Thursday, November 25, 2010

Gobble Gobble Motherf***ker!

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Hope your turkey day was spent with friends and family, and you had a great time, as well as a great meal. Melissa and I just finished watching the first Thanksgiving themed horror movie we've ever heard of, and I just relish the thought of telling you about it.

Anyways, as you can see from the picture, it's called Thankskilling. If the title wasn't enough of a give away, it tells the age old tale of a group of college kids (who just happen to be in their late twenties to early thirties), who are on their way back to their home town for the Thanksgiving holiday. Along the way, their car breaks down, and they hear the story of an ancient indian curse that causes a demon turkey to rise up every 505 years to kill white men. Apparently at the first Thanksgiving feast, one of the main character's ancestors royally pissed off an indian shaman (what exactly the original offense was is never stated, but I imagine it has something to do with the pilgrim banging the girl the indian was in to). This indian shaman was supposedly the most awesome badass spell caster around, soooo he summoned a demon turkey to exact revenge.
Now, I don't know about you, but a demon turkey just isn't that scary - at least the thought of a demon turkey doesn't frighten me. It might scare the shit out of PETA activists, but I think that would be more on general principle than anything else.
Anyways, We started the movie, and the first thing you see are tits. Fuly exposed, older tits that are wobbling and swaying and bouncing around while this older woman (who does 'mature' porn - I swear her IMDB listing reads like a menu from an adult book store) is running through the woods, trying to pull off the impossible task of emoting fear. Finally, she stumbles and falls, only to turn herself over, and see what ever is chasing her. The camera cuts to a rediculous looking turkey (that looks like a standby for Triumph the Insult Comic Dog).
The turkey then says "Nice tits, bitch!" and then hacks her with an axe. We then cut to the opening credits.
I'll spare you the gory details of the movie (which allegedly cost $3500 to make - and it shows), but to make it worth your while, here's some of the highlights from this movie.

- A hillbilly character who looks like a cross between Sean Astin (Samwise Gamgee) and Bulk from the Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers.
- Sparkling Dialog:
- I'm gonna drink your blood like cranberry sauce, you meanie!
- Johnny, I'm sorry for the things I said last night. I guess I'm a little beaked- er, freaked out.
- We've got to find a way to kill this cock-blockin' turkey!
- Wow! That took forever! Uh, guys, it was only five minutes.
- Gobble, Gobble, motherfucker! (my personal favorite)
- (after the turkey kills one of the kids) Now that's what I call fowl play!
- Recycled punch lines (seriously - word for word)
- And who can forget raunchy turkey sex, complete with extra small gravy flavored condoms?

Is this a good movie? By any definition of the word, absolutely, without a doubt, NO. This is a festering pile of turkey shit, but the actors go at it with such aplomb and no illusions as to the overall quality of the movie, so it does score quite a few points in the 'tongue in cheek kitsch' department.
Is it worth watching? Hell yeah. At least once, but only on Thanksgiving.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

A Musing on Breasts (NSFW - language & content)

So, Melissa was on one of her websites today, and the question was asked "Why do men like breasts so much?" She asked me to answer the question for her (which is surprising, due to the fact that the website is for women only).
I replied by saying:

"Men like breasts for many reasons. It's something that men don't normally have (unless we're morbidly obese) and that engages our curiosity. Breasts also break up the straight line of the chest, it gives us something to look at. Many men are acutely aware that the manipulation of the breasts also creates pleasure in women, and that in turn gives us pleasure. Now I'm not saying that men engage in breast manipulation strictly for altruistic purposes, some of it is due to the fact that we hope for some form of reciprocation.
Ultimately however, I think that men like breasts simply because we are taught from an early age that it is something we are not supposed to look at. It's the whole sense of breaking a societal taboo that excites us. Seeing clothed breasts excites our imagination, while bare breasts invoke that feeling of taboo - it brings out the pubescent boy in us again."

As there is a character limit when replying to a post, I figured I would flesh this idea out some more.

1. Breasts are something that men don't normally have.
- Unless we are morbidly obese, or going through major surgery, we do not have breasts. While this may infuriate some men, most are intrigued by this difference between the sexes. By the time boys have become men, we have figured out our own bodies. We know how our arms and legs work, many of us know how to take a punch to the stomach, the vast majority have figured out the more comedic parts of our pelvis, not to mention the act of self-gratification.
However, women have breasts, lumpy, squishy sacks of skin filled with fat and lactation sacs that when infused with hormones can produce milk. As disgusting as that may sound, they still draw the attention of males everywhere (and some females as well, but that's beside the point).
The simple fact of the matter is that much like a mountain, or a new land, the female breast is unexplored territory. We as men feel it is our duty to conquer this new territory; to explore its peaks and valley(s), to explore the nooks and crannies, the overhangs and points. As with any new discovery however, we always know there is more to find, which is why we are always examining anew breasts of all shapes and sizes. Even if we know our wives or girlfriend's breasts better than our own bodies, we still examine others - simply because we are curious. We know instinctively that it is new territory - unexplored regions of the earth that may remain mysteries (especially if we know what's good for us).

2. Breasts break up the straight line of the chest, it gives us something to look at.
- Go out and look at people in profile sometime, especially men. A lot of men (especially older gents) tend to develop a 'b' sort of upper body type. Not very attractive. Honestly, would you want some guy to come up to you in a bar and start rubbing his gut on your arm? >shudders< me neither.
However, women are often shaped like a 'P' which is much more aesthetically pleasing. Blame the inherent artist in men. Many of us have artistic ancestors and although it may have been diluted out severely over the generations, we still have a basic idea of a pleasing aesthetic. If you don't believe me, look at a guy naked and then a girl naked.
Let me rephrase that. porn does not count as looking at naked men and women. porn engages in improbable physical body types and unusual fetishes. Therefore, you cannot get a good idea of what a real naked person looks like.
Get a book on physiology or human anatomy, or even a book on the human body as an art reference. Look at the way the female body is designed. Now compare it to how a man is designed. The female form is rounded, curved, supple. The male form is angular, pointed, utilitarian. In short, looking at the female form is like walking through the Louvre. Looking at a man is like touring a construction site.

3. Many men are acutely aware that the manipulation of the breasts also creates pleasure in women, and that in turn gives us pleasure.
- As I also stated above, it's not necessarily for altruistic reasons. Quite often, men are hoping (or even expecting) some form of reciprocation in exchange for inciting pleasure in the woman. On the other hand, The ability to bring pleasure to a woman through the manipulation of the breasts feeds into the need for men to accomplish something. By bringing pleasure to a woman, men fill the need to say "I have pleasured this woman, see how studly and virile I am. By supplying some form of sexual gratification to this woman, I have transcended the status of mere man and entered the realm of god-hood."
Don't believe me? Women, next time your husband or boyfriend is finished fooling around with you, watch him strut. (No, I'm not immune to this either, just ask Melissa)

4. It's the whole sense of breaking a societal taboo that excites us.
- Blame the puritans for this one. For the longest time, we have been told that nudity is wrong, that to expose yourself to anyone is offensive. However, we're born without clothes. Society has been so ingrained with the thought that the naked body is somehow wrong, that society as a whole has developed a sort of psychosis about being seen naked.
At the same time, we are driven by an intense desire to break the rules, to test the boundaries of 'proper' society. By looking at a woman's clothed breasts, men are forced to engage their imaginations to visualize what they would look like naked; and imagined breasts tend to excite as much, if not more, than the real thing.
Barring such easy options as strip clubs, nudie magazines and the Internet Porn Machine, seeing bared breasts is such a thrill that words have difficulty expressing. Be it a quick flip up of the shirt at a rock concert, Mardi Gras, or Spring Break, a "wardrobe malfunction" (a totally bullshit term if I ever heard one), or a surprise move by a wife or girlfriend when she's feeling frisky - the taboo of public nudity sends chills down the spine of most red-blooded men. We feel as if we are seeing something we're not supposed to. much like peeping through the knothole of the fence around the nudist colony, Seeing bare breasts gives us the thrill of breaking that taboo.
In a small way, we regress back to our childhood, when we got our first glimpse of a naked breast, and we finally got it. In one shining moment of clarity, we discovered why girls were different from us, and suddenly, we had to know what exactly those things were.
At that point, we realize that there is a whole fresh new world of possibilities out there, ready to be explored. As we mature, we discover that this amazing new world can be even less fun and interesting than the world we lived in as kids, but by the simple flash of a breast, we can travel back to that point where we were naive and the possibilities are endless, even for a moment.

