft. Was advising them on the case of one Jason Thurston. Knows everything the FBI knew about the case.

Another text. Another address. I looked it up. It was unlisted. Following the pattern, though, I think I’m supposed to drop by the address of some guy named John Craft.

* * *

Remind me not to fuck with the anonymous texter if I ever find out who he is. He likes fire. A lot. Another address. Another place burned to the ground. All of it. And, based on the murmurs I overheard in the crowd of bystanders, John Craft was inside when it happened. Which means he won’t be testifying to anyone about anything. And my guess is that any copies of any evidence he had burned with him. I guess my problem really is solved.

I guess I really should feel bad about all this. Seems like some people died. Maybe even some good people. But it really was a case of me or them, you know? If they had gone on, I certainly would’ve ended up in prison. And what do they do to accountants in prison? Nothing good. It’s not like what they do to child molesters and rapists, but I would’ve ended up as somebody’s bitch and I wouldn’t have been able to take it and I would’ve died. So if John Craft had to die so that I didn’t, then I’m not too broken up about it. It’s not like I did it. Or asked for it to be done. Or even knew about it. There is no evidence that I had anything to do with anything. Mainly because I didn’t. Nope, no shady business from me. I’m completely innocent. I don’t have a guilty conscience at all.

* * *

Did I ever tell you how much I hated text messages? I haven’t gotten one in about a month or so. Most of my friends and co-workers know how much I hate them, so they don’t send them to me. I occasionally get a message from someone I’ve recently met, but they don’t keep sending them to me for very long. I make it clear how much I can’t stand them early on. Keeps my messages light.

But some text messages are the worst. Like those that come from 555-2151. Like the one I got tonight, New Year’s Eve. This is the worst text message ever.

At first I don’t even realize who it is. I had kind of forgotten all about my previous anonymous texts from the anonymous texter. They didn’t have any direct connection to me anyway, just telling me about some shady things that someone else did. I don’t have any idea who did them and I don’t even much care.

But when I read the cryptic message and see the number, things come back to me:

Now it’s your turn to solve a problem.

I don’t like the sound of that. I mean, hey, all of my personal problems are pretty much solved. I’ve been dating a cute little number from Kansas the last two weeks. Man she is a cyclone in the bedroom! My bank account is looking up. Current balance is over $500, which isn’t too shabby. My mom is up for some kind of big appointment from the president. The job at Soh-Tap is going great. Hell, even that leaky pipe finally got fixed! And, as anonymous texter already knows, my shady problems are problems of the past. So I know I don’t have any problems of my own to solve.

That means he wants me to solve somebody else’s problem. And I remember how my shady problems were solved. I don’t like the sound of this at all. Not one bit. Crap.

But what can I do about it? Who do you tell about things like this? The police? Obviously not. They’d think I was crazy. And anonymous already showed me a picture that would bring to light some of my shady past, so I can’t go to the police. Who else is there? Batman?

Another text. Another address. The cycle continues.

* * *

The address is unlisted. Now that I’m here, I know why. It’s an abandoned warehouse in an abandoned part of town. Nothing shady about that.

I park the car a little down the road from the building. Just in case. You never can be too careful these days. That’s when I get a text. Crap.

Go inside. Go to the office on the second floor near the front of the building. It’ll be the only room with a light on inside.

I grab the little flashlight out of the glove box and find my way around the place. It’s quite dangerous. Nobody cleaned the place up when it closed. Loaded with dangerous looking junk. And no lights. Until I get to the second floor. I can see the proverbial light under the door.

Three texts come to me in quick succession. The gist of the whole thing is that there is a girl in the office. She’s tied up and blindfolded. Her name doesn’t matter. She met the wrong man, a congressional candidate named Robert Contee. She’s pregnant. He’s married. He’s a Republican. His district is loaded with churchgoers. My job is to fix the problem whatever way I can.

I can’t do this. I saw how they solved my problems. I’m not that kind of guy. I can’t kill some girl just because she got pregnant. I’m leaving.

Another text. This one links to a video. A very bad video. A video that shows a whole mess of evidence of me stealing money from Soh-Tap. A video showing that evidence being loaded into a large envelope with the address for the FBI on the front.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

I can’t do it, though. I’d still rather go to prison and take my chances than to kill some pregnant girl and her baby. I’m not that kind of sicko.

Another text:

No one will know that you solved this problem. All evidence will disappear.

The old question of whether or not you would do something evil if you knew you wouldn’t get caught, eh? Obviously, anonymous texter knows how I’ve answered that question in the past. Not this time, though. Not this.

I start to leave. Another text. Are they watching me? This text has another video. Another really bad video.

The video shows a close-up of a computer screen. On the screen, you can see someone is accessing a fingerprint database. They are accessing my fingerprint. They are making a copy of it on some kind of special paper. They are placing it on a gas can. The gas can is being placed outside the FBI office in the first shot or near John Craft’s house in another shot. The video shows a close-up of my phone records. There are calls identified on the list as the FBI office and John Craft’s phone. They are showing eyewitness affidavits from nearly a dozen witnesses placing me at both crime scenes. Apparently my problem isn’t as solved as I thought it was.

I send them back one simple text:

No. I don’t care what you do to me.

Another text. This time a photo. It’s a close-up of the front page of the New York Times for January 1, 2010. A big headline in the center column reads:

Judge’s Son Caught in Murder Scandal; Obama Withdraws Appointment

Crap. Crap. Crap. That’s a low blow. Another text. Another photo. Another New York Times. January 10, 2010. Headline:

Scandalized Judge and Husband Killed in Auto Crash

* * *

I open the office door and walk into the well-lit room. I don’t know what I expected, but this wasn’t it.

Before me is an operating table made for a woman. She’s on the table. Tied down. Blindfolded. Gagged. Legs in stirrups. There is an operating table to her right, covered in shady-looking instruments. To the left is a wooden table. On it is a piece of paper and a revolver I can’t identify.

I walk over and pick up the piece of paper. It reads: “Convince her or kill her.” At the bottom of the paper: “Dr. Skelton, D&E/D&C, 555-2822.” I put it back down.

I pull the gag out of her mouth. I ask her if she knows where she is. She doesn’t.

I ask her if she knows who did this to her. She doesn’t.

I ask her if she knows why I am here. She doesn’t.

I ask her if she knows Robert Contee. She answers hesitantly. She knows him.

I ask her if she knows who he is. She does.

I ask her if she knows how far along she is. She says 17 weeks.

I ask her if she wants to keep it. She does.

I ask her if she’s sure. She is.

I ask her if she knows why I am here. She still doesn’t.

I ask her if she could possibly change her mind about keeping it. She says she doesn’t want to go to hell.

I ask her if she knows what the alternative is. She says she thinks she does, but it doesn’t matter.

I ask her what I should do. She says I should let her go.

I ask her if she knows what will happen to my family if I let her go. She cries.

I put the gag back.

I pick up the gun.

* * *

I don’t know what to do. Can I really kill this girl? Should I kill myself instead? Does that solve the problem? If I kill myself, will they kill my parents? Will they still kill the girl anyway? Does any of this matter? How will I live with myself if I kill this girl or if my parents are killed because of me? How will I live with myself? Yeah, right, my problem was solved. Bastards.

I point the gun. I pull the trigger.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ACTIVITY REPORT FOR 773-555-2151

MESSAGE SENT: 1 JANUARY 2010 6:43:21 PM

RECIPIENT: Robert Contee, 773-555-0063

SMS: Your problem is solved.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Another Strange Dream.

2009-12-09T22:38:00.003-05:00

My sister and I were heading out on a trip. Instead of regular transportation, we used partial rings that flew. They were like horseshoes. To fly, we held onto the ends of the traveling devices. They were made of a soft material, similar to a padded steering wheel. They allowed us to fly with great speed, up and around, through the sunny sky.

Once we got to where we wanted to go (it seemed like we were at our cousin’s house) we had a great time. We visited with other relatives, ate delicious food, and played a card game, or two.

After a time, my sister had somewhere else to go, so I headed home. I found myself holding the cat carrier with Rocky Girl in it. The carrier door would not stay shut. I asked for wire or string, but no one would give me any. They said they didn't have anything, and they weren't giving me any wire at $54 a roll.

I found a way keep the door shut, and placed the carrier in a small one person helicopter. As I said my good byes, I noticed Rocky Girl walking around in the helicopter. She had gotten out of her carrier. As I opened the door, I managed to catch her when she tried to jump out.

As I sat in the helicopter, I realized I didn't know how to start it up.

All of a sudden a horseshoe was in my hands and I was flying. I wasn’t doing a good job at flying, but at least I was aloft.

I came upon a group of others flying the same strange contraptions. I assumed they were going to Disney World, but they agreed that I could fly with them. There were a couple large white ducks also flying with them. The family, two younger boys, a woman, and a guide (perhaps the father) and I flew. Before we could fly at full speed, I had to put a diaper on Rocky Girl. I had a very small diaper to use, and it was cut in half.

While we were on the ground, Rocky Girl did something strange. I alerted the guide that there was a menace, to the right. After he confronted the menace, and it flew away, or was thrashed, or something, the guide asked me how I knew. I explained that Rocky Girl had dirtied her diaper and I needed to change her. All I had was the second half of the first one. I put that one on, but it wasn't very good. The back half had nothing to keep it on.

Someone mentioned getting a ride to town, so I asked them to get me some string or wire and some tape; scotch tape. I tried to change my request to duct tape.

The guide said “no, scotch tape would be better.”

This whole time, I was holding Rocky Girl in my arm, like a football, tense against my side. She was becoming tame when other people were around, but she didn't much appreciate the whole experience.

Before I managed to get the diaper taped properly, and the flight started, I woke up.
***********
I think the dream was brought on by Rocky Girl jumping up on the curtain rod, my having to bring her down so I could sleep, and the food and drink my sister and I consumed at a local restaurant. The total came up to $53 something.

My Recent Live Performance

2009-11-18T21:57:00.002-05:00

Here I am rapping a capella live at the Warehouse in Tally. Two of these are originals and one is a Beastie Boys cover. I've rehearsed these a bit more and will be performing them again next week with the new audio posted as I get it...

The Lesson

Slave (w/ help from Furyan)

Paul Revere (Beastie Boys cover)

The Wicked Flee when No Man Pursueth

2009-09-28T08:57:00.003-05:00

Doug Giles latest article is written in defense of his daughter, the "Ho" in the ACORN scandal. I suspect this will be a running theme in Gile's forthcoming articles. Today he is upset that some people are saying mean things about her - that she's a political activist and that she is religious.

Yes, according to some the shame should fall on Hannah and James for hanging out with college students who love America and our founding documents. We can’t have that, now can we?

. . . In addition to their political penchants, Giles and O’Keefe’s faith has come under fire. Yep, because they confess they’re sinners who trust in Christ’s substitutionary sacrifice for their salvation, they must be bad and crazy radicals.

It seems that conservativism and orthodox Christianity in this twisted theater of the progressive absurd are the evil entities and not poor wittle ACORN.

I will note that at no piont does Mr. Giles cite any of these nasty folk who have so attacked and hurt his family. Kind of odd that. You'd think he'd want to provide examples of this nasty treatment, but I guess not. Maybe he is trying to spare his daughter's feelings, since she almost certainly reads her father's article.

Or maybe the examples don't really add up to as much as he wants to pretend they do.

Giles suggests that his daughter isn't that political; she just looked at ACoRN and thought "That organization is so corrupt I'll bet they would happily support white slavery and child prostitution. How could I prove this?"

The thing is, there are clear holds in these films; we haven't seen the whole version. ACORN has made some counter claims. So it seems likely that Doug Giles is going to be doing variations of this article for quite a while.

Critique

2009-09-27T20:57:00.003-05:00

My
writing may
not
be great or
even good
however
it
entertains
me

Can of peaches

2009-08-30T10:47:00.000-05:00

"A can of peaches?" Melinda asked her husband, Larry, as he sat at the empty polished kitchen table holding a can of peaches in his hands, contemplating it.

Pulling a hand through his disheveled brown hair, he replied, "yeah, I was thinking of having a snack, but I need to get back out to the garage and clean out the truck. Do you want to go out to supper, call for a pizza, or do you want to fix something. I'm pretty hungry."

Melinda looked at the can of peaches, green background with a round picture of the orangish yellow peach slices covered with juice. It looked delicious.

"I'm hungry, too, Lar. Let me think about it, and when you get back inside, we'll decide."

"Sure, sounds good." He set the can of peaches on the table, got up, and walked to the door. Stopping at the door, his blue jeans and red plaid shirt neat and tidy, he brushed at percieved wrinkles in the material. He turned back to Melinda and winked, "see ya in a bit."

Melinda looked at the can of peaches. She pulled a rubber band from her pocket and pulled her wavy raven colored hair into a ponytail. She pulled at the collar of her pink t-shirt and looked down at her blue jeans. They were slightly baggy. She really did feel hungry. She looked at the can of peaches again. She remembered when she was a kid, she used to pour half a glass of peach juice and mix with half a glass of milk. The thick syrup and milk made a tasty fun drink. As she thought about it, her stomach rumbled. She looked at the can, again, her taste buds reminding her how delicious canned peaches were. She thought about how good toasted peanut butter sandwiches and canned sliced peaches, together, were. Take a bite of peanut butter sandwich, take a bite of peach, chew - fantastic!

Finally, she put four slices of bread in the toaster, brought margerine from the refrigerator, and pulled down the plastic container of Extra Crunchy "Choosey mothers choose Jiff" peanut butter, from the cabinet. When the toast popped up, she spread margerine on two toast slices, then dug the table knife into the Extra Crunchy Jiff. She pulled out a huge glob and spread it generously on the other two slices and put them together. Finally, she cut the toasted peanut butter sandwiches, all the while, thinking about how good the peaches would taste.

Melinda picked at the label of the peach can. It was loose. She pulled it off. She looked through the cans of food to see if there were any other peaches. There weren't. She pulled out a can of hash, similar in size, and set it next to the peaches. She found a glue stick, and proceeded to glue the sliced peaches label onto the can of hash.