Now others may dispute these facts, but as far as I'm concerned, I think what I've said here can stand for most guys.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Untitled Story - Part Four

Minutes later, Bill and War stood outside the apartment complex. The sun had descended down past the other massive buildings that surrounded the two.
"So if you lose all of your powers when your horse is destroyed, is it possible to get the horse back?" Bill asked, looking down the street.
War shrugged. "Yeah, it's possible, but it requires a massive expendeture of energy to reform the horse, and the energy has to be in the form of the horse's power."
Bill whipped around to look at War. "In the form of the horse's power? So you mean that if you lost your horse..."
"There would have to be a massive war upon the world to recreate my horse, yes."
"So, in order to get Death's horse back, millions of people have to die?" Fear crept back into Bill's voice.
"That is correct." War replied.
"Has this ever happened before?" Bill asked, fearful of the answer.
War nodded. "Both Death and I lost our horses a while back, but we managed to get them back fairly quick."
"When was that?"
"I managed to get mine back in 1942. Death didn't get her's back until 1945." War shrugged.
"Wait a minute, 1945... that was when Hiroshima and Nagasaki were bombed, right?" Bill's stomach began to sink.
"Yes, and out of the cloud of Nagasaki rode Death's horse, alive and well again."
"But, those two explosions killed almost a million people!" Bill exclaimed.
"That was actually the final part, Death's horse had been reforming for some time. The war itself with all of it's active and passive casualties had done a lot to rebuild Death's horse." War continued.
Bill paled and sat down quickly. "Most reports state that over 60 million people died over the course of the war. Are you meaning to tell me that in order to get Death's horse back, we have to cause the death of 60 million people?"
War looked at him incredulously. "No. We don't have to do anything. We can just let people die but not rest. They're not going to be zombies, but they're not going to be stationary. After a while, as more people cease their life functions, there will be no living things left, and the end will finally be here."
Bill goggled. "So we can either kill 60 million people, or just let everyone reach some state of living death?"
"60 million is a bit excessive, I admit. It really only takes 5 million people to bring Death's horse back." War's tone was a little bored.
Bill slapped his forehead. "Of course! We just have to nuke New York and everything will be right with the world again. That's great!" Bill laughed maniacally for a moment "DO YOU REALIZE WHAT YOU'RE SAYING!?" He screamed at War.
War lazily glanced at Bill. "Yeah." the tone coming off like a bored valley girl from the eighties.
"I'm not going to nuke New York!" Bill screamed at War. A passerby sped up looking worried.
"Fine" War shrugged. "Then we just let everyone die but not rest."
Bill put his head in his hands.

Saturday, May 8, 2010

Untitled Story - Part Three

Shaking the fuzz from his head, Bill struggled back to his feet, rubbing his neck. "Wait a minute, what do you mean a Horseman will lose their powers if they lose their horse? I thought you guys were divine beings, drawn forth to herald the Rapture."
Glaring again, War fumed. "WE ARE-" "Damn it, would you stop with the head crushing voice?" Bill cut in, annoyance tinging his voice.
Fire blazed in War's eyes and Bill suddenly had the image of being skewered on a big sword from bottom to top flash through his head. However, when War spoke again, his voice was quiet again. "We are Horsemen without our horses, we're basically mortal. We have no control or say over our powers. Sometimes, they will randomly manifest, but for the most part, they don't work. Period."
A cold, numbing realization settled in the pit of Bill's stomach. Opening his mouth say something, he let it hang open as the full implications of what War explained settled in. A slow, high pitched whine filled the air, growing in volume and pitch until War appeared in front of Bill, slapping him across the face.
"Sorry. That damn noise was getting on my nerves." War apologized. He looked stricken. "Damnation. It's already starting." War muttered to himself. Seeing the confused look on Bill's face, War continued. "If once of us loses our horse, not only does that Horseman lose their powers, but the other's powers begin to wane - not to mention we begin to shift to the opposite of our personalities. In a way, we can tell immediately if one of us is in trouble."
"So, let me get this straight - because Bucky blew up Death's horse, she has lost her powers. Without her powers, people are not going to die. Right?" War nodded mutely. "In addition to that, the other Horsemen are going through personality shifts that make them polar opposites of their traditional personalities?" Bill pressed on. "So, instead of being an overbearing pain in the ass, you're now going to be meek and polite?"
War nodded morosely.
"Well, crap." Bill put set chin in his hand to think. "Well, we had better figure out how to fix this before Pestilence takes over Orkin or Terminex and Famine starts feeding the masses." Glancing over at War, Bill did a double take. On the floor next to his unconscious brother, War was in the fetal position.
Bill walked over to the now childlike Horseman and did something he never would have considered possible. He hauled War to his feet and slapped the mythical being across his rugged, scarred jaw. Twice.
The change was immediate. War's eyes blazed hotly. He threw back his arms, looked at the ceiling and bellowed "AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!" The walls shook in fear of the re-energized deity. A picture fell off the wall, terrified of what was to come. As War leveled his gaze at Bill, the sound of a foot stomping the floor above them broke the new silence.
"Dammit, Bill! Keep the volume down or I'm going to call the super!" A voice floated through the popcorn texture of the ceiling. "Sorry!" Bill yelled back up. "Mrs. Meyers." He explained to War, acting as if that was all the explanation that was needed.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Untitled Story - Part Two

Scrabbling to get the key back out from its hiding place was proving to be a maddening undertaking. It was bad enough that Bill had to scrabble around to get the key without anyone seeing, but he also had a bona-fide Horseman of the Apocalypse practically breathing down his neck.
"ARE YOU TRYING TO PISS ME OFF?" Bill winced again as he felt his head attempt to explode from War's voice. Looking back over his shoulder, Bill glared at War. "Listen, I would be able to get the key much quicker if you would back up a little" He paled quickly as War glared at him. "Please?" he squeaked, visions of death and dismemberment racing through his head. Cringing, Bill waited for the blow that would split him from stem to stern. After several moments passed, Bill slowly opened his eyes to see War down the hallway, glaring at him, Bucky still tucked unevenly under one arm.
Steeling his resolve, Bill reached back into the gap and retrieved the key. Before he could second think himself, Bill unlocked the door and motioned War to go in. Sweeping past him, War hauled his little brother into the apartment. Bill followed behind, closing the door. Once inside, War moved to the living room and unceremoniously heaved Bucky onto the couch.
"So, uh, what, uh, what h-happened?" Bill's voice betrayed his overwhelming fear of not only the biblical figure before him, but also the situation as it stood. Bucky may be a menace to everyone around him, but it took a lot to injure him, much less lay him out cold.
War sat down heavily in an armchair by the couch. In this setting, the heavily scarred, bearded man did not seem so powerful and awe inspiring. In fact, if Bill didn't know any better, he would have sworn that War looked like a down on his luck veteran who was taking a break from begging for change on the streets. Looking at his hands, War heaved a heavy sigh.
Bracing himself for another head-splitting vocalization from War, Bill prepared for the explanation. War began to talk "Bucky was attacked by Death" his voice barely filled the room, much less crowding out Bill brain with its intensity. Shock registered on Bill's face.
"What, you think I always talk like I've got a megaphone attached to my face?" War stared at him, fire burning in his eyes.
Swallowing loudly, Bill found his voice "w-well... yeah. I mean you're a Horseman of the Apocalypse. A Harbinger of End Times - the destroyer of civilizations. I just couldn't imagine you having any sort of what my kindergarten teacher would call an "indoor voice"."
"FOOLISH MORTAL. DO YOU DARE MOCK ME?" War sprang to his feet, Fire blazing from his eyes, hand on the hilt of his sword.
Bill slammed back against the door, terror gripping his soul. Dimly, he was aware of a warm trickle pouring down his leg. He found it hard to breathe, yet he was consumed with a desire to go next door and conquer the Hendersons.
"Look, that's not why I'm here. I just barely managed to get Bucky out of there before Death got really pissed off. I'm just glad we didn't run into Famine on the way out. He's not nearly as understanding as Death is." War seemed to deflate and sat back down on the chair. He looked back at Bill. "Listen, before we continue this conversation, you need to go change. While you're at it, take a shower... you smell like fear and urine. If you're going to help me figure this out, I can't be getting distracted by two of my favorite scents."
Bill stood under the scalding hot shower head as he tried to process everything that had just happened in the past ten minutes. He had started out the night looking to go and wander, and now, he had War, the second Horseman of the Apocalypse sitting in his living room. Not only that, but this mythical figure was asking for his help. If he wasn't experiencing it himself, he wouldn't have believed it either.
Several minutes later, Bill was dressed in clean clothes and sitting in the living room across from War. The Harbinger had managed to collect himself and was staring steadily at Bill.
Clearing his throat, Bill broke the ice. "So, what did Bucky do that caused Death to beat the crap out of him, and why would Famine be wanting to really injure him as well?"
War stared at Bill for a minute. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled loudly. "For some reason, he was really upset that Death's horse didn't have much color. Don't ask me why, but sometimes, Bucky just gets a wild hair up his ass and does something ridiculously stupid. In this case, he somehow managed to get Death's horse out of the stable without alerting her, and took the damn beast to a tanning salon."
Bill goggled. "He did what?"
"I said, he took Death's horse to a tanning salon; said the beast looked so pale that he thought the damn thing needed a tan." War looked like he wanted to punch something.
"and?" Bill repressed an urge to giggle.
"Well, he managed to find a tanning salon that would allow a horse in the first place, and then when he put it in the machine, all hell broke loose." War's face clouded up with rage.
Bill was beginning to lose the fight for a straight face. "What happened?" A snicker slipped out.
War glared at him until Bill subsided. "It exploded."
Bill lost all control and guffawed loudly... until War grabbed him around the neck and started choking him.
"DO YOU REALIZE THAT A HORSEMAN WITHOUT THEIR HORSE LOOSES THEIR POWERS?" War bellowed in Bill's face. Severely deafened, bill could only squirm weakly in the powerful grip. Suddenly loosening his grip, War dropped Bill to the floor and stomped back over to the chair and sat down heavily.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Untitled Story - Part One

Bill locked the door to his apartment and carefully hid the key behind the loose bit of moulding outside his door. Looking around nervously, he began his trek down the three floors to the street below.
Silently, he passed the broken elevator that has been out of service since his first week in the building. As he began his descent down the narrow steps, he thought about his roommate, if he could even be called that. Honestly - the guy was hardly ever there, and when he was, it was just a series of disasters. Bill shuddered as he thought about the latest incident where Bucky ended up setting the bathtub on fire. In and of itself, quite possible, but when it's full of water, not only is it an impressive, yet dangerous feat, but the steam did some major damage to the drywall.
It took all of his courage to face the super and try and talk Mr. Schultzen out of not only evicting them, but charging them to repair the entire third floor, as well as The Polkeist's apartment below them. Seriously, it wasn't Bill's fault the bathtub fell through the floor and killed their schnauzer Tinkles.
Stopping for a moment on the second floor to catch his breath, he shook his head, amazed that the two of them were still alive. After every accident that almost killed them, they managed to skit around any major trouble. The only problem was that they were the most reviled tenants in the building; no one ever invited them to hang out on the roof, they were never asked to join the monthly BBQ in the back lot.
Hearing a door slam, Bill looked over at apartment number 9. the number arced back and forth, slowed by friction as it rubbed on the door. Bill rolled his eyes. That wasn't number 9, that was apartment 6. Apartment 6; Loony Lucy's apartment. She of the fishnet garters and tutus to run to the store. Apparently, she was mad at Bill again. For what this time, he could only guess... but judging by the sign on her door - it was because he was now a space alien sent to Earth to make alien babies with her.
Sighing again, Bill started down the stairs. Her crazy pick-up lines used to bother him, but after a few months he had learned to blow it off. 'If she wasn't such a basket case, I would probably see about dating her' Bill thought as he descended the steps, his thoughts coming back around to Bucky again.
What Bill still couldn't get was the fact that Bucky was the honest to God fifth horseman of the apocalypse. In all truth, Bucky was the former fifth horseman of the apocalypse. The younger brother of War, apparently Bucky had caused a lot of strife and misery when he was with the group. Misery was his real name, but when he got booted from the group, he was no longer allowed to use his real name, instead he was forced to settle on the first name he came across. Apparently, he found a beaver mascot somewhere, and got his name.
Bill had just made it to the foyer when a big guy with a red sword strapped to his hip burst into the building. he had one arm thrown around a much smaller person, and was half-walking, half-dragging the smaller figure in. Immediately, Bill's heart sank.
Looking around, the big man spotted Bill. His face broke into a jagged grin as the scars across his face wiggled and moved, suggesting battle. "Bill!" he called out jovially.
The sound erupted through the room, the large man's voice filling the entire area aggressively, seeking out every nook and cranny, forcing it's way into Bill's head, laying waste to everything in it's path. Bill smiled weakly as he felt his eardrums threaten to burst.
"Hi War" he replied weakly, raising his hand half-heartedly and flexing his fingers in a sad attempt at a greeting.
"Listen, Buck and I had a spot of trouble with the others, and he really needs to rest. could you help me get him back to your place?" Bits of plaster began to rain down from the sonic assault. Bill's interior organs rattled and shook. Nodding weakly, he began the trek back up the stairs, the large man close behind.

Monday, May 3, 2010

Musings on becoming an Author

As you may or may not know, I have spent the last two years writing my first book. While it is not going to be hitting the New York Times Best Seller list, it is my first real, honest-to-god hard copy book.
While I've been talking about writing a book over these past two years, it never really hit me that I was going to be published until tonight, when I stumbled across the entry for my forthcoming book - completely unsolicited, I was looking at other books in the same sort of niche as mine, and I saw an entry for a reading guide to graphic novels for kids. Thinking to myself, "Wow... that's wild. Someone else is writing a book just like mine."
So I clicked the link, and this is what I saw.

Then it hit me. That was my name under the author listing.

The world fell away, and I was left floating on a cloud of euphoria, terror, and the crushing, overwhelming realization that I am going to be published, and all that keeps running through my head is "Oh shit, I'm an author."

I think I'm going to be sick, from fear or excitement remains to be seen.

To my family, friends, and others who have prodded, poked, cajoled, threatened, begged and bargained with me to finish...

I want to thank you all for believing in me - especially when I felt the odds were insurmountable.

I raise my glass to you all, and wish you the best in all your endeavors.

Friday, March 19, 2010

The Coffee Incident - Based On a True Story

I was sitting there, watching Jack play on the video games and listen to Mark repeat the phrase "I'm thirsty" over and over again. Mom and Dad were still sleeping, seeing's how it was only 6:30.
Getting bored with the video game, I got up and walked into Mom and Dad's room. Nope, not yet, still sleeping. I toyed briefly with climbing up on the bed and inserting myself between the two of them. If they wanted to cuddle, I need to be there to make sure they're cuddling properly. Face it, how can they cuddle properly if I'm not there to show them how?
Ah well, I walk back out to the living room and into the kitchen. After tugging on the door to the refrigerator. Yep, milk is still there. Wonder if I could get Jack to pour me some. I shut the door and walk back out to the living room. Jack is still playing, but Mark has found a stuffed animal and is playing with it. Wait a minute... that's my stuffed animal! I've got to take it back!
After wrestling with Mark for a couple of minutes, Dad gets up and grumps at us for a few minutes, then he goes to the bathroom. While he's in the bathroom, I sneak into their room and climb into bed with Mom. She looks like she needs to wake up. I know the best way to wake her up.
Now I running back out to the living room. I thought Mom would have liked me jumping on her, but I guess not. Dad's in the kitchen, I'll get him to give me some milk.
Ahh.... milk. That's good stuff. Now Mark's got some milk, and Dad's taken over the video game. Since he's sitting on the floor, I'm going to sit in his lap. Mom's up now, telling Dad how I woke her up. Seriously, I didn't think it was that bad - it wasn't like I was aiming for her head.
Now Mom is in the kitchen, making coffee. No, wait, she's off to the bathroom. Dad's muttering under his breath again. He must be losing his video game again. Jack's talking to Dad about the game, and Mark is lying on the floor.
Mom's back in the kitchen. I think she's getting her coffee... yep, now she's sitting down on the couch. I need to stand up. I'm hearing something, and I've got to find it.
You don't hear it? I can hear it... it's calling me. Oh, it's Mom's phone! Hello Mom's phone. What? You want some coffee? I thought you weren't supposed to drink coffee. Oh, you want to soak? Well, I suppose that's not so bad. Here, let me help you. It's not too hot is it? No? O.k. I'm going to go play in my room now.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

A Story for Roger

Rough hands shoved me into the room. As I looked around my surroundings, the door slammed behind me. Spinning around quickly, I lost my balance, as my hands were still shackled behind my back.
Struggling over, I managed to roll over onto my back. Looking around the room, I saw a chair and a table in the middle of the room. In the corner was a fabric panel that I could make out the bottom of a toilet on the other side of.
As I adjusted my hands to try and keep from crushing them, the door opened again. Two men came over and hauled me to my feet. Looking at them, I tried to memorize their faces, but they had bandannas over their faces, their eyes glaring malevolently over the cloth. Snapping to attention as if silently commanded, the two thugs turned into boards.
Another man strutted into the room, his face covered with a bandanna. Quickly, he walked up to me, and glared. I tried to return his gaze, but the Ni Hao Kai Lan bandanna kept distracting me. Finally, I was able to tear my gaze away from his dashing face wear.
"You're probably wondering why we've brought you here" His voice was muffled slightly by the bandanna.
"well, the thought had crossed my mind." I replied, returning his gaze steadily. He gestured to the two goons, and the restraints were removed. I rubbed my wrists, trying to massage the abuse away.
"I apologize for the rough treatment, but under normal circumstances, I fear you would have declined my invitation." My captor continued. I continued to study his face, trying to figure out who had abducted me.
"Well, it all depends - how would you have invited me?" I asked. "My first impulse was to demand that you come and do some work for me." He replied. I nodded slightly. "Yeah, I don't think that the outcome would have been posi-" "Then" he cut me off "I thought I would call you and invite you over to hang out." I shifted my weight slightly "under what pretext? A sleepover?" This response elicited a glare from him. "I am well aware of you feelings on sleepovers!" The vehemence startled me slightly.
Regaining his composure, the masked man continued "Finally, I just figured that I would kidnap you. Sometimes, the simplest solution is the best." He shrugged. "O.k." I replied "now that you have me, what exactly is it that you want from me?" He reached out and straightened the lapels on my flannel. "I want you to write me a story... a story that involves a few different ideas..." my mouth hung open.
"You put all this time and effort into kidnapping me, just so I can write you a story?" I threw my hands in the air. Unperturbed, he waited for for me to calm down. "Yes, I want you to write me a story." I shook my head, incredulously. "The story I want you to write concerns three things" he held his splayed fingers up to emphasize his point. "One, hot dogs. Two, t-shirts. Three, Meissner Corpuscles."
"Are you mad?" I shrieked.
He shook his head, slowly. "No, I am not. I know you can do this. I have read your writing, and I know you are the one who can do this the proper respect it deserves."
Sighing heavily, I resigned myself to writing something that would work. "Alright, I'm going to need supplies."
"Everything you may need is on the table." He gestured to the table behind me. I turned to face the table. The two goons walked past me. As I turned back around, I was alone in the room, the door clanging shut behind Goon #2. I walked to the door. Ni Hao's face appeared in the grill of the door. "and another thing... We won't be paying you for this."
My howls of rage rang through the compound for days afterwards.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

An Inglorious Post

So, this post is a little late, due to the fact that Melissa and I stayed up and watched Quentin Tarantino's "Inglorious Basterds" last night.
First off, let me say that I like Tarantino - his directing capabilities are top notch, and his movies are engaging and entertaining, not to mention frantic, frenetic, violent (extremely violent), and funny.
However, what I watched last night was anything but. So, I present to you gentle reader, my totally one sided and biased review of Inglorious Basterds.