There. If she ate the whole can of peaches, Larry would think there was still a can.

From a drawer near the sink, Melinda pulled out the manual can opener. Holding the can over the sink, she opened it. Anticipating the smell of peaches to emit from the can, once opened, she was immediately concerned when a meaty spicy smell wafted up from the can. Once she pulled off the lid, she found she had opened a can of hash. Wondering how that happened, she emptied the can into a skillet, and turned on the range burner. She pulled out an onion, and, after pealing and rinsing, she sliced it into the hash. Once the hash was thoroughly warmed and the onions cooked, she cracked some eggs into it. She put the cover on, and turned the temperature to simmer.

She brought the lettuce and salad dressings from the refrigerator. Tearing the lettuce into a large bowl, she put that in the middle of the table. Plates and silverware were placed in two spots, and the toasted peanut butter sandwiches were also placed at each setting. Glasses of water were placed within reach.

Larry came in from the garage, he washed his hands and face, and said, "so, what'll it be?"

"Supper's ready," she replied, as she dished up the hash, onions, and eggs.

"Hash. My favorite! Thanks, honey!"

As they both ate with gusto, Melinda made a checklist in her mind for tomorrow. At lunch, she was going to go to the grocery store. She was going to buy at least four cans of peaches, and she was going to have one for lunch.

In the Lion cage.

2009-08-29T10:54:00.000-05:00

Jack Staten worked for the local zoo in the big cat area. He worked there for several years and moved his way up. Finally, he was head of the big cat area. Once he attained that coveted status, he decided to try and get something changed. Something he’d noticed long ago. The zoo was on a hill, and the cat enclosures were around the middle of the hill. At the top of the hill were the bear exhibitions.

At staff meetings, Jack started to bring up the subject of swapping the two areas. He really wanted his cats at the top of the hill. He would mention how the cats were miserable where they were and the bears were miserable where they were. Both would be much happier if they were moved. His bosses asked around to see if this was fact. No one knew whether it was true. Because Jack seemed to know what he was doing, and because he brought in lots of customers, they thought hard about his idea.

Jack had his cats tamed pretty well. He would put on a show for the customers by running in the pen at a certain time of day. Some of his big cats, cougars, pumas, and panthers, would chase him. Mostly, the people watching would watch, scared, as he ran from the lions. He would end up running to the den, and one of the cats, it didn't matter which one, would chase him on into the den. There it would stay for several minutes, finally coming back out, but without Jack. He'd already exited through the doorway in the back of the den.

People would rush to the zoo store to tell the workers there that they were afraid a man got eaten by a lion. The personnel would tell them they would check it out, "but meanwhile, look at the items we have that you can buy to remember this exciting day."

Kids would yell, "I want that, I want this!" Parents would pull out their wallets and fork over the cash.

One day, a wealthy contributor died. He left a bundle for the zoo. With all those extra funds, the board of directors decided they would go ahead and change the zoo to how Jack requested.

Months went by, millions were spent, but all the changes were finally in effect. The big cats were at the top of the hill, and the bears were around the middle. On the glorious day that the big cats were moved into their new area, Jack went in for his show. He spoke to the lions, and they all perked their ears up. When Jack took off running, all five of the lions took off after him. He didn't make it to the den. Instead, all five lions pounced on him and pulled him apart.

When the officials arrived to take statements, the onlookers told the horrifying story. No one knew what set off the big cats, except the big cats. They knew that when Jack came into the enclosure, he said, "ha ha, we finally got to the top of the hill. Now, we're going to call this place, "Mount Lion", ha ha ha".

Big cats don't like puns.

Another Camping Story

2009-06-21T16:33:00.013-05:00

Green lush forests insulated the two lane blacktopped highway. Deep ditches ran along both sides of the road, and wild flowers grew on the grassy areas above the ditches. The hot sun beating down on the highway caused the sticky tar to bubble in spots. Insects and butterflies visited the gently swaying flowers while making soft summer noises.

The deranged man was staggering down the road, walking in the right hand lane. He was swinging a knife above his head with one hand, and was slapping the air above his head with the other. As she drew near, Kelsy said in her cell phone, “gotta go, mom. There’s some weirdo in the street. I want to make sure he doesn’t try to jump in front of the car.”

Ending the call and setting the phone in the passenger seat, she pulled her car over as far to the left as she could get and put her foot down on the accelerator. She wasn't about to stop for some crazy. In her rearview mirror, she could see he had blood smeared around his face, and it looked like his brown pants and red shirt were probably also covered in blood. His hair was sticking out all over, and looked oily and dirty. She picked up her cell phone and dialed 911.

"Emergency dispatch, what is your emergency?” said the voice from the phone.

Kelsy replied, "I'm driving on Olde Tulle Road, and there's a crazy man stumbling along, about two miles past the Carma Forest Recreation Area, with a knife in his hand. He looks like he's covered in blood."

"May I have your name, please? I'm dispatching a cruiser and an ambulance."

Passing a black car that was sitting in the ditch, Kelsy pulled over to the side of the road to finish the call. She didn’t want her car to end up like that. She could still see the guy in her rearview mirror. He stumbled and fell backward. He lay on his back without moving.

Five minutes later, a police car came blaring by her. She figured she’d done her part. She pulled back on the road and started driving toward town.

Screeching to a halt, as the cruiser almost ran over the body, Officer Paulis said, “shit, I hope I didn’t hit him. I’d better back up a bit.”

Officer Mann, wiping spilled coffee from his lap and moving his feet to keep from stepping on the donuts that had fallen from the box when Paulis had stomped the brakes, replied, “I think I’d better drive next time, you moron! That black car we passed up the road, sitting in the ditch, should be checked out. If it's still there when we get finished with this, of course.”

The officers cautiously stepped out of their vehicle, guns drawn.

As they looked down at the body, Officer Mann saw the knife on the ground, about a foot away from the man’s head. He walked over and kicked it farther away from the body. Paulis bent down to check the man’s pulse.

“Still alive,” he said.

Weakly raising a hand toward the policeman, the injured man whispered, “my wife and daugh…,” through the dirt, tears, and blood on his face, then lay still.

Paulis looked at Mann. “Oh, my God. He killed his family! We need to find his wallet and call it in.”

Mann bent down and eased the wallet out of the man’s back pocket.

“Good God, Paulis, look at those wounds on his face and arms. Look at that big cut on his arm. Someone sure put up a fight! The license says Everett Cope, hmmm, I’m going to call in the address and send someone out to look for the family.”

As he turned away to do so, an ambulance came flying down the road, sirens blaring, lights flashing. It stopped a couple feet away.

Two EMTs jumped out to see what they could do. One’s badge said Patterson, and the other said Till. Till bent down to get a good look, while Patterson went back to the ambulance, opened the back doors, and pulled out the stretcher.

Till said, "Mike, the guy's still alive, but take a look at his face." Patterson squatted down and looked closely.

“Shit, this guy’s been attacked by bees. He’s gone into anaphylactic shock. I’m gonna dose him with Epinephrine.”

Paulis noticed several people walking through the trees toward him, “stay back!” he ordered.

One woman, wearing pink sweats, with dishwater blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, walked closer, “we’re camping at the Carma Forest Recreation Area, what happened?

She moved closer so she could see the guy on the ground, “Oh, no! That’s my husband! What happened to him? Where’s his car? Did you shoot him?” Her voice had started quietly, but toward the end of her questions, she was shrieking, and trembling.

“No, maam. We didn’t shoot him. He was like that when we got here. Why was he out here? Is your daughter with you?”

A young girl, in brown shorts, green T-shirt, and sandals stepped forward. “I’m Telisa. I’m here. Where’s the car?”

Officer Mann called dispatch and informed them that the family was still alive, and to cancel the dispatch to their home. Turning to Mrs. Cope, he said, “what’s your husband doing out here?”

“Well, he was supposed to go to that little mini-mart and get some hot dogs. We had a package of them ready to cook, but the neighbor dog came over and gobbled them down.”

Everett Cope was stirring, “what’s going on? Why all these people?”

“Sir, you were going to get hotdogs?” asked Paulis.

In a hoarse whispery voice, Everett Cope said, “Oh, hell! Yeah, I remember. I was going to get hotdogs, and as I was driving, there was a nasty tick crawling up my arm. I grabbed my knife and tried to stab him and stabbed myself at the same time. I ended up in the ditch. I stopped the blood with my handkerchief. I got out of the car and fell into the ditch. I think I slipped a couple times, but finally got back to the road. I started walking back to camp, Mona has the cell phone,” he motioned toward his wife.

“Go on, sir. You know, your face was covered with blood?” said Officer Mann.

“It was damnedably hot. I had to wipe the sweat off my face and arms, several times. I guess I forgot the handkerchief was full of blood from my arm. Well, as I was walking, a swarm of bees came flying through the air. I tried to run, but they got caught in my clothes and hair. They started stinging me. That’s the last thing I remember, until now.”

“I think you need to go to the hospital. We’ll call a tow truck to tow the car out of the ditch. Your wife can drive it to the hospital.”

Most of the campers started walking back to the campgrounds. The excitement was over.

The EMTs loaded Everett Cope into the ambulance, and he was transported to the hospital.

Once the tow truck pulled the car out of the ditch, the police officers jumped in their car and headed back to the donut shop.

After making sure the car could still be driven, safely, Mona and Telisa went back to the campsite and loaded their car. Then, they went to the hospital to be with Everett.

They didn’t go camping, again, for a very long time.

Glass

2009-05-14T20:49:00.006-05:00

Ted looked up from the filing he was doing, as Tony Owenmark, his boss, walked in.

"Hey boss! What's on for today?"

"It looks like a slow day. We've had a few appointments, but not enough!" replied Tony, as he shoved his salt and pepper bangs out of his face. He walked over to the coffee pot, and poured himself a cup. As he added cream and sugar, he turned to look out the window.

"This economy thing is eating us alive!"

Ted put his fingers between the sheets of paper he was working with, to hold his place, then said, "Well, Mr. O., I noticed an accident on the way to work. Too bad the insurance usually just totals those cars and hauls them off to the junkyard - no window repair for them. The owners get a nice check and go out to buy another car."

"Yeah. We've not had any hail, yet, this season, either."

Ted pushed back the red cap on his bald dome, and scratched where it had been sitting, "could you tell me, how's my job situation?"

Tony said, "Ted, you know you're a great asset to my company. I'm not going to lay you off, nor any of the other guys. I'm praying like hell that we get more business, though."

Picking up his cup of coffee, he walked to the door of the garage, "I'll tell you, my cousin, over at Lights are Us, was having a hard time getting people in to look at their lights. He said he finally wised up and started selling those security movement detector lights. It's making a difference!"

Ted returned to his filing. As he put finished work orders into the folders they belonged, he noticed that most had home addresses typed along with the name of the customer. He thought about it.

Ashley Naron was baffled. Why would anyone break a window on her car? All they stole was a cd or two. As she swept the glass from the car seat, she fumed. She mumbled to herself, "These people don't care how much damage they make. And what for?!? One probably couldn't even buy crack by selling two cds at the hock shop!"

When she was satisfied she wasn't going to wound herself when she sat in her car, she pulled out her cell phone and called Owenmark's Glass Shop - we do repairs while you wait, to get an appointment. She had taken her car there previously, and was happy with the service they provided. Luckily, they had an opening, and she could bring it in that day.

Ashley had to stand in line when she got to the glass shop, but she didn't mind. It would be good to get the window repaired.

Ted was the busiest he'd been in a month. Most of the windows needing repair were from cars not garaged. When anyone mentioned security lights, he would always remark that he heard Lights are Us carried a good line.

Small Town Boys - Chapter 53

2009-04-19T15:39:00.003-05:00

Chapter Guide

These Are the Voyages…

“Are you coming in to the office tomorrow morning, or are you going straight to the airport?” Eric wanted to know.

It was a three weeks later and they were finalizing their plans for their trip to Fairview, Colorado. They, Rudy, and Vinnie and Jordan, two of the code talkers, were going to spend a week at the school district familiarizing themselves with the current setup and meeting the people who were going to determine what was needed to get the program running in order to begin to write the company’s response to the formal Request for Proposal. He had not heard from Danny, and he had almost forgotten about Tyler until he spotted a small item in the Times, picked up from the wire services from the Traverse City Record-Eagle, about the Herlingers asking for any information about their missing son.

“Well, since the flight’s at noon, there’s not a lot of point to coming in here just to turn around and go back,” Donny replied. “Matter of fact, why don’t you come over to my place and pick me up in the morning and we’ll go from there?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Trish and Wanda were going to look after the house. Donny had had a meeting with them about Small Town Boys the week after New Year’s and looked at the resumes of some of the screenwriters that Aaron and Jack were “suggesting” he consider. Donny had the distinct impression that he had already been chosen and that this was just a formality. All of them had impressive credits, including one that had been nominated for an Emmy two years before. Samples of their writing were included, and Donny flipped through them. “So, which one does Gina want me to choose?” he said to Trish.

She laughed. “You learn quick.” She handed him the portfolio of Evan Gilmour. He was in his early thirties but already had been the head writer on several prime time series and had worked with Aaron on two projects. “And,” Trish added, “he’s also got a couple of off-Broadway credits. Plus he knows the subject matter.”

“He’s gay, then.”

“Um hm. Best part is he lives in Boulder when he’s not here or in New York, and so you can meet him when you’re in Colorado.”

“Like I’ll have time,” said Donny. “We’re going up there to work, not ‘take a meeting.’”

“Well, at least call him and maybe have dinner.”

“No promises,” said Donny curtly. He was already beginning to think that Small Town Boys was going to be shoved to the back burner as far as he was concerned. Trish and Jack were still working on rounding up investors, and that meant they were pushing back the start date for the pilot to May or June. Meanwhile, Starship Enterprise was beginning to grow almost exponentially. They had already decided to hire an outside consulting firm to handle the training of the school staff and merger with the old system, and the initial proposal had grown from a collection of file folders on Donny’s desk to a row of thick binders labeled Purchasing, Accounts Payable, Accounts Receivable, Grants, Budget, HR, Grades, and the thickest one that Eric had titled Everything Else. The binders spilled off the table and on to the floor, and as they grew, file folders and boxes were added.