Starting out, the movie is 2 1/2 hours long. The first warning sign of a potentially problematic movie. Thanks to the American need for everything to be bite sized, easily digestible chunks of information, any movie that edges past the two hour mark is like putting a 14oz steak in front of a starving man and giving him a fork, but no knife. More than likely, he's gonna choke on it.
Second, the title is Inglorious Basterds, not Psychotic, Yet Deviously Evil Nazi Detective and Various Bit Players. For 2 1/2 hours, we only see the Basterds for approximately 45 minutes.
Third, Tarantino is known for fast paced, frenetic action sequences and snappy dialog. Basterds feels like the antithesis to his forte. The dialog feels forced in points, overwrought in others and the action scenes, while full of all that action-y goodness Tarantino is known for is sadly lacking, and what is there is abrupt, graphic, and over all too soon.
Fourth, Tarantino seems to have taken a page from the Ang Lee book of Directing. Namely, if the story can be told in an hour, hour and-a-half, it needs to be padded out with extraneous story lines and fluff, because it will be so much better. It has to be!
Fifth, Brad Pitt for some reason just annoyed the living hell out of me. His accent was quite accurate, but it just grated on my nerves. Personally, I don't think as great an actor as many people like to think he is.
Now, Just because I've aired my grievances about the movie does not mean there was not things that I enjoyed about the movie. Christoph Waltz was brilliant as the delightfully psychotic, yet calculating Nazi Col. Hans Landa. He truly earned every single award he won. I hope he continues to appear in American cinema for a long time to come.
The action scenes were classic Tarantino. Tightly paced, incredibly violent (I personally think Tarantino has a fetish for squibs - special effects explosives that explode fake blood packets), and exciting.
The cameo by Mike Meyers was seriously surreal. I felt like I was watching Austin Powers grow up, develop a receding hairline, and lose the overt sexual connotations.

All in all, I found Inglorious Basterds to be long in the tooth, tedious, and well beneath Tarantino's usual fare.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Happy Hippie

This is based off of a real incident that happened lately, but parts of it have been fictionalized due to artistic license.

“Well, hello sir!” I turned around at the greeting.
Standing before me was a man, had to be close to fifty or so, long goatee and moustache that together swallowed his mouth when he closed it. I looked him over quickly, and replied, “Hey, how’s it going?”
He walked up to me, close enough to get a good look at him, but not close enough to violate anyone’s sense of personal space. He wore a red pullover and denim pants. At his foot was a little Chihuahua about the size of a large rat.
“I’m doing good today, sir. Might I ask where you’re headed to today?” He asked, as I looked at his dog. The dog stared back, his large round eyes bulging from his head slightly. “Well, the family and I were doing some sight-seeing, heading into Moab to hang out.” I explained, not totally sure where this conversation was headed. “I see, I see...” he replied, nodding his head. “Good afternoon Beautiful.” He said without a trace of lechery to a passing woman. In response, she smiled widely, and continued up to the visitor center.
Theresa walked up to the car and opened the door. “Hello Beautiful” he said to her. She smiled and said “Hi!” and climbed into the passenger seat. The man turned back to me and started talking about a local picnic spot. “The local park has pictographs, petroglyphs, and other indigenous artwork from thousands of years ago. It also has a picnic area, and playground, and its own arch. We call it ‘Hidden Arch’ park because people can never seem to find the arch. I tell them that if they’re looking at the pictographs, they just need to look behind themselves.”
He was getting animated about the park, but I knew we didn’t have time to check it out now. “That sounds really cool, we might be able to check it out on the way back, but for now, we have to get rolling.” I took a step back, getting ready to walk to the car when he stepped closer.
“Do you consider yourself a ‘happy hippie’? You strike me as the type to be a ‘happy hippie’.” He asked his voice low, as if we were discussing a conspiracy. Raised on the ideals of the hippie movement, I looked at him “well, yeah, I guess I am a happy hippie.” He looked me in the eyes “Well, as you might be able to tell, it’s difficult to get buds out here, and it’s next to impossible to grow it, so I was wondering if you might have a pod or two you could drop me?”
It took me a second to process what he was saying, and then it hit me. “Ah, man, no. I’m sorry, I don’t have anything.” Which was the truth – I hadn’t touched the stuff in close to fifteen years. “Ah, better to not travel with it… especially out here.” I thought on this for a second, remembering horror stories from friends who had the misfortune to be pulled over in Utah. “Well,” I stated “If I come across anyone with anything, I be sure to send them your way.”
A big grin broke across his face, revealing bright, straight teeth. “I do appreciate that,” he said, chuckling slightly. “you guys have a safe trip today.” I smiled at him, looked at his bulge-eyed dog, and got into the car.
“What was that all about?” Theresa asked me as I put the van in reverse and backed out. “he was telling me about a picnic spot back over there” I gestured off to the left and put the van in drive. “He was a nice enough guy.” As we pulled onto the interstate, I chuckled to myself. “What?” she asked me, looking over at me. “Well, the guy also asked me for some pot.” I explained as we merged left into traffic. “He did what?” a hint of incredulity creeping into Theresa’s voice. I nodded my head. “Seriously; I told him I didn’t have any. He asked me if I was a ‘happy hippie,’” I told her the rest of the conversation, and we both had a good chuckle about it.


The man talked quietly to his dog for a couple more minutes and then walked up to the visitor center. Pulling open the door, he glanced quickly at the woman behind the counter and walked over to the movie center. Normally, there would be a movie playing about the highlights of Utah, but now, it was just a blank screen.
Closing the sheets across the opening, the man flipped back a panel on the wall and pressed a series of buttons. On the screen to his right, an image appeared of a man in a State Trooper uniform.
“Yes, Agent Madison?” The man on the screen said in a strict, business tone.
“Reporting in to let you know that we hand another ‘HH’ stop by; I engaged the subject, with a negative outcome.” The man replied. He glanced over at his dog who was now napping on a chair, the leash hanging down to the ground.
“Do you think they suspected anything?” The screen man asked.
“No” the other man said – I think he’s clean.

Friday, March 12, 2010

A Bit of Historical Fiction

Just a quick note to my fans before I get to the writing tonight:

This is the 80th post! Hot Damn! I hope tonight's writing will do this milestone justice, as this is also new territory for me.

"Harris!" The call rang out loud and clear. Robert Harris jumped up from his desk. "Yes, Colonel!" The lanky youth dashed down the aisle of desks, other journalists looking up, some annoyed, others interested at the blur racing past.
Stopping outside of the Editor's office, Harris tried to compose himself before stepping into his bosses office. Taking a deep breath, and trying not to panic, he knocked on the door.
"You wanted to see me, sir?" Harris stuck his head in the office. Across the room, he could see his boss standing at the window, looking out, his back to the nervous employee in the doorway. Turning on his heel, his chin strip and goatee quivering. Harris winced inwardly, he was about to get an ear full.
"Those goddamn hags, harlots and pollutants have joined up with those skunks, pinheads, gas-pipe ruffians, rowdies, anarchists and deadbeats again!" Otis was working up a full head of steam, and if Harris didn't do something quick about it, he would rage against the democrats and unions for the next three days.
"Whoa, slow down there Colonel!" Harris paled from the glare he received, but forged on doggedly "What's going on now sir?" Otis stormed up to the reporter and waved his finger at the young man.
"Those damn unions are trying to get us shut down again! They're saying that I'm trying to outlaw unions around here and paying off organizers to reach those means!" Otis was practically shrieking now. "Well, Colonel, aren't you trying to outlaw unions?"
Otis glared at him again. "Yes, but I'll be damned if I'm trying to buy those bastards off! Why the hell would I give good money to those pinheads?" He jabbed his finger into Harris's chest.
Harris winced. "Look, Colonel, what if I go out tomorrow, and see if I can find something on this group. I know of a couple of brothers that I might be able to hit up for some information." Otis glared at him for a moment, and then turned away "I had better have some damn good dirt on them tomorrow, or you're fired!"
Leaving work early, Harris ran down to the iron workers union, looking for two brothers. Asking around, Harris finally found the McNamara brothers conversing quietly with a few co-workers. As soon as they laid eyes on the reporter, the co-workers walked away, surreptitiously glancing at him as they walked by.
"Ah, Mister Harris, how are ya t'day?" The older brother, John, greeted Harris, his eyes hard, yet mischievous. "Ah, I'm good J.J., Listen, I was wondering what you've heard lately. I know it sounds like I'm fishing, but the fact of the matter is that the colonel is breathing down my back, and if I can't get something, he's gonna fire me."
JJ put his arm around Harris's shoulders and began to walk away from his brother. "Listen, we don't have anything major
going on anytime soon, but word on the street is that something big might be going on here in the next couple of days. We should know something later on tonight. Listen, what time do you guys all clear out of the building?"
Harris looked at McNamara, a cold feeling setting into his gut. "Why?" McNamara smiled. "Because, if Old man Otis finds out that we're coming over to see you, he's gonna fire you anyways."
Harris stopped dead. "What do you mean, stop by?" McNamara stopped with him. "We might know about something later tonight, and I want you to be the first one to know about it - but, I want to be able to tell you in strict confidence. That's why I want to know when we can stop by your place without being noticed."
Harris felt something twist in his stomach, but tried to ignore it. "Listen, everyone usually cleans out around 11, sometimes 12. If we get a good story, or the Colonel is fired up, we might not make it out until 2 or 3 in the morning." McNamara nodded to himself. "Alright - listen, we'll swing by around 4, just to make sure you've had time to get home. It'll still be dark, so nobody will see us, and that early in the morning, there shouldn't be anyone around anyways."
Harris sighed, and nodded. "Alright, I'll see you then." As he walked away, James walked up to his brother. "Why did you tell him we'll meet up at his house?" John looked at his younger brother. "It's simple. We place the bomb at the Times, set the timer for 4 a.m. When the bomb goes off, we'll be at his house. If we're questioned, we can just say we're there, and he's not going to go out and say we were there with him. It's insurance."
James stared at his brother, searching his older siblings face for information. "I guess October 1st will go down in history as a turning point for unions everywhere."