“We’re gonna need a U-Haul to get all this stuff up to there,” Eric said as he looked over the pile of paper.

Donny held up a box of floppy discs. “We’ll only need these and a laptop for the RFP.”

“Yeah, okay.” Eric said. “You might as well plan on moving there if we get the job. Not permanently, but…”

“Fine with me,” replied Donny.

Eric looked at him. “Really? Had it with L.A.?”

Donny twiddled the pen he was writing notes with. “Nah, just…”

“Getting burned out,” said Eric, finishing his thought. “Yeah, I know. But hey, we’ll have a good time in Colorado. Do some skiing, maybe, see if there are any hot guys in Boulder…” He grinned mischievously. “Some of those mountain-climber and jogger types can be pretty hot.”

“Thought we were going there to work,” snorted Donny.

“Uh huh.”

Marc came in and dropped a large binder on Donny’s desk. “Here’s the projections you were asking for,” he said, and then caught Eric’s grin. “What’s up?”

“Oh, just teasing Donny about getting a little Rocky Mountain high, that’s all.”

Marc laughed. “Yeah a little motel sex is always fun,” he said. “I should know.” His demeanor had improved markedly since Christmas, and everyone in the office had noticed it. Eric had asked Donny if he knew what was making Marc so happy, not that he had any objections. Donny had shrugged and said it was probably because they’d had a thirty-seven percent increase in sales the last two quarters and Business Week had featured them in a story about business integration software. Eric had agreed, then added, “If you ask me, he also looks like he’s in love. You guys back together?”

“Nope,” Donny had replied.

“Well, whoever it is, maybe we should give him a bonus.”

It was snowing lightly the next afternoon when they arrived in Denver. It was a tight fit getting the five of them and their luggage into the Mitsubishi Galant, but with a little creative cramming, they got the trunk closed. The snow followed them all the way to the Marriott in Fairview. They checked in, and since the hotel was almost full because of a cross-country race, Rudy, Vinnie, and Jordan were in one room, and Donny and Eric were in another. Eric called Gordie Harwell. They were to meet him for dinner that evening at the Elkhorn, a well-known steak place in the middle of town.

Fairview was nestled in a valley in the Front Range of the Rockies, nearly seven thousand feet above sea level. The thin air was noticeable, and Vinnie, the code talker from New Jersey, got a nosebleed. He and his cohort, Jordan, decided to stay in the motel, order in a pizza, and put the finishing touches on the preliminary presentation.

Gordie was a tall, balding man with owl-like eyes and a bushy mustache, the color of which matched his sandy hair. Donny found it hard to believe that he and Eric had been in the same classes in college until Eric explained that Gordie had been in the Army for ten years before coming back to finish his degree and go on to get his Masters in education. Rudy nodded silently as he was introduced, and when they ordered drinks, he ordered iced tea. The waitress wasn’t sure if they had any, it being the end of January, but she said she’d look.

After some small talk, mainly catching up between Eric and Gordie, the conversation turned to the project, and Rudy, who had been silent up to then, started asking Gordie a number of intricate technical questions that left even Eric slightly breathless. But Gordie was able to answer most of them, and Rudy took extensive notes in his pocket notebook. When it came time to order dinner, Gordie recommended the New York cut, and Donny and Eric concurred. Rudy ordered a side salad and a baked potato.

The food was good and Donny had a glass and a half of wine. He was feeling pleasantly light-headed at the end of the meal, and walking out into the cold night air was a nice sharp contrast to the stuffy and smoky air of the restaurant. He took several deep gulps of air before lighting a cigarette. The smoke made him feel even more dizzy.

Eric noticed him swaying a little. “You okay?” he said with a grin.

“Yeah,” Donny muttered. “The altitude, I guess.” He took another drag on the cigarette then tossed it in the gutter.

Eric was a little glassy-eyed, too. He handed the car keys to Rudy. “Here you go; you’re driving.”

Donny felt a little better in the car, and by the time they got back to the hotel, he didn’t object when Eric stopped in front of the lounge and suggested a nightcap.

The bar was quiet except for some tinny piped-in Billy Joel instrumentals. They each ordered Scotch on the rocks and sat at a table under a large print of Longs Peak.

“So,” Eric said, “this is kind of cool.”

“What?”

“Here we are, nailing down a contract to basically re-write an entire government entity’s software system. This could be huge.”

“All we’re doing is plugging a whole lot of patches and modules into an already existing system using our software,” Donny said. “It’s not like we’re reinventing the wheel or coming up with a whole new language like those guys at FoxPro.”

“Yeah, but they don’t know that. ‘Sides, once we’ve got this going, a lot of other places will want to try it.” He smiled at the waitress who brought their drinks. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” replied Donny, “unless we fuck it up.”

“We won’t. You won’t.” He raised his glass. “Here’s to Starship Enterprise…or whatever we call it.”

They clinked glasses and sipped their drinks. Eric smiled at Donny, and Donny felt warmth spreading through him, a pleasant tickle of horniness, made all the more immediate by Eric’s proximity and the faint scent of wool coming off his sweater. Donny gazed at Eric, the dim light from the bar making him look even more attractive, and he had to look away, over to where the bartender, a globular man in his mid-fifties was wiping down the bar and humming along flatly with the music, to try to take his mind off the tightness growing in his crotch.

Eric said something and Donny blinked. “Another?” Eric repeated.

Donny looked down at the empty glass, the ice cubes making little rainbows, and he shook his head. “Nah,” he muttered.

“’Kay, we’d better hit the rack; ‘morrow’s gonna be a long day.” He put a ten on the table, waved off Donny’s offer of cash, and they made their way to the elevator.

The room was dark, and Donny fumbled around until he found the light next to his bed. They wordlessly got undressed, each taking off their sweaters, shirts, and pants at the same time until they were both standing at the end of their beds facing each other in nothing but their underwear.

Eric caught Donny’s eyes and held them, a small smile making his lips part just a little, and Donny felt a roaring surge of passion, nearly making him groan, the thud of blood pounding in his ears and his cock. Eric leaned in a little and put out his hand for a moment, and said, “Man, I gotta take a gnarly piss.”

Donny nodded silently, and Eric brushed by him and went into the bathroom, closing the door. Donny got into bed and was asleep before Eric came back to his own bed.

*

They had an early breakfast and arrived at the school before 8:30, joining in the wave of students who were making their way to their lockers and first classes. Donny had a moment of flashback as the universal scent of high school – a combination of floor wax, pencil shavings, bathroom disinfectant, and the scent of teenagers: hairspray, gym sweat, bubble gum, and sneakers.

There was a large conference room behind the principal’s office and someone had put a large white power strip on the floor next to the movie screen. Donny set up the projector and the laptop while Eric, wearing a sports coat and tie, was introduced to the members of the school administration and two of the school board members. The locals all reminded Donny of people back home; middle-aged, very Republican-looking, the clothes all very business-like with faint hints of western wear: a turquoise brooch here, piping on the shoulder seams there, and all of them looking like they spent a lot of time outdoors. Everyone was very polite as the team was introduced, and then Eric went to the end of the table and flicked on the projector. A picture of a smiling little girl, her hands plastered with red, blue and orange finger-paints framing her face filled the screen. The title at the bottom said, “Making It Work for Her.” One of the ladies let out and audible “aw…”

Eric’s pitch was gentle and off-the-cuff even though Donny knew he had written it, revised it, and rehearsed it for a week. He took the approach that everything that the school system did in the office, be it ordering supplies, reconciling the budget, running the payroll, or even printing out the labels for file folders, was geared towards the kids. “The only reason you and your teachers and everyone else comes to work every day,” he said, “is for her and all the other kids in this school district. That’s it. Anything we can do to make it easier for her to learn and grow up is our goal.”

Donny was watching both Eric and the audience around the table, and he could see some heads nodding, some more vigorously than others, and several people taking notes. Eric paused, then started to go through the slides that outlined very simply what ERP was and how it could accomplish that goal. “In the first place, it would simplify things. That means less confusion, and making the process easier makes things go smoother. You are already using Pelican for some of the work, so all we would be doing is making it available to everyone: teachers, accountants, food service, and maintenance, all under one umbrella that many on your staff already know how to use. There would be very little change in what is already being done. Or,” Eric grinned, “there wouldn’t be much moving of the food dish.” That got a laugh from everyone, and Eric went through the rest of the introductory slides, showing the connections between offices and procedures, until he came back to the little girl. “And,” he said as he put down the remote, “I’d be glad to answer any questions you might have.”

The chairman of the school board, Walt Lyle, raised his hand. He was a solidly built man in his early seventies, his full head of silver hair combed neatly into a small pompadour, his expression and bearing that of a solid Ronald Reagan Republican. He cleared his throat with a deep rumble and said, “It all looks very good, and God knows anything we can do to cut down on the red tape is a good idea. But I would like to know how much this is going to cost.”

Eric grinned slightly and shot Donny a quick look and nod. The week before as they were putting together the presentation, they had both agreed that this would be the first question asked, and so they had come up with an answer, which Eric had honed and practiced as he had the rest of the presentation. He put his hands in his pockets and said, “Mr. Lyle, it will cost as much or as little as you want it to. We’re not proposing to do sell you anything you don’t want or need.” Mr. Lyle nodded but still looked a tad skeptical, which meant he was thinking something along the lines of “But we don’t know what we need, and therefore we don’t know what you’re proposing will be what we need…or just a waste of money.” He looked as if he was on the verge of saying that, so Eric jumped in before he spoke again and answered the question before it was asked. “The reason we are here this week – at no cost to you or the school district – is to find out exactly what it is you want and what you need.” That seemed to mollify Mr. Lyle, and after a few more questions, Gordie stepped in and said he had set up meetings for Vince, Jordan, and Rudy to meet with the people who were currently using Pelican, and Donny and Eric would be meeting with the IT staff. The members of the school board, including Mr. Lyle, smiled and shook hands all around, and when they had left, Eric let out a big sigh and said, “Okay, we made it past the first hurdle: they didn’t throw us out on our ass.”

At 11:30 they broke for lunch and Gordie took them to the school cafeteria where they stood in line with the rest of the faculty and students to get trays and plates of meatloaf, carrots, and mashed potatoes. Donny grinned inwardly at the sense of déjà vu; the cafeteria at this high school was not much different than the one he’d spent his countless lunch periods in back in high school, right down to the elderly ladies in white smocks and hats that ladled out the food. The kids didn’t seem that much different, either; all shapes and sizes – tall, short, big, small, most of them wearing the current fashions of t-shirts and loose pants under hooded sweatshirts or letter jackets. He wondered what they thought this group of strangers were doing in their midst, but if they did, they gave no sign; they probably thought they were new teachers or administrators and therefore not worthy of attention. Donny caught a girl looking at him for an instant. She was wearing a letter jacket that was a few sizes too large for her with “95” on the sleeve, so it must have been her boyfriend’s jacket; the boyfriend, a tall, gangly but athletic-looking kid with longish sideburns and curly hair stood behind her in just a CU Boulder football t-shirt and grey cargo pants. She cast an appraising eye over Donny’s button-down shirt, wool sweater, and khaki pants, then looked right through him as if he wasn’t there. Ten years ago, as a freshman, Donny had gotten the same look from the senior girls.

Gordie led them to a separate part of the dining room set aside for teachers and he introduced them to some of the faculty that were already there. If he didn’t remember the names, Donny remembered the types: the matronly English teacher, the frazzled-looking science teacher, the calm but stern-looking math master, and the art teacher who looked as if she had just gotten back from Woodstock, complete with the peasant blouse, granny glasses, and breathy voice that sounded as if she was always reading poetry. They ate quietly, and Donny looked across the cafeteria, seeing more proof that no matter where or when, the dynamics of the caste system of high school society were alive and well. The tables were clearly designated by groups: the Jocks, the Nerds, the Goths, the Heathers, the Snobs, the Hipsters, the Preps, even the Drama Queens, which consisted of both boys and girls. Donny wondered what it must be like to be gay in a small mountain community surrounded by big trucks, guns, and all the other symbols of masculinity that seemed as natural and as old as the mountains and glaciers that towered over the school. It was probably not much different than what it was like when he was in school, he thought. Anyone suspected of being gay or who did not conform to the stereotype of the average teenage boy was either invisible or preyed on by the bullies like Stan Tasker who lived by the axiom that any boy who didn’t demonstrate full heterosexuality was a threat to them and their way of life. Donny knew that no one questioned his apparent straightness; his years of football and his larger than average build, plus the fact that he had sat at the Jocks table during football season and never said anything was his own acknowledgment of his obeisance to the strict and inviolate culture of being a teenager in high school.

The impression was reinforced an hour or so later when Donny took a bathroom break. The nearest men’s room was down the hall from the administration office where he and Eric were discussing network capacity with Gordie. There was no door; just a tiled entrance that turned sharply to the left and led into an open space lined with sinks on one side, a row of urinals on the other, and two stalls. He didn’t hear anything as he approached, but when he walked into the room he saw three boys by the sinks. A skinny boy with long blond hair parted in the middle, thick dark eyebrows, and a “Les Miserables” t-shirt, was backed into the corner. The other two boys, one whom Donny recognized from the cafeteria by the CU Boulder shirt, towered over him menacingly. They all looked to see who was coming in, and when Donny returned the look, the bigger boys backed away casually, and one went to run water in the sink to wash his hands. Donny went to the urinal, and by the time he had finished, the two had gone, but not before one had hissed, “Such a fag, Whitzler.”

The boy was now at the sink washing his hands, making as much lather as he could with the thin liquid green soap that spurted out of the little plastic globe mounted on the wall. Donny glanced at him for a second and suppressed a desire to say something such as, “You okay?” because he knew what the answer would be: a terse nod of the head and silence. But the boy had a look of defiance on his face, and when they traded glances, he nodded at him as if nothing was wrong. He dried his hands quickly and scurried out of the room, leaving Donny rinsing his hands under the tepid water and thinking how much the boy reminded him of kids he knew in high school, and of Tyler.

*

Donny spent the rest of the afternoon with Bev, the school treasurer, a plump middle-aged woman with tinted hair and a wheezy giggle. She was an expert at Pelican, but when Donny admitted that he had been one of the people who had designed it, she beamed appreciatively and glanced at the pictures of her family that were lined up on her wall, including an Olan Mills glamour portrait of a girl in her early twenties. Donny smiled inwardly, knowing that Bev was sizing him up as husband material for her daughter Kim. Donny didn’t tell her that he was more interested in the picture of her son Will, a well-built redhead about his age, in a cowboy hat and tight jeans leaning against a split-rail fence.

He took pages of notes as Bev went through her routines of record keeping, including accounting and purchasing, and he saw how she used other programs to complement the database. He gently made some suggestions and showed her some built-in tools that she wasn’t aware of – “Well, I’ll be darned!” she said several times – and he wrote down all of her complaints about the program. By the time they had worked through all of his questions and seen the scope of the work she did, the office was empty and it was already dusk. Donny thanked Bev, and she grinned widely. “Come back any time,” she said.

He found Eric in Gordie’s office. “Oh, good,” he said. “Gordie has an idea he’d like to run by you.” Donny sat down, and Gordie steepled his fingers.

“The committee was very impressed with your presentation, and they wanted to know how soon you could start.”

Donny looked at Eric, then back at Gordie. “Start, as in design, build, and go live?”

“Yeah, pretty much. We were going to put off the decision until June, but there’s a huge technology grant out there that we’re up for, and if we can tell the funder that we’ve got a design ready to go, that will go a long way towards us getting the grant and start spending it in July. The grant’s for a year, so go-live would have to be by July of ’96.”

“A year and a half,” said Eric, “to basically build and implement an entire system. I’ve already talked to Rudy and the boys. What do you think?”

Donny flipped through a couple of pages of notes as he gathered his thoughts. Finally he said, “Think I need a beer and something to eat.”

Gordie laughed. “If you say yes, I’ll buy both.”

They went to a small Mexican restaurant on the edge of town. The food was good and the conversation between Eric and Gordie was lively, but Donny paid little attention to any of it. The thousands of details started running through his head, everything from using Pelican to redesigning most of it to finding out how to connect all the systems and upgrading the computers. If any of these thoughts were running through Eric’s mind, he didn’t say anything, and when Gordie dropped them off at the hotel, Eric said, “We’ll give you the answer in the morning, but right now it looks good, doesn’t it, Donny?” Donny nodded silently.

He was heading for the elevator when the desk clerk waved him down and handed him a pink message slip. It said, Please call Evan Gilmour before 8. It took him a few moments to remember who he was, then it came to him: the screenwriter Trish was recommending to take over the writing on Small Town Boys. He had completely put that part of his life out of his head.

Donny looked at his watch. It was 7:35, so he shrugged, found an outside line phone and dialed the number.

A woman answered, but when Donny asked for Evan Gilmour she said “Just a sec,” and put the phone down. He could hear distant water running into a sink, then a voice said “Thanks,” and the phone was picked up. “Hello?” said the baritone voice.”

“Hi, it’s Don Hollenbeck, returning your call?”

“Oh, hi! Hey, sorry to bother you while you’re working, but I’m here in Fairview visiting my sister – she and her husband just got back from a trip – and I wondered if we might, y’know, get together and just, y’know, chat?”

“Sure,” said Donny, thinking that a little chat about the fantasy world of TV shows might take his mind off the spinning universe of functional specs and conversion tables.

“Great. I can be at the hotel in about fifteen minutes; is that okay?”

“Sure. I’ll be there.”

Donny went up to the room to drop off his briefcase and put on a sweater. Eric was standing in the hall carrying on a quiet but intense conversation with Rudy, who responded by barely nodding his head. They didn’t even notice Donny as he went by.

He found a copy of the local newspaper on one of the tables in the lobby and was reading about the local high school sports team when a tall man wearing a well-worn Carhart coat came into the lobby. He looked at Donny, smiled, and strode over to him.

“Hi, I’m Evan,” he said. His grip was firm, and Donny was reminded of the actor Treat Williams. He was clean-shaven with a ruddy, wind-burned face, bright eyes, and thick brown hair over heavy eyebrows. He shrugged off the coat to reveal a grey flannel shirt over faded jeans and work-boots. He had a solid build, and as he sat down, Donny caught a faint whiff of a barnyard. Evan seemed to know he was giving off the scent and he chuckled ruefully. “Sorry about that; I spent most of this morning repairing the fence in the corral, and goats can be odiferous.”

“You raise goats?”

“Yeah, my partner and I have about fifteen or so. We sell them for their wool, and occasionally for other things. Once you get the smell in your clothes, though, nothing gets it out.”

“No problem,” said Donny. “I’m from Ohio and I know all about farms.”

“Good.” Evan smiled. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket. “Look, I took the liberty of jotting down a few notes…y’know, some questions I had about the script. You mind if we go over them?”

Donny glanced around the lobby. Other than the desk clerk, it was empty. “Sure, no problem.

“Okay.” Evan smoothed the paper out and then put on some glasses. “Yeah, in the scene where Bobby is in the kitchen….”

It turned out that Evan’s questions were more about the interaction of the characters rather than Donny’s script-writing abilities, and Donny had to think back to what he was thinking about as he wrote them. There were a few questions he couldn’t answer, so he just shook his head and said, “I don’t remember what I was thinking about then,” to which Evan nodded solemnly and went on to the next one. He offered no suggestions as to how he would have written it, nor did he make any kind of indication as to whether or not he agreed with Donny’s answers. Finally he slowly folded the paper, took off his glasses, and looked at Donny with a sober expression.

“Well, I think you’ve a workable idea here, Don.” He paused and Donny wondered if he was supposed to say something, but as he was getting ready to reply with a simple “thanks,” Evan said, “I’m sure you’ve gotten a lot of feedback from people like your agent and stuff, but I gotta tell ya, as one writer to another, I think you’ve given us something to work with. Your dialogue’s great, the characters are believable and likable, and you don’t get into a lot of soap opera drama.”

Now Donny said “Thanks.”

Evan shrugged. “That may be your biggest problem, though. Aaron’s instinct – write what will sell – has proven to be true. People want edge-of-the-seat drama; they want to know what choices the character will make and make them tough enough to stick it out through the commercial break. I think it’s a great idea, treating gay guys as just guys, y’know, with all the usual stuff that people go through every day – work, friends, family – just normal people, that’s all, with all the usual dramas. Get rid of the stereotypes, the flamers, the queens, the disco babies….” Evan shrugged. “Hell, do we really know anyone who really fits into that category?” He stopped himself and grinned. “Well, yeah, actually, I do. But do you want to see them on TV?”

Donny nodded. “No, and that’s why I wrote it instead of Aaron.”

Evan shook his head. “Aaron wrote what he did because he thought he was writing what Jeremy Dixon would do. I hear that’s all over, though. Your deal with getting Jeremy to do the pilot, I mean.” Evan glanced at him. “I hear you had something to do with that.”

“Yep,” Donny said softly, flashing back to the afternoon in the conference room overlooking downtown Los Angeles.

Evan smiled a little. “Good. I hate that prick,” he said, meaning Jeremy. “But the tough part is turning this” – he tapped the paper – “into something that people will watch without turning it into that,” and he pointed to the large TV in the other part of the lobby that was silently showing a car chase from a rerun of The Rockford Files.

“Yeah,” Donny said, “so I’ve been told.”

“So, tell me where you went to school.”

“You mean college? Bowling Green.”

“In Kentucky?”

“Ohio. Bowling Green State University.”

“Huh. Didn’t know they had a film school there.”

Donny shook his head. “They don’t, as far as I know. I took a couple of English and computer classes a few years ago.”

Evan looked puzzled. “So where’d you learn to write film scripts?”

Donny told him about helping Mike out with the scripts for Return to Sender and writing Small Town Boys by following Silver Star from the shooting script. Evan listened silently, then shook his head. “Jesus,” he muttered, “if word ever got out….”

“What?”

Evan looked at him with bemused wonder. “Well, here are all these people who spend all these years in college and grad school learning about how to write the perfect film, and then hustle their ass off just to get a synopsis read at a studio, and you bat out a script in a weekend and are about to start shooting with Jack Magahee’s money.”

Donny replied, “I’ve heard that,” thinking back to the evening in Paul’s office with Aaron in Palm Springs.

“Well, I was all set to give you a hard time as to why – at least according to my agent – I shouldn’t be considering working for a low-budget pilot that’s going to end up on the ass-end of cable TV. But now that I’ve actually read the script….” Evan leaned back a little. “So when do you actually think you’ll get going on this?”

“I’m leaving that all up to Trish,” Donny replied. “I’ve got something a little more involved going on.” He gave Evan a brief outline of what he was doing for the school system and what the future looked like for him as far as Small Town Boys was concerned. “So,” Donny concluded, “for the next year or so, I’m going to be up to my neck in work doing my real job.” He glanced at Evan and added apologetically, “Not that what you do isn’t a real job. It’s just that…”

“No, I get it,” said Evan. “No offense taken. Frankly, I’m a little envious; I could use a steady paycheck rather than what this business pays you. The last steady gig I had got cancelled halfway through the third season because the co-star needed to go into rehab. Not what you call job security. Fortunately I still get royalty checks and I have a partner who comes from a rich family.” He stood up and started to pull on his coat. “Well, if you’re still interested, I’d like to give it a shot.”

Donny stood up and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll let Trish know. She kinda had decided anyway, but….”

Evan grinned a little. “My people will call your people, right?”

“Something like that.”

Evan handed him a business card. “Keep in touch.” He gave Donny an appreciative look. “I gotta say, you’re not exactly what I pictured when I heard about what you do for a living. I had this whole computer nerd thing going; y’know, skinny, geeky, glasses….”

“Yeah, I guess I’m sorta the exception that proves the rule,” Donny replied. He thought of Rudy, Vince, and Jordan. “But hey, we’ve got a couple of them with us….”

Evan laughed. “No, thanks. Listen, if you’re going to be in the area, maybe you could come down to my place for dinner or something.”

"Yeah, sure," he said. "Thanks.

Evan shook his hand, patted him on the shoulder, and said, "Talk to you soon." Donny watched him stride out of the lobby, and a moment later a rather battered Chevy pick-up truck pulled out of the parking lot. He was pretty sure he had just been hit on.

Eric was lying on his bed, talking on the phone. The TV was on, but the sound was muted. He had taken off his shirt and pants and was wearing only a t-shirt and boxers. He laughed as Donny came into the room, and said, “Oh, I think they’ll go for that. We can write it into the contract as part of the conversion.” He looked at Donny, pointed at the receiver, and mouthed “Greg.” “Oh, here’s F. Scott McStudly now. Yeah, he spent all day charming the staff. Yeah, sure,” Eric continued, then handed the receiver to Donny. “He wants to know when you can move up here.”

Donny took the phone and told Greg about his day with the administrative staff. Meanwhile, Eric took off the rest of his clothes and went to the bathroom to take a shower.

“So,” said Greg, “it’s up to you, Donny. The boys think we can do it and make the deadline. What say you?”

Donny heard the shower start up and Eric started humming, a little off-key. He sat on the bed, still fingering Evan’s card, glanced at the TV with the same episode of The Rockford Files, and said, “Sure.”

Samantha and Colin

2009-04-05T21:49:00.003-05:00

Samantha was an only cat. Samantha was a lonely cat. Colin, her human father, worked all day. When he came home, she would purr and cuddle with him. He was very fond of her, too. Samantha enjoyed the time she spent with Colin, but when he was away, there wasn't a lot to do. Cleaning her lovely calico coat did not keep her busy for long. When she wasn't cleaning herself, she would sleep for long periods of the day. Pacing through the living room and kitchen was another of her normal activities.

One day, as Samantha paced through the living room, she noticed a low flying fly coming toward her. What was this? A new toy? She jumped at it, and tried to catch it. The fly flew through the kitchen entrance and up toward the kitchen sink, where there was a small window. On the counter beside the sink was a telephone and answering machine. The fly buzzed back and forth from the window to the sink, and then landed on the answering machine for a couple seconds, then flew back to the window.

Samantha knew what "DOWN!" meant. She knew she was not supposed to jump on the counter, but the fly buzzed against the window, or flew back and forth from the counter to the window. It was doing interesting things. She had to investigate. With tail twitching, she put her paws against the drawer handles below the telephone. She watched the fly. She could see it flying back and forth. Finally, she could contain herself no longer. With an energetic leap, she landed on the counter top.

At that exact moment the telephone rang. Samantha was startled and ducked down into the sink while the phone rang four times. Click. The answering machine kicked on. Colin's voice told the caller that he wasn't available and to please leave a message. When Samantha heard his voice, she was overjoyed. Her daddy was there.

She stepped on the machine and sniffed it. Beep. A voice came on saying, "Hey Colin, I was...," Samantha's foot hit the off button. The voice stopped. Samantha sat on the machine and looked down at the buttons and blinking light. How odd. As she sat there, the fly buzzed by her and out toward the living room. Samantha jumped off the answering machine and down to the floor. One of her hind feet pressed the on button and turned the machine back on.

Samantha decided to take a nap. She really needed to catch up on her sleep. When she awoke, she saw the fly, again. It buzzed her as she was shaking the nap from her eyes. She ran after it. The fly seemed to find great joy in making Samantha run back and forth, and jumping up and down from the counter. As she was sitting in the sink, again, swatting at the fly, the telephone rang. She looked at the phone. After four rings, Colin's voice came from the answering machine. Samantha stepped onto the answering machine and stuck one of her front paws down and around the edges. She wanted to find Colin. A female voice came on, "Hi Colin, I'm calling..." Samantha lost interest. As she stepped toward the sink, her front foot stepped on the stop button. The fly was still there. Soon, the fly flew back over the answering machine and headed away from the counter. Samantha followed, and as she jumped down, a back foot pushed the on button, turning the machine on, again.