Author's Note: On October 1st 1910, The Los Angeles Times Building was bombed by union activists J.J. and J.B. McNamara. Their attempts to bomb the building were complicated by the fact that the bomb went off prematurely, not only destroying one of the walls of the building, but also damaging natural gas pipes that caught fire, killing 21 people.
The McNamara brothers were eventually caught and convicted, serving life sentences in San Quentin.

Saturday, March 6, 2010

The Trifecta - Again

Midget Discrimination

From a discussion with Johnny Finklestein - associate editor of Diminutive Discourse Monthly.

"People always ask me 'Johnny, why is it that little folk can get parts in movies, but you can't become president?' and I tell them that one we don't like being called little folk - it's demeaning and two most of the time, it's due to discrimination."
He sits back in his chair, looking slightly upset. I ask him if he wants to continue.
"Yeah I want to continue, but it just pisses me off, y'know? I mean, we've been busting our asses since the twenties to carve out an area for us. Look at Billy Barty! The man was a damn genius when it came to our rights - he fought for us to be able to lead regular lives in Hollywood. He helped outlaw dwarf tossing for chrissakes! The man should be canonized for all the work he has done... but we still can't be taken seriously when it comes to politics!"
Johnny has really worked up a froth by now. There is a crazed look in his eyes, and he keeps clawing the arms of his chair. Apparently, the alarmed look on my face calms him enough to regain his composure.
"Look - we can play oompa loompas, we can play munchkins. We can play ewoks, small service droids, evil leprechauns, jawas, or any other diminutive fantastical creature - except for hobbits (Johnny's face clouds up for a moment), even magic users - but when it comes to congress, or the senate, or even the local school board, we are looked over. (he winces at his unintentional pun) I've asked about this before - I have spoken with several people in various political arenas, and they always tell me the same thing..."
a heavy pause fills the room.... I look in askance as Johnny, who has turned beet red. I brace myself for the next outburst.

SUBARU Drivers

I'm stuck. Again. I'm already late, and this goddamn SUBARU is in front of me, taking its time. 'This is supposed to be the fast lane!' I scream in my head as I see the break lights flash for a moment. Damn, damn, DAMN! I knew I shouldn't have stayed to watch DORK FIGHTS 4: THE RETURN OF THE SLIDE RULE, but just watching them use those pocket protectors as shields was inspired.
Argh! Those fricken' brake lights again! Can I get over? no... That Semi is hogging the next lane... *sigh* what's the point of buying an Impreza WRX, if you always get stuck behind a 1985 SUBARU DL WAGON. Screw this.... I'm gonna roll down my window....

What is Your Superpower?

News Anchor: An in other news, we have a new superhero in town. With him right now is Slate Bladen. Slate, who do you have with you?

Slate: Thanks Denise, with me I have The Bladder, the newest superhero in town. Now, Bladder, what exactly is your superpower?

The Bladder: Well, as my name implies, I can ingest any sort of liquid, and then expel liquid at a prodigious rate.

Slate: Well, not to make light of your "powers", but I think most people can do that - it's part of the digestive cycle.

The Bladder: Yeah, but can you put out a fire two miles away?

Slate: [Looks green} and there you have it! The Bladder! Now back to you in the studio Denise!

Friday, March 5, 2010

a plea to my fans...

Well, I've been going at this for almost two months now, and I've got to say that I've been having fun. I'm still fiddling with the parameters of the experiment, and I could use suggestions on what I can do to improve the content.
For the time being, I'm going to be taking it easy for the next couple of weeks as I have to tighten up my manuscript, but I still consider every suggestion submitted, so please keep them coming - I enjoy your suggestions!
Other than that, it's been a bit hectic today - taking the van back into the shop to get the rotor straightened, crabby kids, other drama, joining netflix.... I've got to tell you, it has been a life altering day today.

So, all my readers out there, I love you all, and I will continue to write, just not tonight...

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Talking dog

"I always imagined that a talking dog would have a deeper voice."
Shawn looked at me like I had swallowed a mouse in front of him. "What?" I looked up from my beer, locking onto his gaze. "I said, 'I always imagined that a talking dog would have a deeper voice' I don't know why I have to repeat myself."
"That's what I thought you said" Shawn mumbled. "I know I'm going to regret this, but let me hear it". He rolled his hand, signaling me to start telling the story.
I grunted negatively - "If I'm gonna tell you this story, I need to lubricate my throat. Get me another beer, and I'll fill you in on the details." Shawn glared at me for a moment, then waved over the waitress. Bobbling over, the bleach blond beer jockey took my order. As she walked away with my order, my eyes followed of their own accord, analyzing the curves of her hips as she swayed across the room.
"Well?" Shawn was getting annoyed, his voice tinged with impatience - if I pushed him much longer, he would change his mind and I would have to pay for the beer. Normally, not a problem, but with too much month left for too little money, I couldn't afford to push my luck.
"A few months back, I got a job working in a lab. Still not sure as to what they were doing - lots of animal testing however. I would go in and clean the rooms after everyone had left for the night. They would have cages on cages of mice that had body parts grafted to them." Shawn choked momentarily on his beer. "Grafted?"
I nodded, and continued.
"They had this one mouse who had an ear grafted onto his back, while another one had a nose grafted on to his back." Shawn was shaking his head now. "The weirdest one I ever saw though, was this mouse that had a fulling working pair of human arms grafted onto the creature." By this time, Shawn's jaw was swinging freely. "The mouse was nice, but if you did anything to it, the mouse would haul off and punch you."
The waitress had come back by now and placed my beer on the table. I winked at her, making a mental note to get her number later.
"So, I get this call to clean a new room one night, and I go in there, and there's this dog lying on the floor." I take a pull from my mug and continue. "I'm positive that the poor beast is dead, so I go over to it, and nudge it with my foot." Shawn is rapt with attention now - if I can keep it going, I might be able to get a pitcher out of him.
"So I nudge him with my foot, and I hear this high pitched voice call out from somewhere, says 'please don't do that' and I jump a good two feet back. Now, I'm thinking that this is a recorded voice or some such crap like that. I'm getting my bearings when I hear the voice again, only this time, I pay attention to the tonal quality of it. Imagine that Alvin from Alvin and the Chipmunks gets kicked in the balls, and then tries to have a regular conversation."
"Jesus, man... so what did you do?" Shawn is hanging onto my every word now.
"Well, It was like nails on a chalkboard - but I finally figured out that it was coming from the dog itself. I sat and talked with the dog for a good long while. Finally, I smuggled it out of the lab, and we hit a 24 hour Waffle House. By then I knew that I was going to be fired, so I didn't bother going back. We hung out for a while, but one night, we got really drunk. I got upset and kicked the dog who proceeded to bite me. After that, the dog took off, and I passed out."
Shawn is flabbergasted; without thinking, he orders two more beers.
"The next day" I continue "this other dog shows up with a last will and testament, and hands it to me. I open it up and read that the dog died last night, and has left everything to the dog in front of me, it's son. However, there is a caveat that I am awarded custody of the dog."
Shawn pays the waitress and asks "so what happened?"
I look down and say "well, I was nursing a wicked hangover, so I got drunk again, and ended up eating the dog."
Shawn looks horrified.
"Yeah" I explain "There really is nothing quite like the heir of the dog that bit you the night before."

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

A Horror Story

A bit of real life here, please bear with me as the usual insanity will resume tomorrow:

So this week started out much like any other - completely unassuming, lying in wait, ready to spring up, slavering and growling, claws bared, fangs glistening, ready to take a huge bite out of my ass. Since there's no easy way to run down the week, I'll do it by day.

The week started out fairly mellow - standard grousing and prodding to get the oldest up and out of the house for school. Piled the family into the van, dropped of eldest and trucked out to Fruita (smaller town outside Grand Junction) to pick up a couple of end tables we scored off of Freecycle. I was kind of cranky due to lack of sleep and general sunny disposition first thing in the morning.
We drove back into town and decided to go out to breakfast, settling on Sonic (which is half way across town), we get within 100 feet of sonic, and the car starts shuddering while trying to shift gears. General snark bounces back and forth between Melissa and I, and we forgo breakfast to limp home. After getting home, Call a local shop, find out they can look at it, limp it across town again, drop off the van, and go get some breakfast - finally.
Get a call from the shop - Transmission is shot. Chest tightens, ask how much (ballpark). Guy replies: "Transmission has basically disintegrated, fluid is burnt, metal is rattling around in there. That's why it's hard shifting into second, and rattling into third. I'm surprised you could even get it into third." Pressure behind my eyes. Guy continues: it's going to run you about $2200. Time stops as the back of my head hits the far wall. Somehow I manage to explain that I need to discuss it with my wife.
Hang up with the guy, immediately call another transmission store. They say that best case would be $1100 - worst case would be $2100. Thank him and call yet another transmission shop. Worst case $2100 - $2300. Hang up, and talk to Melissa. We decide to get it fixed at the shop.
Pain starts behind left eyebrow - Melissa says to call in to work. I call in to work, manager tries to guilt me into coming in. I explain to him that I will cause more customer complaints than I will solve. Manager tells me to feel better soon.
By this point, I feel like throwing up, so I lay down on the floor to take a nap. Kids are asleep, but I still don't get any sleep. Wake up about an hour later to go get eldest from school.
We get home, try to get eldest to finish homework before he has to go to karate - instead he gets into a fight with his brother. pushing, shoving, yelling, throwing shit - I detonate. I have been pushed to beyond my limits, and I break down.
Kids are completely oblivious.
Finally, get my shit back together, compose myself, and take eldest to karate. Start feeling better over the next hour, go home, Melissa cuts off the tip of her finger, order out, have dinner, put kids in bed, and finally wrap up the day, exhausted, frustrated and worried about how we're now going to afford to buy fire bricks for Melissa's kiln.