That evening, when Colin came home from work, Samantha was waiting for him at the door. Colin greeted her, happily, as he bent down and picked her up. Her beautiful fluffy tail was gently twitching back and forth. Her eyes bright and gleaming, she began to purr, loudly and cheerfully. Colin brushed his dark graying hair out of his face, and gave her a kiss on the forehead before he set her down. He pulled his jean jacket off and hung it on the coat rack. He walked to the answering machine and pressed play. As he listened to the messages, he realized there was something wrong with the machine. It was an old machine, and he liked it, but if it wasn’t doing a proper job, it was time to replace it.

Colin stopped at the store and bought a new answering machine. It was the latest model, the X5000 answering machine. He took it home and set it up. Now he would be able to get the whole message when someone called...

The next day, Colin headed off to work. During the day, Samantha jumped on the counter to see if that pesky fly was there. As she was looking and feeling around in the curtains, the phone rang. After four rings, Colin’s voice came on. Happily, Samantha jumped on the new answering machine. When his voice stopped and a new voice came on, she lost interest, stepping on the off button, and cutting off the message as she jumped down. Later that day, she decided to check for the fly again. As she jumped up, she immediately jumped on the answering machine and her front paw triggered the on button.

Colin came home and checked his messages. He had one, but it was only a partial. Puzzled, he pulled out the instructions and re-read them. He had the machine set up as instructed.

As the weekend neared, Colin realized his new machine was faulty. For some reason, it seemed to have the same problem as his old machine. He decided to wait until Saturday to take the X5000 answering machine back to the store.

Friday night, Colin came home and sat down on the couch. He was so tired, he decided to lay there and watch TV. He unbuttoned the top button of his jeans, for comfort. He pulled a folded throw, that had been sitting with the pillows on the couch, up to his neck. His eyes closed, and soon he was napping.

The phone rang. Colin’s eyes opened. He didn’t feel like getting up, but he slowly moved to sitting position. As he raised himself from the couch, he noticed Samantha placing a foot on the answering machine.

Glenn & Stacy

2009-02-12T11:41:00.005-05:00

Judge Briller

Municipal Judge Gerald Briller strode purposefully toward the bench after quickly opening the door to chambers, the few persons in the plain room standing without comment. Judge Briller almost slapped three files down next to his gavel, sat down silently and opened the first, a grimly impatient look pulling down the corners of his mouth.

“Mr. James Curtis, speeding and reckless driving,” Briller’s voice bounced off the back walls, fluorescent light winking off his thick glasses as he glanced at the deputy District Attorney and a peace officer. A tall, heavy man eventually stood up and nodded. “How do you plead?” Briller almost barked.

Oh shit, Glenn Duey said to himself, I’m next on this.

“Your honor, I have something to tell you something first,” the tall heavy man said.

Gerald Briller’s head and glasses swung toward the man with beaming lasers of black-eyed intensity, swooping to a stop when he reached the tentative gaze of the defendant. “It’s irrelevant, how do you plead?” he snapped.

“But you’re your honor, I need to tell you something,” the man said earnestly.

Judge Briller sighed, fixed his gaze on a back corner of the room, slowly leaned back in his chair and eventually tapped his fingers together in a gently undulating teepee. He finally looked at the open file with a seemingly benign look, lightly pressing his hands together. “Go ahead, Mr. Curtis,” Judge Briller said ominously.

“Your Honor, this officer here who wrote me this ticket called me an asshole,” the tall man blurted out defensively.

Judge Briller immediately turned an open, fleetingly amused look at local peace officer Jeremy Stanson seated in the first row of court next to the jury box, tall and resplendent in a tan uniform. “Officer Stanson, did you call Mr. Curtis an asshole?” Briller asked earnestly.

Stanson easily stood up with a plain face. “Yes, your honor, I did,” he said.

Judge Briller looked at the defendant, his lips tightening. “Now that it’s been firmly established you are in fact an asshole, Mr. Curtis, how do you plead?” Briller’s voice ricocheted around the room, making Mr. Curtis blanch.

After shuffling his feet and staring at his hands the defendant suddenly squared his shoulders and looked right at the judge. “Guilty,” he said.

Briller looked at him. “You could have just mailed in the ticket and the fine without wasting my time with this, you know,” he said forcefully.

Mr. Curtis swallowed. “I know, your Honor, but I figured the truth was really all I had right then,” he said, looking at his hands again.

Judge Briller stared at the defendant, his fingers gently tapping again. “It’s always a valuable commodity, Mr. Curtis, this is very true,” he said loudly. “You can perform 30 hours of public service at the food bank instead of picking up freeway trash,” he said, writing quickly in the file. “$350 fine, 1 point, plus court costs,” he said efficiently, continuing to write. Finished, he folded his hands together and flashed the defendant with another laser flash of deep black eyes and winking glasses. “I don’t expect to see you in this courtroom again, Mr. Curtis, do you understand?” he said, syllables sharply bouncing off the walls again.

Mr. Curtis swallowed. “Yes, your honor,” he said quietly.

Judge Briller closed the file and grimly opened the next, the tall man walking away. Looking at the second file the same distaste pulled at his mouth again, his fingers tap-tap-tapping away as he unhurriedly read the contents. “Mr. Glenn Duey, reckless driving, public endangerment, second citation,” he said, sighing deeply and looking steadily at Glenn, who had the sense to stand up automatically. “On a bicycle,” Judge Miller said lightly, eyes probing Glenn’s set face, gaze fixed on the local municipal seal.

“Yes sir,” Glenn said plainly.

Judge Briller glanced at the open file and then looked steadily at Glenn. “Explain this, Mr. Duey, such as it is, and don’t waste my time doing it,” he said in a crisp way that got Glenn to look at him in the face.

Glenn sighed and clasped his hands. “Your honor, I like drafting with the county busses on Wenlan Avenue, I don’t see the harm in it,” Glenn said quietly, looking the judge in the eye. “Drafting is riding in the air swirl behind a bus, it pulls you along,” he said. After Judge Briller said nothing Glen swallowed. “It’s fun,” he said quietly, a small edge of defiance in his voice.

Judge Briller stared at Glenn for around five seconds, a long time in the quiet room. “Officer Stanson?” he asked quietly, looking at the tall peace officer again.

Jeremy stood up. “Your honor, I’ve gunned Mr. Duey repeatedly behind county busses at 25-35 miles per hour,” he said wearily. “He’s good enough to do it, but at over 20 miles per hour his helmet is useless, it’s just not rated for those speeds, and he’s wearing zero productive clothing.” Jeremy shook his head. “He’s distracting the bus drivers and making them nervous, often they have 30 people aboard. I cited Mr. Duey 170 days ago, then three weeks ago, he keeps doing it,” he said.

Judge Miller looked at Glenn. “Explain this again, Mr. Duey,” he said, irritated.

Glenn’s eyesight had drifted to the municipal seal again, face and shoulders sliding into an old set. “I know what I’m doing, sir, I can take the risk.”

Judge Briller started tapping his fingers again. “What branch of the service where you in?” he asked suddenly.

Glenn looked at him. “United States Marine Corps, sir,” he said.

“Rank at discharge?”

“E-3, sir.”

“How long at your current address?”

“Seven years, sir.”

Judge Briller stared at Glenn, who looked at his hands. He glanced at Jeremy, then leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping away. “You know what you’re doing,” he said nodding, an airy happiness lacing stern mocking in his tone. “Did you know this repeated foolishness on a bicycle would get you in front of me?” he demanded.

“No, sir.”

“Aha,” said Judge Briller, the loud word classically popping up in tone like a abrupt hill on a rollercoaster. “You know, Mr. Duey, life is funny, I have to deal with you and all of a sudden that Sydney Pollack scene from Tootsie just busts into my head, that scene where he sees Dustin Hoffman in drag for the first time and says ‘Michael, I begged you to get into therapy!’” Judge Briller nodded. “Remember that?”

“Yes, sir,” Glenn said quietly.

“Funny how some thoughts can just jump into your head at times, Officer Stanson, isn’t that so?” Judge Briller said.

“Yes, your honor,” Jeremy replied. Judge Briller looked at him and tilted his head with an acquaintance’s subtlety: see me later. Jeremy barely nodded, slowly closing and opening his eyes.

“Mr. Glenn Duey,” Judge Briller said with an ominous calm. Suddenly he leaned forward and pinned Glenn to his lonely stance with a threatening extended forefinger. “If I see you again about this I’m throwing your ass in jail!” he yelled, making Jeremy wince and getting Glenn to look at his feet. “60 hours food bank community service, $500 fine, court costs, two points,” he spit out, writing in the file. “I see that’s 3 points in 8 months, Mr. Duey,” he said sternly. “One more and your driver’s license is suspended. Still know what you’re doing?”

“No, sir,” Glenn said quietly.

Judge Briller nodded, looking at Glenn with a set face. “That’s all, Mr. Duey, don’t make me deal with you again. You understand?” he said. Glenn nodded. “Mr. Theodore Ledder, drunk driving,” he said sighing, opening the other file as the corners of his mouth turned down inevitably again. Jeremy turned on a heel and walked steadily toward the courtroom exit.

* * * * *

“I’m sorry, Glenn,” Jeremy said, catching up to him in the parking lot.

“Fuck you!” Glenn hissed, furious, his jaw set as he kept his eyes forward.

“Come on, Glenn,” Jeremy said, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Glenn smacked it away and stopped. “Two points, $500, you son of a bitch!” Glenn said. “Being friends with a cop is supposed to help with the law, god damn it, Jeremy!”

Jeremy looked apologetic. “Judge Briller was in a bad mood today, a little bad luck there,” he said.

“A little!” Glenn spat out. He looked at Jeremy’s polished brass and gold on his tan uniform. “Fuck you,” he said forcefully, walking toward his car again.

“Aw please, Glenn,” Jeremy said, standing still. “We still on for Thursday night?”

“Fuck…you!” Glenn shouted, keying his car door open.

Jeremy stood calmly still, watching Glenn squeal and chirp his car out of the parking lot. “Ain’t much respect for the law these days,” Jeremy said easily, turning back toward to courtroom.

Small Town Boys - Chapter 52

2009-02-07T19:09:00.002-05:00

Yes, friends, at long last the adventures of Donny and the gang are back, and I plan to publish more in the coming weeks. If you've forgotten where things stood, check out the chapter guide to refresh your memory. - MB

Chapter Guide

Gone

It took a lot of phone calls to the airlines and the authorities in several states, but by Thursday they were able to piece together what had happened.

Tyler had arrived in Chicago and was met by an airline agent who was assigned to escort him to the departure gate for the flight to Traverse City. There was a long layover and the airport was having one of the busiest days of the year, so once the agent got Tyler checked in, he was left in the care of the agent at the gate who was already busy with taking care of the passengers who were already there. By the time the plane was ready for boarding, Tyler had vanished. The plane was held for a few minutes while the P.A. system paged him again and again, then the flight left.

In the meantime, a skinny blond kid in a green ski parka with a small blue American Tourister carryon bought an open-return ticket for a flight to Seattle on another airline. The ticket, paid for in cash, was sold to a Mike Lankowski who gave his address as Hinsdale, Illinois, and since he was under sixteen, he was not required to show any form of identification. Mike charmed the youthful male ticket agent out of a free upgrade to first class. The next morning the open-return ticket was exchanged for a flight to LAX. By the time police and the airlines had been notified, he had vanished. The ticket agent in Chicago was put on suspension pending a review.

Mike stopped by the house on his way back from Palm Springs Thursday afternoon after Donny called him and told him what had happened. He spent a over an hour on the phone with Tyler’s father, trying to assure him that they would do everything they could to find him and trying to talk him out of flying out there to look for him. “Clark, I have a lot of people who have a lot of connections with the authorities out here, and I’ll make sure that the word gets out. The only thing you can do out here is sit and worry, and you can do that in Maple City and save yourself a thousand bucks.”

“Who do you know with a lot of connections with the authorities?” Danny asked Mike after he hung up.

He smirked and shook his head. “What did you want me to say, that the kid’s disappeared and is probably hustling in West Hollywood?” He looked at his watch. “I gotta get going; Jason’s meeting me in an hour. We might have something on this sci-fi flick.”

After Mike left, Donny said, “I might know someone.”

An hour later Marc joined them on the patio. He was still in his work clothes, except he had taken off his tie. Donny handed him the pictures that Tyler had sent him with the Christmas card. “Cute kid,” Marc said. “He’ll probably do all right in terms of attracting guys who are into chicken.”

“What’s ‘chicken’?” Danny said.

“Underage guys. Twinks. Old enough to screw but under eighteen. Some guys are into it,” Marc said with a scowl. “Problem is, a lot of the older guys are into rough stuff, too, and it goes without saying there’s a lot of drugs going on, too. Fuckin’ scary.”

“So,” said Donny hesitantly, “do you know…?”

Marc grimaced. “Do I know my way around this trade?”

“Well, yeah.”

“I still get older guys looking for one more trick with young Rusty,” said Marc, looking at Danny as if he was expecting a negative reaction. But Danny just nodded. He picked up the pictures. “Can I hang on to these?”

“Sure. What are you gonna do?”

“Check out the usual hangouts.”

“You want us to go with you?” Danny offered.

“Nah. I’m better off doing this by myself, and if I meet him, he won’t know me.” Marc grinned a little. “Besides, neither of you look like hustlers. No offense.”

“None taken, I think,” replied Danny.

“When are you gonna look for him?”

Marc glanced at his watch. “I’ll go by the bars on the way home. If he’s as enterprising as you say he is, he might be there. Or he might be hanging out on Venice Beach for all I know. Don’t get your hopes up; I doubt we’ll find this kid right away. Chances are he’s gonna hook up with some sugar daddy with a lot of money and a passion for screwing kids. Once he gets tired of him he’ll toss his ass out and get the next number off the bus from Ohio or wherever. That’s probably how Jeremy got his start. Don’t expect me to find him tonight, ‘cause even if the people I know have seen him, they know I’m out of the business and they’re not gonna confide in me. It’s a tight community.” He got up, then looked at Donny solemnly. “You got a minute?”

Danny got the hint. “Good to see you, Marc, and thanks for the help. I need to hit the books.” They shook hands and Danny went into the house.

“What’s going on?” asked Donny.

Marc bit his lip and looked away. “Look, I’ll do everything I can to help you find this kid, but I sure hope that every time you think of a teenage hustler I’m not the first person who comes to mind.”

“Oh, shit. No, Marc. I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought….”

“Yeah, I know. You thought I might know some people. The fact is, Donny, I’d really rather forget about that part of my life.”

“I’m really sorry,” Donny said, feeling the guilt running through him like a knife.

Marc shrugged. “It’s okay, Donny.” He looked back at him. “Speaking of teenage hustlers…”

“What?”

“Barry Kessler,” Marc said simply.

“Barry Kessler…your teacher? What about him? Did he get busted again?”

Marc smiled wanly. “No. He’s teaching in a school outside Simi Valley.”

“Jesus,” replied Donny. “They hired him after all the…?”

“He was acquitted, remember? Besides, he’s old friends with the headmaster there. They take care of each other. And he’s not coaching football.”

“How’d you know all this?”

“He called me up over Thanksgiving. We had coffee. We talked. We….” Marc’s voice trailed off.

“So…”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you hated him.”

Marc shook his head. “I was pissed at him for dragging me into that lawsuit, and I told him that. But…”

“So is that what you were gonna tell me back after Thanksgiving?”

Marc looked at him quizzically.

“The morning we came back to work,” Donny reminded him. “Having coffee. ‘Look, um….’ You don’t remember.”

Marc smiled a little. “There was so much going on with Starship Enterprise and year-end. But… yeah, I wanted to tell you that Barry and I were seeing each other.”

“Is it serious?”

“You mean are we gonna live together?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know. I’m… He’s got a lot of things to deal with. Beth is bleeding him dry over alimony, he’s barely making thirty-five grand a year and having to live here isn’t cheap. And he’s a little touchy about moving in with a guy.”

“Yeah, I can understand that,” replied Donny drily.

“I just wanted you to know, y’know, so… you and me….”

“Yeah, I get it,” said Donny quickly.

Marc nodded and then said, “Well, if I’m gonna find this kid I guess I’d better be going.”

They walked out to the driveway. “By the way,” Marc said as he got in his car, “what should I do if I spot him?”

Donny stopped in his tracks. “I don’t know; I never thought of that.”

“I’ll play it by ear,” Marc said as he started the engine. “I’ll call you when I get home.”

Donny watched until the car was out of sight down the street. He stood at the end of the driveway staring after it, feeling a sudden sense of loss, regret, and not a little twinge of envy for Barry Kessler.

Marc called as Donny was getting ready for bed. “Nothing,” he said simply. “No sign of him. And I asked at all the usual places.” He chuckled slightly. “I think my bartender buddies must think I’m hot for teenagers now, but screw ‘em.”

“Okay,” replied Donny. “Look,” he began, hesitated, then plunged ahead. “I think it’s great about you and Barry. I mean, as long as you’re happy…”

Marc sighed a little. “Yeah. I shoulda told you earlier, I guess.”

“Nah, that’s okay…you don’t…”

“Well, yeah, I know…but you and me…we were….”

“No problem, Marc. It was … fun.”

“This isn’t gonna get uncomfortable at work, is it?” Marc asked tentatively.

“Huh? Oh hell no,” Donny replied quickly. “We’re good.”

“Okay. Um… I’ll do what I can to help you find Tyler. But L.A.’s a big city. How old did you say he is?”

“Fifteen, sixteen.”

“Damn,” said Marc sadly. “Things must really be rough for him at home.”

Danny was back in the guest room, lying in bed reading out of a black notebook when Donny tapped on the door. Danny shut the book, and Donny told him what Marc had said. He also told him about Barry.

Danny put his hands behind his head and leaned back. “Damn, twin, it’s been an interesting couple of days.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you ready for some more news?”

Donny raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been drafted by the Dodgers?”

“Close. I’ve got orders.”

“Where to?”

“Can’t say. And I mean that literally. I don’t know. All I know is that I report to the base tomorrow night with all my stuff and that it will be for an indeterminate length.”

“Any guesses?”

“Even if I had an idea, I couldn’t tell you.”

“Yeah, I got that. So, you want me to keep an eye on the Jeep?”

Danny shrugged. “Maybe I should just sell it. I didn’t need it at the last place, and I can’t see any point in paying insurance and shit on something that’s just taking up space in your garage. Why don’t we just go down to your Chevy dealer and see what they’ll give me for it?”

“I don’t mind keeping it for you. But…” He shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”

His brother looked at him with a knowing smile. “Yeah, I know. Cutting the last tie. But we kinda knew this was gonna happen.”

They looked at each other in silence for a moment, then Danny got up and hugged his brother. They held each other silently, neither of them wanting to let go until finally Donny heard Danny gasp back a sob.

“C’mon,” Donny whispered, and without a word they went into the master bedroom and just as they had done when they were five years old and a thunderstorm had roared outside their bedroom window, they held each other until they both finished crying and fell asleep on top of the covers.

Promptly at six the next evening an Air Force sedan pulled up to the curb in front of the house and a young corporal trotted up to the door and rang the bell. Danny smartly returned the salute and handed his bags to the soldier. He turned to Donny.

“Well, twin, this is it,” he said, his bright eyes peering out from under the brim of his hat. “I’ll be in touch with you as soon as I’m allowed, but I wouldn’t count on hearing from me for a while.”

“Right,” Donny said. They shook hands quickly, and Danny followed the corporal down to the car. He didn’t look back as he got in the back seat, and the car drove off down the street. Donny went in the house and closed the door.

He was used to the silence of the house, but as he went into the guest room to close the blinds and turn off the light, he could almost feel it. Danny, in his military fashion, had left the room neat and tidy. The bed was made with clean sheets, the towels folded with military precision, even the dresser top dusted. The only remnant of his visit was a single crumpled piece of paper in the waste basket. It was a Post-It note with firm handwriting on it: HOLLENBECK D.E. 1LT. He went around the rest of the house collecting the trash and took the bag out to the garage.

The empty space where the Jeep used to be parked made a noticeable hole in the garage, even though it meant that Donny could now get into the Mustang without having to back the Tahoe out first. The dealer had offered Danny a low-ball price and it took a little firm wrangling to him to come around, but after an hour they left the dealership with a check. Danny didn’t look back at the Jeep parked off to the side of the lot, and promptly deposited the check into his account. He had taken one last swim, ate a sandwich, packed quickly, dressed in his Class A uniform, and then he and Donny had sat on the patio, waiting for his ride. They said little out loud, but they didn’t need to.

There was nothing on TV, and he was thinking about going out to Blockbuster to rent a movie when the phone rang. It was Mike.

“Hey, how are you?” Donny said.

“Okay. Just wanted you to know that I talked to Clark again. Still no word on Tyler, I guess.”

“Nope.”

“Yeah,” said Mike, sounding somber. “I guess the cops put out his picture, but….” He let the words drift away, then changed the subject. “Hey, Jason got me a guest star part on Law & Order.”

“Hey, great,” Donny replied. “When do you start?”

“Leave for New York tomorrow afternoon. Not exactly a starring role in a feature, but it’s work and if they like me, it might turn out to be a permanent gig. They’re talking about doing some spinoffs.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Hey, you go with what you got, right? Your thing’s still in pre-production, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Yeah, so…anyway, what’re you guys doing?”

“Nothing. Danny’s been called up for duty. Left about an hour ago. Thinking about renting a movie.”

“Want some company?”

Donny knew what Mike meant, and in spite of himself, he grinned a little and felt his crotch swell a little.

“Sure.”

Mike spent the night, falling asleep on his left side, his back to Donny like he always had, his gentle snoring a reminder to Donny of the first night they had spent together in the same bed in the same house but what seemed like a lifetime ago. The alarm woke them and Mike left while it was still dark, giving Donny a quick coffee-flavored kiss before going back to his own place to get ready for his trip east. “Happy New Year,” he said softly. “Got any plans?”

“Nah,” replied Donny. “Maybe hang out with Eric and Greg. Seen one, seen ‘em all. You gonna do the Times Square thing?”

“Maybe. If I do, I’ll wave to you on the TV.”

Donny chuckled. “I’ll be sure to look for it.”

“See ya.” Mike waved, strode out to his car, and was gone. Donny closed the door, and went back to make the bed. It still had the faint scent of Mike’s cologne, and it lingered as he put the pillows in place and drew the comforter up.

No Hope

2009-01-23T22:17:00.003-05:00

Sorry, I haven't written much in the past year hear at TPP, with the economy, I've been focused on working a lot and trying to get the local blogosphere in Florida going. I've been writing quite a bit since the election, though, so I should have more stuff in the very near future. First up is a story with a bit of a political bent. I had the idea before the inauguration, but for obvious reasons, I didn't want to publish it beforehand. On top of that, the real-world experience added some details to the story that wouldn't have been there otherwise.