Get up, hassle eldest into getting up and going to school. Come home, stress most of the day about the kiln situation. Finally go to work, immediately go to manager's meeting. An hour and a half later, get out and get bombarded with idiot customer who swears up and down that she special ordered a door from us, but has no receipt, no paperwork, doesn't know when she bought it, paid cash, and wants to return it.
Search through system to no avail.
Customer's husband calls up, explains that the door was a special order return that they purchased with cash. They still don't have a receipt, no paperwork, no idea of an exact date when it was purchased, or how much they paid for it. Finally, we make the decision that they did not purchase it from us, so I have my supervisor call the customer back to let him know to pick up the door.
Spend the rest of the day trying to get weekly paperwork all figured out, wrestling with on hand variances (my favorite is the one that says we had 110 sheets of something when we actually have 50. Our host system says that we have 140) and generally trying not to kill customers.
At the end of the night, the door is still waiting to be picked up.

Eldest out of bed early, got everything together without complaining. Gets his planner out and has me sign it. Take kid to school, meet dad across town to haul Melissa's kiln frame out past Fruita to get a door welded to it. Youngest gets into Desitin, but I manage to prevent him from finger-painting the leather couch with it. Eventually get into work, knock out the rest of weekly paperwork within the hour. Things are going fairly good. I've got things under control. Find two mirror doors in different sections of the department - returns because the back fo the doors have been scratched. Find out customer wants the store to pay her installer for his time to run back and forth to the store from Delta (approximately an hour away).
While helping a customer, I get a phone call from the shop - the van has been fixed - to the tune of $2300. Immediately getting off the phone with him, I get a text from my series editor. Manuscript is on it's way back, and it looks *good*. Feeling jazzed, I call Melissa with the news. Kids have been monstrous again. Explain the news. Melissa is not happy with the added cost of the repairs, but she's happy that her finger is healing.
Get a voice mail from my mom explaining that my grandma will be sending me a check in the next week, so not to freak out - My grandmother is getting on in years, and we've had a couple of incidents that have caused concern. She's not senile, or suffering from Alzheimer's, but some decisions she's made have caused some consternation.
Melissa calls me up, asking why the Internet is not working. She's already tried the basic troubleshooting, but nothing is working. I tell her that I'll look at it when I get home for lunch. We grab some dinner, on the way home, I get a phone call from my mom explaining the message. Grandma recently sold her house to move closer to her grandkids in Colorado Springs (good move). She also found out that she can gift money to family so she doesn't have to pay capital gains taxes, so we're getting a good chunk of money this next week. So much for sweating the kiln. We get home and I call our service provider. Finally getting a live person from India, I have to explain that I don't know what my account number is, and I don't have any identifying information that they can easily access. Finally, we manage to find the account.
He tells me there is a block on my account. I tell him that the account is in good standing and paid up. He explains that it has a cease and desist block. My heart sinks - he asks me if I've downloaded anything copyrighted. I play dumb, finally he gets the block removed, and we check our email. Warner Bros. has sent a cease and desist regarding the movie "Where the Wild Things Are". I spend close to 45 minutes of my lunch hour getting this all sorted out. So yes Virginia, I have been DMRC'ed. No more downloading movies for me.
Eldest walks into the room while I'm talking to Melissa about it. We have to explain that dad got busted for stealing a movie, and how bad it is.
Go back to work, get department cleaned up, come home, and discover that our eldest has been involved in a bit of naughtiness at school - apparently he was with a group of 5th graders who were playing "Truth or Dare" and the subject of exposing oneself came up - nothing happened, no bits were exposed, but a teacher overheard and busted the group.
I have the next four days off - I just hope to goddess that she will look somewhere else for entertainment. If she grants me her blessing much more this week, I might end up going sane and join the greyfaces - or they Mayan calendar may be wrong and they misinterpreted the date as 4 - 8 March 2010.

Keep your fingers crossed!

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

A disturbing love story

"Butterfingers, please don't look at me that way, you know I can't be with you. It's a crime to my heart~"
I stood there, staring at the yellow wrapped temptress sitting on the counter, the only sound was the wheeze that escaped from my asthmatic throat. In the stillness of the day, I could feel the sweat bead up on my chins, slowly working it's way down the front of my shirt. The tension was palatable - just me and the object of my undying desire. Taking a deep breath, I could feel the t-shirt straining against my bulk, the individual threads screaming out in agony as they were stretched beyond their limits.
The whore lay on the table lewdly, flashing just enough of her chocolate brown covering to cause erotic images spring forth in my mind of what I would do to her the minute I got her into my meaty mitts.
But alas, it was not to be - she was beyond bad for me. I must be strong I told myself, my tongue making a trip around my bulbous lips, anticipating the joy of teasing her semi-sweet clothes off her unnaturally orange, flaky, crunchy body. Dragging a hand that resembled a bag of hamburger with sausages attached to it across my deep set (and almost invisible) eyes, my heart skipped a beat as I noticed the way the light played off of her plastic cellophane wrapper.
She had come home with me earlier in the night, looking for a quick one off - she was always about the quickie - but I had wanted to savor the moment, to enjoy the anticipation of taking her one little lick, nibble and bite at a time. I was getting excited at the prospect of our intimate little tete-a-tete when Stephen burst in.
Startled, I quickly tossed her off of me, trying to gain some semblance of normalcy. Too surprised to react, she lay there on the table, her wrapper lewdly hanging off her body, almost telling me to look at her. I could hear her in my head "I've been so naughty.... I really need a good tongue lashing, perhaps a nibble... are you going to taste me, and show me the error of my ways?"
"Hey, mom says no more candy." He stared at me, a pair of eyes looking out from lanky dyed black hair mostly covering a face ravaged by acne and pimples.
Quickly going on the offensive, I searched my arsenal for a biting retort to blast this interloper from my sight, so I could comfort my sweetness. Looking him square in the eyes, I mustered all my strength and fired back. "Oh yeah? Why's that?"
I could tell I had scored a hit when he shrugged - he was reeling from the attack! Yes! I have once again defeated my enemies with a minimum of bloodshed... but wait, what's this? "She says that if you eat any more candy, your heart's going to explode. I told her that if that happens, I'm not moving your ass downstairs."
What!? The enemy had booby-trapped his body! I was now realizing that I had walked right into his trap! He knew he would go down, so he figured he would get me posthumously... the sly devil... he had my respect. I had to handle this delicately...
"For how long?" I queried, trying to figure out how much time I had before I was just a greasy spot on the far wall. Another shrug... "Dunno".
Damn! not much to work with.... well, I shall do my best. He had disappeared from my view, but the trap was still there - he had attached it to my love while I must have been not looking. He was going to rue the day that he crossed paths with me! For now, I had to figure out how to rescue my love without killing both of us.
I glanced at her again, and I felt the urge rise again - I must have her! The light from the lamps had been beating down on her, causing her to start shedding her milky smooth brown wrap to reveal the tasty peanut butter flesh underneath... the sweat began to come more profusely... Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore... I lurched up out of my chair and lumbered across the room towards my destiny.... I must have my precious!
As my hand closed in on my prize, a yellow cartoon hand swept in, stealing the object of my desire. Uncomprehending, I looked up into the face of a famous cartoon character smiling at me. As if in slow motion, I watched him pull my darling up to his face, sliding her into his mouth, he bit down, taking a bit off of her.
I howled in despair and rage - I had to kill this interloper, but for some reason, I couldn't move... He looked at me, through me, into my soul, and uttered...
"Nobody had better lay a finger on my Butterfinger."

Book Review - Yaaaaaaaayyyyyyy!!!!!

I have a confession to make - I like zombies. Unlike other supernatural entities, zombies are a constant. Vampires have become, not only tragic heroes, but in the case of Twilight, quite sparkly.
Werewolves have also gotten the anti-hero treatment, becoming heroic in their own right. Ghosts have always had that kind of sultry, sexy, pseudo-erotic feel to them - often portrayed as jilted lovers or innocents robbed of their life. Frankenstein's monster has always been a tragic figure - more often seen as a victim as opposed to a monster.
Now zombies, zombies are the quintessential villain. Single minded, unswerving, implacable, unstoppable. You take one out, two more take it's place. They feed off the living, and draw their ranks from their fallen victims.
There is absolutely nothing sexy, nor attractive about zombies - unless you've got a horrific love fetish for the deceased. *shivers* ick. It is impossible to make a zombie attractive or sexy, or even sympathetic.
Now, keeping this in mind, let us insert one of the founding mothers of the feminist movement - Jane Austin.
Pride and Prejudice has been hailed as a bellwether for women's lit, and has been very heavily studied, interpreted, re-interpreted and disassembled, but never before has it been rewritten with zombies.
Now, I can dig Jane Austin - within reason, and I love zombies. Figuring that combining the two together would be awesome, much like a series of commercials in the 70's and 80's for Reese's Peanut Butter Cups featuring situations in which two people, one eating peanut butter and one eating chocolate, collided. One person would exclaim, "You got your peanut butter in my chocolate!" and the other would exclaim, "You got your chocolate in my peanut butter!" They would then sample the mixture and remark on the great taste, tying in with the slogan "Two great tastes that taste great together."
Now imagine if you had the chocolate guy and the peanut butter guy collide, start eating the mixture, and then about three quarters of the way through the jar, somebody takes a massive dump in the jar.
Yeah.... Pride & Prejudice & Zombies ends up with a ruined candy bar mixture.
F'ing ninjas........