"Honey do you know where my red tie is?"
"No, I haven't seen it, why?"
"I've got to pack it. The Congressman said we might be able to get tickets to the Inaugural Ball."
"Wow, the big one?"
"Yes, so I want to pack my best clothes."
"Honey, if we're going to the Inaugural Ball, you're renting a tux."
"Seriously?"
"Of course, have you ever seen one of these things on TV? Everybody is dressed to the max. Your blue blazer and red tie aren't going to cut it."
"Oh."
"Seriously, it's almost like you haven't even been paying attention to anything all this time you've been working in politics."
"What?"
"Never mind."
* * *
"Ricky. Ricky! Dammit, boy! Don't you ever take them damn headphones off?
"It's like you don't even live in the world outside those things. You know there are real people you could talk to, you don't have to spend all your time listening to strangers say dirty things about ladies and shooting people.
"Are you even listening to me? Can you even hear me?
"You know when we get on the plane they're going to make you take them off. I don't understand why, if the damn plane will break down because you're listening to your damn headphones, that doesn't make me feel very comfortable about flying, does it? How crappy are these planes, anyway?
"What would your gramma think about that crap you are listening to? Really? You would break her heart.
"I think that after we see Obama, we'll go see the Lincoln statue. I also want to stand on the spot that Dr. King stood on when he dreamed that dream. I wouldn't mind getting over to the JFK memorial, too. Do they have a JFK memorial? If not, they should. He was a great man. He wasn't no Dr. King or anything like the boys from Illinois, but he was still great.
"You ain't even listening, are you?
"Well, you better believe you're not going to have them damn things on when the president is talking. I'll take them off my damn self if you even try. This is important, son, and what kind of momma would I be if I let you miss it. This is the first black president. The first. If only your gramma lived long enough to see this. It would've almost made up for all the crap she went through back in the days.
"Did you hear a word I said? Well, take them off, it's time to get on the damn plane."
* * *
"Will you be checking in, sir?"
"Of course I will, boy, what the hell else would I be doing in this Godforsaken place? I'll have to be coming up here a lot now, but that won't make me liked the damned place!"
"Sir, is there a problem with the hotel?"
"What? No. No, boy, not the damned hotel. The damned city! I hate this swamp!"
"Are you here for the inauguration?"
"Of course I am. Wouldn't come to this hellhole if I didn't have to! Now I gotta be here for most of the next two years -- four if they actually vote me back in."
"Vote you in? You work in Congress sir?"
"Hell, yes! It wasn't my idea but the chairwoman said she needed me to do it after that damned pedophile got the boot last time. Can you believe what kind of sick people run for office in this country?"
"No, sir, I can't. Where are you coming from?"
"Boy I am now the junior House member from the great state of...."
"Congressman! Congressman. Welcome to our fine establishment!"
"And who the hell are you?"
"I am the manager of the hotel, sir."
"About time I got some VIP treatment around here! I mean this boy was fine, but I would think a member of the United States Congress could get a little bit more personalized service!"
"Of course, sir. Bobby, call the bellhop -- I think Marcus is working tonight -- and send him to get the Congressman's bags. Sir, we have your reservation set and the house tailor will be in your room about 9 a.m. to measure you for your tuxedo."
"Nine in the morning, Washington already start this early, son?"
"Is that a little bit to early for you?"
"Hell, yes! Especially after how much I plan on...embibing...at Dick Lugar's party tonight."
"Yes, sir, I'll change the appointment to noon, you can eat your lunch while the tailor takes care of you."
"That sounds a little better. Now, how's about we get a scotch. What's the house brand in your little bar over there."
* * *
"Hey, Sarah, I'm about to head out to the big concert. I wanted to call you and say hi before I headed out.
"Yeah, I don't know who all will be there, but I keep hearing different names thrown out -- the Boss, Jay-Z, Kanye, Puffy, Sheryl Crow.
"I don't really like her, either. I liked that one song, the one where was sitting on the beach in the video.
"Yeah, that's the one. Her other stuff doesn't do too much for me, though. I do like the Boss, though. There was that one time that he told Reagan that he couldn't use 'Born in the USA', but then he allowed 2 Live Crew to use it. That was hilarious.
"What?
"Oh, I'm in the purple section. It's pretty close to the front.
"I didn't get it myself. I probably couldn't get a ticket at all. I got it from one of the bloggers I met in Denver.
"Yeah, at the Big Tent. Did I tell you about all the free beer?
"That was a crazy time. Fun, but there was just too much going on.
"Yeah, I got both the regular digital camera and the flip video. I should be able to get some really good stuff for the blog. I'll also be livetweeting the whole thing. Although they've been saying that signals might not get through since so many people will be down there with mobile phones.
"Hopefully. I'll blog about it after I get back to the hotel room, but I'd love to get some live posts up from the site.
"Yeah, I hear it'll be under 30 degrees. I don't know how I'm going to type with gloves on.
"I think it's Robert Gates. Kind of strange that the only person they'd leave out in case of a terrorist attack is a Republican. If something like that happens, we're fucked.
"No, there's no reason to worry about anything like that. Didn't you see Cloverfield? I have a camera, of course I'll survive, the camera operator always makes it.
"Okay, maybe that's true.
"Yeah, well Blair Witch sucked, so I wouldn't even count that. Too much hype that didn't deliver. Now Snakes on a Plane, that delivered. And I hear Samuel L. Jackson will be here. I'd love to see him give Obama a terrorist fist bump. That would be the shit!
"Okay, gotta go get ready.
"I love you, too.
"Bye."
* * *
"Can you believe this shit?"
"Nope. Fuckin' McCain."
"Damned Rino. I can't believe he beat Huckabee. Huckabee wouldn't have lost to no brother."
"True, true."
"Hell, if we didn't live here, I wouldn't be nowhere near D.C. for that boy's inauguration."
"Me neither. I'd love to have been there for McCain's, though."
"What the hell for?"
"Palin, dude, Palin! She would've been the first VPILF!"
"True. Hand me another beer."
"You want Bud or Busch."
"Better give me a Busch, you know, for old times sake."
"Hey we'll get another Bush in four years, if we're still speaking English then instead of Arabic."
"No way, in four years it'll be Palin. Count on it."
"Yeah, could be. Now we're stuck with that prick for four years and there's nothing we can do about it."
"You and I both know there's something we could do about it."
"Yeah, I wish."
"Crap, we better pick up a lot of beers for tomorrow, during the inauguration."
"Yeah, we can do a drinking game -- every time someone says 'hope' or 'change' we have to drink."
"Ha! We'll both die from liver poisoning."
"Yeah, I'm so tired of hearing those damned words. They don't even mean nothing."
"Stupid fucking Democrats."
"Yeah."
* * *
"Baby, that was Jamie, the Congressman's personal assistant."
"Yeah, did we get them?"
"Yep, we'll be spending the evening tonight with President Obama and thousands of his closest friends."
"Awesome! You really think that many people will be there?"
"No idea. Probably. We waited in the line for several hours. I don't even think some of those people in line behind will make it in before the swearing in. That'll suck."
"I can't wait to see Hillary. She kind of got gipped in the election."
"Are you serious? She got gipped because more people voted for Obama in the election?"
"He only won because she's a woman."
"Again, are you kidding me? He's black. Who faces more discrimination than black people?"
"Obviously, you've never been a woman before."
"Well, there was that one time in college. But I was young and needed the money."
"Oooh, you have any pictures?"
"No, I was just kidding. That's gross!"
"I know. A woman can dream, though, can't she."
"Not if she's dreaming about that. Hey, who are those kids? They sound like crap. What the hell are they singing?"
* * *
"Ricky, put those damn headphones away. All kinds of people are coming on the stage and you should pay attention.
"I said put them away or I'm going to take them away.
"That's better. Every couple of minutes somebody knew comes on and you should pay attention, these are important people. These are the people who run our country, for better or for worse.
"Whoever that is, you better stop pushing! My eleven-year-old son is here and I don't want him to get hurt.
"I'm not pushing, people are pushing me!"
"I felt you pushing me, so don't give me no crap."
"Save the fighting for the afternoon, people, this is Barack's day."
"I ain't fighting nobody, I just don't want to be crushed out here. It's cold enough as it is, don't need to be crushed, too.
"Who is that on stage?"
"Howard Dean. He ran for president four years ago. Everybody thought he was going to win, but did that whole 'byeaah!' scream thing and he lost."
"He was also chairman of the Democrats since then."
"And who is that?"
"Al Pacino!"
"That's not Pacino, you moron, that's Dustin Hoffman."
"Ricky, don't listen to these people, let's just keep watching the screen and hope somebody doesn't crush us."
* * *
"Where'd you say you were from, boy?"
"Nebraska."
"I didn't know there were no damned Democrats from...what is it...the Cornhusker state?"
"Yes, that's us. We have a few Dems in office."
"What, exactly, the hell is a Cornhusker?"
"It doesn't really matter."
"You aren't one of those 'liberals' are you?"
"Sir, I really don't think...."
"Is that Newt? I've always wanted to meet Newt. I know he's a Republican, but he really has some good ideas."
"Yes, I think...."
"I'm going to go over and talk to him. I hope the 'show' doesn't start before I can talk to him. I really like what that boy has to say."
"Okay, sir...."
"Hey, Newt! It's me, Congressman...."
"Prick."
* * *
"Hey, Sarah. Just wanted to leave you a quick message. Apparently Aretha's about to sing the anthem or something.
"This whole thing was kind of a clusterfuck! The lines were backed up for miles, even in the purple section, which was supposed to be a VIP section.
"Anyway, the section was supposed to be reserved, but apparently the whole thing fell apart and the cops started letting anyone in. I think some of the people with tickets couldn't even get in. That's crazy. People came from hundreds, thousands, of miles and couldn't get in. I'd be pissed.
"Some of them were even calling it the 'Purple Tunnel of Doom'. We had to go in this tunnel under the street to get in. It'd be the exact kind of place you wouldn't want to be in a zombie apocalypse, especially if it's the fast zombies. Either way this whole thing was poorly planned. A lot of people are going to be very angry. What's happening on stage is fine, but getting in sucked and it looks like people are littering all over the mall and getting out of here will be even worse. I imagine a lot of bloggers are going to write some bad things about the way this thing was run.
"Oooh! I gotta go, Aretha's coming on. What the hell kind of hat is she wearing? Oh well, she's still a goddess! Love you, talk to you later."
* * *
"I can't believe he's walking out with that Nancy Pelosi bitch."
"Yeah, she really is a communist sympathizer and I'll bet she hates black people anyway. Most Democrats do, despite what they say. Byrd was in the Klan."
"Hypocrite. Plus, they all love welfare and affirmative action, which just keep black people down."
"Makes them lazy and turns them into...."
"What the hell happened to the picture? Hit the remote, change the channel."
"No, look, when I flip over to ESPN, everything's okay. It must've been that channel."
"Turn it up, what're they saying? They cut away from the game."
"Something about the inauguration. Wait, let me listen."
"Did they just say what I thought they said?"
"I think so."
"Washington, D.C. is gone? The whole thing?"
"Wow, is that a mushroom cloud?"
"Hey, you know what that means?"
"Yeah, we dodged a bullet. Gates is president."
"Yeah, now maybe he can do something about those damned terrorists."
"Good. Hey, get me another beer."
"Sure, I need one, too."

Thomas and Tux

2009-01-02T17:36:00.003-05:00

Thomas was exhausted. He'd had a rough day at the garage, working on other people's cars. The boss had yelled at him, customers argued with him, and he had crushed his thumb between an axle and his wrench. Through the evening rain, he drove up his drive to the garage, then remembered he still hadn't gotten around to fixing the garage door, and his umbrella was in the house.

Thomas parked his car, got out, and locked it. The rain seemed to come down harder and faster as he made his way to the front door. His bluejeans and sweatshirt were already soaked, so he decided not to run and risk slipping and falling on his butt. As he walked, he thought he heard a noise. He looked around his yard. As he scanned, he saw a lump that hadn't been there that morning. He wearily walked over to see what it was. Little yellow eyes looked up at him.

"What the hell?"

It looked like a cat. Warily, Thomas bent down to slowly picked up the sodden furball, and realized it was a shivering kitten. He didn't like cats. He had never had one and didn't intend to start now, but he would show kindness to a poor feline creature, this once.

Thomas took the shivering kitten into his house. He found a towel, and quickly, gently dried the little animal. He noticed the black and white patterns on the kitten's fur made it look like it was wearing a tuxedo. Once the kitten was as dry as he could get it, he bundled it in a clean, dry towel. He cleared a spot, and placed the kitten on his cluttered couch. He went to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. He looked through the cabinets for the tins of tuna he hoarded there. He pulled one out and opened it. He put a small amount onto a saucer and took it in to the kitten. The kitten had stopped shivering. It sniffed the tuna offering. It started licking the tuna. Thomas set the saucer next to the kitten.

He went back to the kitchen and pulled a butter knife from the dish drainer, and the Miracle Whip and bread from the refrigerator. He made two tuna sandwiches. He put the Miracle Whip, bread, and tuna into the refrigerator, and the knife into the sink. He poured a cup of coffee. He turned off the coffee pot and poured the rest of the coffee into a thermos. He brought his meal into the living room and sat down in his easychair recliner. He turned on the television for background noise. He applied himself to his food.

While Thomas ate, he thought about what to do for a catbox. He remembered he had some kitty litter in the garage. He kept it there to cover oil spills. He realized he had a small cardboard box he could cut and lower the sides on. It would make a decent litter box, not that he was planning on keeping the cat. He didn't like them, after all.

After fixing the litterbox and showing the kitten where it was, he set down a small amount of tuna and a small bowl of water in the kitchen. He left the kitten in the kitchen, eating tuna. Thomas realized how tired he was. He sat back down in his easychair and reclined to watch television. His eyelids drooped. Sleep washed over him.

Two hours later, he awoke. He realized he'd taken a much needed nap. As he started to bring the leg support down, he realized there was a small furball curled up in his lap, sleeping. Slight snoring noise came from the warm soft ball of fluff. His hand, with a mind of its own, reached out and passed over the soft fur. For some reason, he couldn't move himself, for fear of upsetting the sleeping kitten. He was trapped in the chair. As he sat there, listening and watching the television, he slowly drifted back to sleep.

Thomas woke up at his normal morning time. As he opened his eyes, he remembered the past night. He turned off the television. He noticed the kitten was no longer on his lap. He got up and stretched. He looked around for the kitten. It was sleeping on the couch, snuggled on the towel. He went into the kitchen and pulled the remaining tuna out of the refrigerator. He scooped the tuna from the tin into the kitten's saucer. He refilled the water bowl, and rinsed out the tuna tin. He placed the tin into the recycle bin. The kitten woke and came into the kitchen. It lapped some water.

Thomas needed to get to work, so he hurried through his morning shower. He ran a hand through his short black hair, to comb it. He grabbed his work clothes, of bluejeans and sweatshirt, and started putting them on. The kitten sat on the bed and watched him dress. When he sat down, next to the kitten, to put on socks and shoes, he patted it on the head.

"I guess I need to figure out what to call you, while you are here," he said to the kitten.

A thorough inspection showed it was a female kitten. "I don't care. I'm going to call you, Tuxedo. How about Tux, for short?"

The kitten yawned, pink tongue curling in a small mouth of teeth.

"Tux, it is!" declared Thomas.

He finished tying his sneakers and got up. He turned to the kitten and patted it on the head. "I've gotta go to work, Tux. I'll be back in a few hours."

Through out the rest of the week, Thomas picked up more cat litter and some cat food. He took care of the kitten's needs, and the kitten showered love and affection on him. As he sat in the recliner at night, with the kitten on the lap, he wondered why he had never liked cats before.

When the weekend arrived, Thomas took his usual Saturday walk down the sidewalk near his house. He noticed a flyer taped to a lightpost. It was a picture of Tux. He tore it down and took it home. Flattening it on the kitchen table, he read the large, bold, black words, "Lost Kitten. Reward offered. No questions asked." There was a telephone number at the bottom.

Thomas sighed. He decided he would wait until the weekend was over, before calling the number. Tux jumped on the table and batted the flyer to the floor. Thomas found a scrap of paper he could roll into a ball. He threw it to the floor and picked up the flyer. Tux chased the makeshift ball and batted it around. When Thomas sat down in his chair, Tux jumped up and took her place on his lap.

That evening, Thomas went to bed, but couldn't sleep. Instead, he worried and fretted about losing the kitten. Several minutes later, Tux jumped up on the bed and walked to the area at the left of his pillow. She curled in a ball and lay there. Thomas lifted a hand to stroke her soft fur. She opened an eye and peeked at him. Opening her mouth, she yawned a huge yawn. She curled tighter, and purring, fell asleep. Soon after, Thomas did, too.

Sunday, Thomas played with Tux, while cleaning house. He dusted and Tux chased the duster. He washed dishes and Tux played with his shoestrings. He made the bed and Tux jumped in the covers. When the vacuum came out, Tux ran for the bedroom. The noise bothered her ears. As soon as the noise stopped, she came bounding out to see what new fun Thomas had in mind.

Finally, Sunday evening, Thomas decided he had better call the people the kitten belonged to. He picked up the phone and dialed the number from the flyer. He pet Tux, who was lapsitting, then started tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair, as he waited for someone to pick up. A young female voice answered, "hello?"

Thomas said, "hi, may I speak to your mom or dad?"

"Sure," responded the young voice, a piercing yell came through the phone, "Daddy!"

After a few minutes, during which Thomas heard the girl tell someone she didn't know who was on the phone, a loud male voice said, "hello, who is this?"

Gulping a restoritiive lungful of air, Thomas said, "listen. I found your cat. Give me $2000., no questions asked, and I'll bring it over."

The male voice, outraged and furious, said, "forget it, buddy! Keep the cat! There are more where that one came from. In fact, we already got another."

Thomas winced from the loud bang, that rung his eardrum, as the phone slammed down.

Sighing in pleasure, as he hung up his phone, Thomas pet Tux, and said, "well, Tux, sweetie, you get to stay!"

Camping.

2008-12-16T23:28:00.000-05:00

Linda looked at the wall clock and realized she needed to get home. It was already 8:00 pm. She stuffed the rest of the application forms into her briefcase. She grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder. With her full, blue skirt swirling from movement, she turned off the Human Resources' office lights and locked the door. Driving quickly, she arrived home within 15 minutes.

"Ah, you've been released. We thought we'd have to come and break you loose," her husband, Brad, remarked as she walked into the living room.

"God, it's been a hectic day! At least it's the start of the weekend."

"Mom, you're home!" Danny and Tim came running into the room with loud whoops of joy. Nine and ten years old, they were brimming with energy.

"I made supper!" said Tim. "We've already eaten. I wrapped yours for in the SUV."

Linda looked at Brad. "Are we going somewhere? Is that the surprise you called me about, earlier?"

Brad stuck his hands in his jeans pockets and winked at the boys, "Yeah, baby," he responded, "I've packed everything. Even your stuff, we're going camping. All we need to do is get in the car and go!"

With a stricken face, Linda watched the boys jump up and down with excitement, "shit, I hate camping!" she moaned.

"Come on baby, you know we promised the kids we'd go camping this summer."

Sighing with defeat, Linda said, "I'll just change and be down shortly."

Frowning, shoulders slumped, she walked up the stairs. Kicking off her heals and pulling off her blouse and skirt, she put on a T-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. Picking up a large overnight case from the closet, She threw in a pair of hiking boots, a couple pair of panties, an extra bra, an extra T-shirt, a pair of shorts, and a light jacket. Stopping at the bathroom, she grabbed her toothbrush, toothpaste, sunscreen, and a canister of bug-b-off. She grabbed the first-aid kit and threw it in for good measure (one never knew what they would need for an emergency).

Pausing for a minute, she wondered where the large box of tampons were. She noticed that the old makeup, she quit wearing months ago, was missing, too. There had been a bag of it sitting on the counter. Rolling her eyes, she realized her husband had packed tampons and makeup. She wasn't on her period and if there ever were a place makeup was not needed, it was camping!

She went downstairs, and from the hallway closet, she pulled out a blow up air mattress, a dingy heavy quilt, and a flashlight. These she put in a handled shopping bag. Slapping a cap on her head, she guessed she was ready to go.

The family loaded into the SUV, Linda sitting in back with Danny. He had his headphones on. Tim, from the front seat, showed her an aluminum foil covered plate.

"Your supper, madame!"

He handed it to her. She pulled back the aluminum and found a peanut butter sandwich and apple slices. Thanking Tim, she started eating. Once she was finished with her meal, she turned on the flashlight and started reviewing the applications from her briefcase. She was halfway through her work by the time they arrived at camp.

The night was warm. There were noises from insects and rustling from small footed creatures. By lantern light, the boys and their father immediately started putting up the tents. They had practiced in the back yard, so there was very little fuss. Once the tents were up, the boys started collecting branches. Linda went into her tent and started working on the applications she wanted to finish.

Once the boys had enough branches, Brad started the campfire. Shadows flickered around jumping flames. They brought out camping chairs and sat around the hot fire. Soon, they put hotdogs and marshmallows on sticks, to roast over the hot fire.

"Honey?" Brad yelled, "where are you? Come and have some dessert!"

"Let me finish my homework. I'll be out soon." Linda was still in her tent, trying to finish reading and marking the applications.

Finally, she was finished. She put the large pile of papers back in her briefcase, and locked it. She made a face as she thought about joining her family at the campfire. She heard the buzzing of mosquitos and said to herself, "how easy is it to get West Nile Disease and Malaria? Surely, those mosquitos are filled with disease. I hate the bitey little bastards"

Linda thought she heard birds chirping to each other. "Uh-huh! Bird Flu is probably also easy to get. Those birds are probably carriers."

As she looked out the netted window of the tent, something flew by. "Oh, my God! Was that a bat?"

Linda shivered as she hoped her family wouldn't be bit by some rabid bat or raccoon. The shadows cast a creeping crawling pattern against the tent. It looked like a spider crawling up the side of the tent. "Oh, God, what if there are Black Widows and Brown Recluses around?" she whispered to herself As she moved closer to the doorway of the tent, she started wondering if there were any snakes around? She could hear rattles of a Rattlesnake. "What was that hissing noise?"

Linda looked out to the campfire. No one was there. Where was her family? She knew they put food up in the large tree on the other side of the campfire. "Oh, hell, is that a bear trying to climb the tree?

Her heart was thumping from fear, her thoughts in disordered turmoil from a black anxiety-created fog. Her nerves were tight, a headache was coming on, she could just feel it. Standing still for a minute, she willed her fears to back off. She could hear Danny and Tim's high voices, now. They came from the river. "Oh, no, can't one get E-coli from river water?"

Linda worried about the boys falling into a quick running river. She didn't even know how deep it was. As she worried, she heard a sharp crackling of tree limbs. After standing there, trying to figure out the night time noises, she finally made a move. She quickly pulled on her hiking boots and started spraying bug-b-off all over her clothes and body. She grabbed her jacket. She wasn't going to be left by herself. Unzipping the tent door section, she got out of the tent as fast as she could. She ran down to the river.

The boys were sitting at the edge of a slow moving stream, dangling their feet in the warm water. Brad was standing beside them, pointing downriver, explaining where they would go fishing tomorrow.

Linda sat down and took her boots and socks off. She put her feet in the water. Sighing, she realized she was going to be here all weekend, she might as well join her family and have some fun.

Super Hero Tryout.

2008-12-16T13:54:00.011-05:00

Mick stared at the telephone number flashing across the television screen. He tried to memorize it, but didn't want his girlfriend, Alisha, to know what he was doing. Slowly, he got up from the couch and stretched his muscular arms. His belly peeked from his upward moving green t-shirt. Mick was a tall, well-built young man. His brunette hair was cut short at the edge of his neck. His long muscular legs were encased in black sweat pants.

"Uh, Allie, I gotta go pee," he said, as he moved away from her, and the couch, concealing his cell phone in his hand.

Alisha, an attractive blond, wearing a fashionable pink minidress and slightly made up face, flipped another page of the magazine she was browsing. Pushing her short locks out of her eyes, she replied, "okay."

Once in the bathroom, behind the locked door, Mick dialed the number.

"Super Heroes, Inc., this is Dr. Howard, how may I help you?" came a tired, old man voice.

"Uh, yeah. I, uh, saw your ad on the tv? It’s about being a Super Hero. What's it pay?"

"Well, sonny, you'd have to come down here and try out. What type of amazing strengths do you have?"

"I, uh, can run like the wind."

"Oh? What else?"

"That's it. I used to run track and I could always run the fastest, but I held back. I could run a lot faster than I did. I just ran fast enough to win everything I entered. I got a scholarship from winning all the time."

"Okay, I can set up an appointment for...let's see. It's Tuesday... how about Friday? Say 3:30? What's your name?"

"Yeah, I can be there. It's Mick Young."

"Okay, I've written you down. I'll give you the address. Do you have anything to write with?"

"Naw, just tell me over the phone. I'll remember it."

Mick used the days before his appointment to run. He had a Super Hero costume already made up. He wore it when he ran beside a train, always keeping up. He wore it when he paced several speeding police cars as they chased down bad guys. while he ran, he pondered Super Hero names. All the good ones were already in use.

Friday arrived. At 3:00pm, Mick readied himself for his appointment at Super Heroes, Inc. Meanwhile, in the white reception room, Dr. Howard, curly gray hair flying, white lab coat flapping over blue jeans, ran to answer the phone. After listening to the caller, he cursed, “Hell’s Bells. Damn, damn, damn! I’ll bring the machine.”

Dr. Howard was a rich, kooky, old coot who believed in miracles. He was so impressed by the idea of Super Heroes, he funded a lab that specialized in them. Currently, he had fifteen Super Heroes on his payroll, but was trying for twenty. From old comic books and movies, he learned that, by putting adjectives together with a number, he could create the wonderful Super Hero sound to the name of any group of people. He loved the sound of The Fantastic Four and The Magnificent Seven. He wanted to call his Super Heroes, The Superb, Amazing, Unbelievable, Formidable, Tremendous, Adorable Twenty.

Pushing the intercom to the Super Computer Lab, he yelled, “Chad! Get in here!”

A young, short, skinny guy, with long red hair, came out of a back room. He was wearing a white lab coat with gray sweatpants underneath. “Sure Dr. Howard. What’s up?”

“Hell and damnation. I have to go get Super Weasel Guy and Super Rabbit Ears Guy. Super Rabbit Ears Guy overheard that villain, Stinky Frankie Hanz, say he was going to steal the Statue of Liberty. They decided to catch him in the act. You know how Super Weasel Guy can get into all sorts of crevices and small areas no normal human can get in? Well, he got stuck. I’ve got to take the Super Pulley Machine and pull him out.”

(Unknown to them, Stinky Frankie Hanz had been talking about stealing the plastic Statue of Liberty that Candy Mae Darby kept in her front window. He stole it, alright, but the theft didn’t worry Candy Mae. She went down to the basement and pulled out an even bigger statue. She placed it in the window where the other previously sat.

Stinky Frankie kept the stolen statue and bragged to his brain dead buddies that he had gone to Liberty Island, shrunk the statue, and brought it home. They believed him. They had never been to New York. However, one of his friends argued that it was the Eiffel Tower.)

“Oh, jeez. Anything I can do to help?”

“Yes, there’s a guy coming to try out for us. Name of Mick Young. He’ll be coming in at 3:30. Ask him to reschedule, will you? And by the way, feed Super Cheetah. He’s hungry and it’s getting near his feeding time.”

Super Cheetah was one of the fastest creatures on earth. He had been born in captivity. On a steady diet of steroids, he grew to be larger than normal, and faster than normal. He had been clocked passing a speeding jet that was flying in the sky above him.

“Oh, sure, doc. I’ll be happy to.”

Dr. Howard jumped in the white company truck that carried the Super Pulley Machine. He started it up, and quickly drove out the drive.

Pressing the speaker to the Super Computer Lab, Chad yelled, “Turk, you gotta hear this!”

Turk, short, young, Hispanic, with dark curls surrounding his head, lab coat flying around his dark jeans, came stumbling in from the Super Computer Lab.

“Hey, man, we got more code to go through on that new project! What are you calling me in here for?” he asked.

“Remember that dickhead, Mick, from high school? Wasn’t his last name Young?”

“Oh, shit. He was a filthy bastard. I hope someone beat the snot out of him!”

“I don’t know about that, but there’s a dude coming in, to try out as a Super Hero, with the same name!”

“What’s his specialty?”

“Looks like running.”

“Hmpf”

“Yeah.”

Wearing his Super Hero costume of black cape, red tights, and tan shirt with the emblem, Super Feet Guy, stitched on the front, Mick came into the reception area. “Where’s the bathroom, man?”

Chad pointed.

Mick walked over and went in, closing the door behind him.

A couple minutes later, he came back out. “Hey man, I have an appointment with Dr. Howa... Chad? Is that you? Ho, ha, ho, ha, ha, ha, it is!”

Making a decision, Chad said, “Hi Mick. Dr. Howard had to leave. He asked me to conduct the tests of your super powers.”

Looking around to make sure there were no cameras, Mick jumped over the desk to stand beside Chad.

Lightening fast, he grabbed the back of Chad’s underwear. He yanked and pulled. He laughed an evil laugh as he yelled, “it's wedgie time, ya putz!”

Turk came running out of the Super Computer Lab.

Yelled Mick, “Turk the jerk! I can’t believe you nerds are here.” He grabbed Turk by the head and yanked him off his feet. Mick's cape swirled around him as he dragged Turk to the bathroom, stuck his head into the stool, and started flushing. As he did so, he yelled, “it’s swirly time!”

Releasing Turk, Mick came sauntering out. With a smirk, he said, “alright, Chad. I’m ready to run!”

Chad led him out to the racing track. “In light of your proficient running power, we’re going to race you against our cheetah.” Pointing to the glorious wild cat, pacing at the front of his lair, he added, “he’s got a harness that keeps him from attacking humans.

“I’ll beat that old cheetah! Bring him on!”

Turk brought the harness out. He stuck his left hand into the pocket of his lab coat, as he passed the harness over to Chad.

Chad walked over and opened the gate around Super Cheetah's lair. He placed the harness on Super Cheetah, and led him to the cheetah lane.

Chad, then, walked to the massive computer stand at the beginning of the race track. He placed his right hand over the starting buzzer, to clear the giant time clock attached to the building behind him. He turned to make sure it was at zero. He turned back and pointed to the second lane, “you need to start there, Mick.”

Mick walked over to the lane and started jogging in place, as he waited for the starting buzzer.

The buzzer sounded.

The racers took off.

Chad pulled one of the panels off the computer and fiddled with some wires. He set the panel back down.

The racers zoomed to the next town and raced back. Their speed was so tremendous, by naked eye, they could only be tracked by the grass and trees bending alongside them, as they passed. The runners arrived back at the same time. It took them exactly five minutes. Mick was slightly out of breath.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to do it again. We didn’t get a real good reading, Mick. Sorry, old chap.”

As Chad and Turk looked back at the building, to make sure the giant time clock reset, Mick slugged Super Cheetah, hard, in the chest. Super Cheetah stumbled backward and lay down, as he tried to get his breath back.

Chad asked, “ready?”

The racers stood up, ready to run. The buzzer went off. A mile out, the runners were side by side. Super Cheetah gathered up his legs into a speedy, powerful leap. As he left his lane, fangs and claws bared, he pounced on Mick. Killing him, quickly, Super Cheetah turned and ran back with his catch. He dragged the bloody body into his lair.

Astonished, Turk and Chad looked at each other.

“Oh, shit!”

“Well, Super Cheetah’s fed.”

The next day, Dr. Howard came in with Super Weasel Guy and Super Rabbit Ears Guy. Their purple and blue Super Hero costumes were ripped, crumpled and dirty. Pointing to two chairs, he yelled, “sit! We need to talk.”

He walked over to the intercom and yelled, “Chad, did that runner guy come in, yesterday?”

Chad and Turk slowly shuffled into the room.

“Well, ah, uh, well, he came in. He wanted to run, so we ran him against Super Cheetah. Er. Um. Super Cheetah ate him.”

“What?!? Super Cheetah ate him? Get me the tape of the race!”

Everyone trooped into the tape viewing room. They saw the runners race to the next town and back. They saw Mick punch Super Cheetah. They saw Super Cheetah catch and drag his prey back.

Dr. Howard looked around the room. “Well, we wouldn’t want that type of character on our payroll, anyway. He punched, PUNCHED, the kitty! He probably broke the harness crystals. We’ll have to find them. They need to be put back in the harness. Turk, go find the crystals. Chad, help him. I need to talk to these guys.”

The crystals were actually computer chips, but Dr. Howard grew up watching the old Star Trek shows. His favorite two words were dilithium crystals.

Chad and Turk rushed out to the racing area. Turk walked over to the starting line. He pulled his left hand out of his lab coat pocket and pretended to look for the crystals.

Chad hurriedly reattached the wires in the computer. The wires kept the harness in top working order. He had just tightened the last screws when he heard Turk yell, “I found the crystals!”