Aside from that, the book reads a lot like Austin's original story, albeit against the background of a zombie infestation of Victorian London. Those who are familiar with The original story will find that for the most part, it is the same, with various zombie attacks peppered in for color. Many don't make much sense - A dance that occurs (and continues) in spite of a zombie attack that takes out several attendees.
Needless to say, the story progresses following the traditional ideas of the story - namely Elizabeth despising and then falling for Mr. Darcy. Interspersed between all of this comedy of errors bit is liberal doses of ultra-violence, mayhem, and damnit.... ninjas. Leave it to ninjas to ruin anything. I gave up on the book when I get to the ninjas.
Now, the book has been optioned into a movie, a prequel will be coming out at the end of the month, and in May - look for the graphic novel adaptation.
Also, another Austin staple has been raked over the coals, but I haven't bothered checking it out - just not enough appeal I guess.
I mean, who would want to read Sense & Sensability & Sea Monsters?

Monday, March 1, 2010

Failed post

I'm sorry folks, I just can't write tonight. It's been one hell of a day, and my creativity is at an all-time low. I'll make it up later this week, but right now - I think that I would rather have psychotic midgets throw hammers at my head while yodeling raunchy sea shanties - the midgets... not me.

Saturday, February 27, 2010

Scene from a discussion

"MOM... Susie stole my cheeseburger..."
"Susie, give your sister back her cheeseburger."
"But MoOOoom, Elaine stole my drink!"
"*sigh* Elaine, you give Susie back her drink, Susie you give Elaine back her cheeseburger."
"Mohhhhhhhhmmmmm! Susie just threw my cheeseburger at me, and now she's on top of the television stand!"
"Elaine, stop tattling on your sister. Susie, stop throwing cheeseburgers and get down off of the television stand."
"Mom! Elaine just flipped me the bird!"
"Elaine, stop flipping your sister the bird right now."
"Augh! Mom! Susie just spit at me!"
"Mom! Elaine just punched me in the arm!"
"Susan! You watch your language!"
"But Mom! Elaine just punched my tit!"
"Damnit Elaine! Stop punching your sister in the breast! She's going to need those if she's ever going to get Steve to notice her!"
"What? Didn't you tell me that Steve was just the dreamiest guy ever the other day?"
"Hahahahahahahaha! Susie's got a crush on Steve!"
"Shut up you horrible brat! I do not!"
"So why did you tell me that you would absolutely die if Steve asked you to the dance?"
"OW! Mom! Susie just kicked me!"
"Susie, you need to calm down! You don't have to kick your sister! We're just playing with you... oh for the love of god!"
"Get off of my you fat cow!"
"Not until you apologize for for calling me a horrible brat... and a fat cow!"
"Why should I apologize for telling the truth!?"
"Elaine! You get off of your sister right now! I'm serious! You are both too old for this! Do I have to spank you?"
"Mohhhhm! You can't be serious!"
"I am totally serious! If you too don't knock it off right now, I'm going to spank both of you!"
"What do you think? You think we can take her?"
"Don't you even.... Girls, stop it! No! No tickling! no.... ah hahahahahahahahaha!"
"C'mon Elaine, let's get her!"
"Oh god! noooooooo! hahahahahahahahahaha oh my god! you've got to stop!"
"That's it Susie! get her! Especially her ribs! She can't stand that"
"*shriek* Oh you two are soo dead when I get out of this! hahahahahahahahahaha!"
"I'm gonna get her feet!"
"NOOOOOOO!!!!!! hahahahahahahahahahaha!"
"Oh hell! Someone's at the door!"
"Quick, Elaine, I'll hold mom down... you go get the door!"
"Hell-ooooo? STEVE! Oh my god! Hi!"
"Uh, Hey Elaine, is Susie here?"
"Oh... yeah... we were just having a tickle fight with Mom. Would you like to come in?"
"Yeah, I would like that."
"Quick! Susie, run! I'll try and keep him distracted so you can get cleaned up a little!"
"Thanks Mom!"
"Oh Hello Steve, how are you today?"
"Hi Mrs. Jenson, I'm doing good. How about you?"
"I'm doing well. What brings you over today?"
"Well, I was going to uh, see if uh, Susie wanted to go to the dance with uh, with me."
"Well, Steve, I've got to tell you; I can't speak for Susie, but somehow I get the feeling that she could be persuaded."
"Hey Mom? Where did Susie go? She was just heaugh!"
"She's been in her room... remember?"
"No, why did you just kick my shin-eaow!"
"Elaine? Is everything alright?"
"Yeah Steve, for some reason, I keep getting these pains in my leg"
"Oh, Steve! I didn't know you were here!"
"Wow.... Susie, you look stunning"
"Well, thank you Steve. What's up?"
"Well uh, I was wondering if... if..."
"Well, that is, uh, I was wondering if, uh, you wanted to maybe, uh... go to the dance with me next week?"
"Steve, I would be honored to. Steve? STEVE!?"
"Oh my god! MOM! Something is wrong with Steve!"
"Steve! Steve? hey, wake up!"
"Holy Crap Susie! You Killed Steve!"
"Shut UP! Mom! Tell Elaine to shut up! I didn't do anything to Steve!"
"Elaine, either shut the hell up, or go to your room. Steve? There we go, how are you feeling kiddo?"
"Uh, what just happened?"
"You fainted kiddo, you sure you're o.k.?"
"Uh, yeah.... I think so..."
"Here, let me help you up... Are you going to be alright to make it home?"
"Uh, yeah, I think so..."
"Mom, what if I walked Steve home, just to make sure he doesn't fall?"
"That would be a great idea Susie, hurry back though, we have a lot of work to do still."
"O.k. Mom, C'mon Steve, let's get going..."
"I don't get it Mom, why did Steve faint?"
"Oh, Elaine.... it's just something that you'll have to experience when you're older. It's something you feel deep inside."
"Like a fart?"
"Nevermind... why don't you go out and play?"
"O.k. Mom.... y'know, that was pretty cool how Susie managed to get Steve to faint like that. You think I'll ever be able to do that?"
"Elaine, I know you will.... now go play."

Friday, February 26, 2010

A Good Ol' Fashioned Love Story

She gave me a picture, I gave her my heart. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Harv was waiting for me at the far end of the tank today. I had been a cooler day, with the sun spending most of it behind a cloud. Not that I was complaining - It's been a hell of a week so far. First it was the kids from the private school who started yelling fat jokes at me, then a drunken frat boy puked in our pool, but by far, it had to be that goddamn giraffe sticking his neck where it didn't belong. That was the last straw. I got so pissed off that I charged the wall separating our two enclosures.
Bad move.
Not only did that long necked bastard get the pleasure of watching me practically bash my brains out, but he also laughed at me. I swear, I'm gonna get that spindly legged freak and show him the meaning of awkward social situations.
I was muttering to myself when Harv interrupted me.
"Yo, Steve, how's the head?"
I looked up, startled, opening my mouth. "Damnit Harv! Don't do that!" Harv backed up quickly, and I closed my mouth. As we walked back into the feeding pen, I sighed and prepared myself for another boring evening of grasses and fruits.
"Hey, it looks like we got a feeder!" Harv said as he entered the building. Glancing up, my heart stopped. At first I thought she was Taweret in physical form, but then I realized that she was just a very beautiful, albeit skinny human. I was lost.
Over the following weeks, I looked forward to her in the feeding pen. Whenever she would come by, I would open my mouth and posture for her. A couple of times I chased Harv around, just to show her how awesome I was. I finally stopped when I chased him into the gate, bending the bars.
I thought she might be digging me, but I wasn't sure, until last night, when she dropped a photo into the pen. It was then that I knew that it was true love. Wanna see the picture?

Isn't she gorgeous?

Thursday, February 25, 2010

The Battle

I groaned into my milkshake. "Jesus Ash, that was terrible!" I looked across the Formica table at my roommate. He grinned at me, shoving another pile of fries into his mouth.
"I dunno, I thought the whole pi thing was damn brilliant."
"How many times have I told you, jokes are fine, but if you start punning, you're liable to get schooled?" I looked him in the eye, waiting for him to back down.
"Oh really? You think you can out pun me?" Ash winked at me. I hate it when he does that. Every time he winks like that, you know he's raring to go. Well, this time, I was going to really put him in his place. I just had to start out a little easy.
"Alright - what'r the stakes?" I looked at him, figuring if he was going to back down, now would be the time.
Leaning back in his chair, he slid his hands behind his head. "Well..." he looked at the ceiling for a moment, trying to throw me off. "Howzabout this... if I win, I get your collection of zombie flicks for the month." My mouth tightened in a grimace.
"And?" I prompted.
"In the highly unlikely event that I lose, you can do my laundry for a month." He grinned at me, expecting me to fall for that ploy again.
"Not so fast smartass, If I win, you have to do my laundry for a month, and give me your copy of The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers.... for keeps." My heart raced as I threw down the gauntlet.
Ash sat forward abruptly, a look of cold steel in his eyes. Yup, hit a nerve.
"Alright - but expect to be doing laundry for a while, I'm gonna sleep in it for a week first."
"Well, since you started out, I'll go ahead and start out" I explained, settling back, thinking quickly.

"Didja hear about the young man that broke up with the telephone operator? Apparently he felt disconnected from her, plus she had too many hang-ups." I started, testing the waters.
Without blinking an eye, Ash replied "I riposte that for a fencer to admit he's been foiled is a hard thing touche." Inwardly, I winced - I was hoping to save that one for a little later.
"Y'know, I once forgot how to throw a boomerang, but then it came back to me." Again, I winced - not one of my better ones, and I knew what was coming. "I saw this baseball that was getting bigger, and then it hit me." Wait a second, did I just see a slight tic in Ash's eye? I must have, because that one was even worse than mine.
"Hey, you hear about the guy that got hit in the head with a can of soda? He's gonna be o.k. since it was only a soft drink." I could feel a little confidence sprouting.
Ash wiggled his eyebrows at a passerby and replied "The Short Fortune-Teller who escaped from prison was considered a short medium at large!" Immediately I fired back with "It's better to love a short girl than not a tall." A groan behind me boosted me up. Ash looked over my shoulder and explained "I thought I saw an Alaskan Eye Doctor, but it turned out to be an optical Aleutian."
Ouch. I had to think of something fast.
"Did you know that England doesn't have a Kidney Bank, but they do have a Liverpool?" A boy behind Ash rolled his eyes. We were starting to get serious now. I could tell because there were several dogs hanging out. People were starting to converge.
"At the rum factory docks, they all talk in verse - it just goes to show that rhymes fly when your heaving rum!" Several groans, eye rolls, and a chuckle or two. I had to start pulling out the big guns.
"A Chess Convention was being held in Denver. Before the convention opened, many of the attendees were standing around the lobby of a hotel near the convention center, bragging about their previous games. After about an hour of this boasting, the manager of the hotel decided that he had heard enough and started chasing the players out. Another customer came up to him and asked him why he had just kicked out all the players. The manager replied 'I can't stand chess nuts boasting in an open foyer'".
More groans and chuckles. In the background, I thought I heard someone retch.
Ash's eyes narrowed. "So that's how it is, huh?" I nodded, a slight smile traveling to my lips. He sighed "Alright, For years and years, a doctor had been having a drink after work at the same bar. Every time he walked in the door, the barman would mix his favorite drink, a hazelnut daiquiri. One day, the bartender didn't have any hazelnuts in the bar. Wondering what to do, he spied some hickory nuts and tried to make the drink from them instead. The doctor came in at his regular time, took a sip of the drink and exclaimed 'This isn't a hazelnut daiquiri!' 'No,' said the bartender, 'it's a hickory daiquiri, doc.' Much eye rolling from the crowd, some groans, a few laughs... I had to end this now.
Taking a deep breath, I looked Ash in the eye and started "There was once a huge starship, called the SS Titanic." Watching him closely, I could tell he knew this one was going to be a doozy. "It was a mighty cruise ship, set to sail the inky blackness of space. The first voyage of the immense vessel came. Thousands of people on board - mostly the rich and famous, and of course, a large crew to cater for their every need."
A thin sheen or perspiration began to form on his forehead. If I could keep it together for a little longer, I knew I would have him. I continued. "As the ship set off, no-one realized that her fate was just around the corner. She flew around the galaxy, visiting several resort planets, before heading towards her last solar system. As she arrived, everyone found themselves looking in horror as the star exploded in front of their eyes - a supernova."
I took a quick drink from my shake - I had to make this next part difficult, or I was going to loose it, and blow the punchline. I let the image of the ship exploding settle in everyone's mind before picking the story back up.
"Of course, everyone was killed, and although search parties spent several years looking, nothing was ever found of the great ship, except for a single twisted, half-molten chunk of metal that had come from the toolkit of one of the ship's engineers. The chunk of metal was put on display in a museum dedicated to the memory of the ship." Pausing for dramatic effect, I could tell Ash knew he was already beat. I let him sweat it for a few seconds, as I looked around at the crowd. The more I got them involved, the more it would hurt when I finished the story.
"It became known as the Star-Mangled Spanner."

The crowd erupted into a wild mob - approximately three-quarters grabbed their noses and ran from the room screaming - others just sat there, stunned. A few were laughing so hard they had tears streaming down their faces. Ash sat there, looking at me like I had grown a second head.
"You better get a wash ready" I told him as I got up and left the table.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

ET - Seriously WTF!?

So I was sitting on the couch tonight, prowling the interwebs and half-listening to the tele, mainly just letting the noise create background music, waiting for the olympics to start back up. As with most commercials, you have the filler crap for sitcoms or dramas or that rat bastard whose name I will not mention who gets his damn show back (alright, enough of that).
I'm zoning out, the noise in the background, and an ad for Entertainment Tonight comes on: Edwards' sex tape, blah, blah, blah, Queens of Alice in Wonderland, blah, blah, blah, Charlie Sheen in Rehab, blah, blah, blah, Tiger's Children, blah, blah, blah, Jo Frost sticking her nose where it probably shouldn't be, blah, blah, blah, and then [SERIOUS TONE] Animal Attacks - see what happens when wild animals kept as pets attack their owners! {immediately followed by} [LIGHTHEARTED TONE] Former Baywatch Beauty was overweight, can she get back into the red swimsuit?
I don't know what happened - I just lost it. I started frothing at the mouth, my eyes got that crazy color changing thing that used to happen to Kaa from the Jungle Book and this inhuman, otherworldly voice started screaming...
"What the hell is that shit!? I mean, seriously! How they hell can they sleep at night? Are you shitting me? [SERIOUS VOICE] ANIMAL ATTACKS! [LIGHTHEARTED TONE] Former Baywatch bouncer too fucking fat!"
As I slowly regained my senses, I realized that a) I had some strange sort of disconnect, b) Entertainment Tonight is full of fail and bad editing and c) I had just taught my three boys some new vocabulary that I will spend the next two weeks trying to get them to stop repeating in front of parents, police and priests, d) Apparently when I get really offended (holy crap, I'm getting offended! I'm getting old! Nothing used to offend me!), my wife finds it absolutely hysterical.
So now I'm fuming over the fact that the digital equivalent of a Cleavland Steamer has been dropped in my living room, and Melissa is laughing like a ten year old at a fart convention, and I have no clue as to what she finds so funny.
This gets me to thinking about what was so wrong with the program in the first place.
One: Why the hell is ET showing video of any type of animal attacks right around dinner time, when most families are either crowded around the television, eating dinner with the television on, or crowded around dinner with the television at the table?
Two: Why in the world would anyone think that an actress who was "overweight" at one point in time be a nice segue from violent, vicious animals attacks into lighter fare? They show video of her wearing the Baywatch swimsuit, focusing on her ass, and all I can see is a lion coming out of nowhere and taking a bite out of that ass.
Three: This stuff is so inane in the first place, I don't know why anyone would want to talk to them in the first place unless you are either broke, an attention whore, clueless, or no moral compass whatsoever. Apparently, everyone on that show has all the above... in spades.
So, how do we combat this encroaching vapidity and intellectual bankruptcy?
two words: 80's music.
You know you wanna.....

Monday, February 22, 2010

Breaking News

Newscaster: Breaking news tonight out of the local school district... Apparently, the Department of Homeland Security has taken several students into custody, along with their teacher. Hello, I'm Winston Taekabow. Today, several students were apparently arrested along with their teacher in what Homeland Security is calling "a sting of epic proportions". Strata Raffia is on site with this report. Strata?

Strata: Thanks, Winston. Apparently, the Department of Homeland Security has been following this cell of students for several months now, in anticipation of something like this happening. As you can see over my shoulder, the school in question where the raid took place. At this time, the suspects, four students and a teacher have been detained and are currently being questioned about their involvement in the incident.

Winston: So, can you tell us what happened?

Strata: Absolutely Winston. Apparently, this morning at approximately 10 a.m. several students burst into a classroom waving a rubber band pistol, several paint ball guns, and water grenades. Witnesses I have spoken with described the scene as one of incredulity, tinged with fear. According to one eyewitness, they came bursting into the room during algebra class, screaming incoherently and waving guns and grenades. At the time, no one could tell if the weapons were real or not.

Winston: What about the suspects, can you tell us anything about them?

Strata: We're still getting preliminary reports, but from what I've been able to find out, it was four students aged between 15 and 17, and a teacher. There is no definitive word yet that the teacher had anything to do with the students, but he has been taken into custody. Since the suspects are all under 18, we are not allowed to release their names, but the teacher is alleged to be Roger Smith, 39. Now, from what we've heard, he is a popular teacher here at the school. He has been teaching English for several years now, and had just started teaching Algebra... hang on Winston, we're getting a live update.... [grabs piece of paper shoved at her from off camera]. The police have officially taken the suspects into custody, and are apparently charging them with some grievous charges. The police chief is holding an impromptu press conference now.

[Cuts to] Police Chief: We appreciate your attentiveness to this situation. I will explain a little of what happened today, and how it will be handled. Our colleagues in Homeland Security tipped us off to a possible threat today, and with their assistance, we were able to thwart a vicious attack on this school. The suspects have been officially arrested in connection with bursting into an Algebra class, brandishing weapons. In a separate incident, the teacher in the room, Mr. Roger Smith, has also been arrested. At this point in time, we are still not sure as to the connection between the two acts, but we're positive that given time, they will be proven to be part of a larger attack.
At this time, the four teens who burst into the Algebra class waving weapons have been charged with 27 counts of disturbing the peace, and four counts each of using weapons of Math Disruption. Mr Smith was captured with a protractor, graphing calculator, and several sharpened pencils. Subsequently, he has been charged with carrying weapons of Math Instruction.

[Cuts away to] Strata: And there you have it. A terrible crime was narrowly avoided today. As more information comes to light, We will update you. Now, Back to you in the studio Winston.

Winston: Thank you Strata. In Nationaly news, Puxatawny Phil had a close encounter with a disgruntled Northerner today.


Sorry to put the pic at the end of the story tonight, but it would have given away the punchline!