What to do with all the champagne?

If you're wondering what to do with your extra bubbly, try the following...

Shining Citrus

Diamond Dust

And of course, the Grumpy Champagne


If you don't like champagne, but do like drinks named after people, you could try a Droewyn or a Sparkfrost.

Return of Jack Collier (Chapter Twenty-Seven)

The Return of Jack Collier

A Jack Collier Story

By Brett N. Lashuay

 

Last week’s entry can be found here.

 

Twenty-Seven: Countdown

(This chapter by: Jill Piper)

 

 

            I knew that today was going to be the day. I was waiting in the white room, where all the objects were white or had been painted white, and counting the hours. I knew what was going to happen, I’d been told all about it in graphic detail. I was going to be raped, and it would be videotaped so that I could watch it later while I was being raped again. I was to be broken, and made into a supplicant. That was their plan anyway, I knew what was really going to happen.

 

            I had been wearing the only thing that was left in my clothing drawers that day, a cotton dress with light tan accent lines on a few spots like the hem and sleeves. It looked like someone had bleached the dress to take out all the color they could. I knew they were going to make me change, they’d already brought the two bits of fabric they were calling a sacrificial gown, even though it was really just a thin toga sort of robe thing. I would have to wear it, or they would drug me long enough to put me in it. I didn’t want to be drugged, because I wanted to be ready for when Jack came.

 

            Jack came earlier than I thought he would, and not how I’d planned.

 

            The door opened and the guy who wanted to be Buddy Holly when he grew up came through the door. He had a nasty look on his face when he came in, smiling at me and making me tug at the hem of my skirt to try and pull it over my legs so he couldn’t look at them.

 

            “I’ve brought you a present,” he said, licking his top lip in a way that made me uncomfortable. “Something for you to look at.”

 

            Then they dragged him in, one of them on each arm and his feet barely touching the ground. He was covered in blood, and he looked like he’d been beaten with a baseball bat. His eyes were moving around though, and his movements were only a little dazed. He looked at me and his face broke into a wide grin, showing me that he still had all his teeth in place.

 

            “Hi Jill,” he enthused at me. “How you doing girl?”

 

            “Jack?” I asked.

 

            “Yeah,” he grinned a lop sided smirk at me and tipped a wink. “I’ll be back to get you in a little while, will you be ready for me?”

 

            “Yes Jack,” I said, nodding to him.

 

            “Don’t worry about this situation,” he cleared his throat and moved around a little. “I can handle this, this is nothing.”

 

            “I’m sure you’re right,” the Buddy Holly look-alike winner said.

 

            “You bet I am,” Jack said. “Don’t you worry about a thing kiddo. Once I sort these guys out, I’ll be right with you.”

 

            “Okay,” I said trying not to sound like a stupid little girl, but failing. “I’ll wait Jack.”

 

            “That’s a good girl,” he said. “I’ve got to go with these guys and then I’ll be back for you.”

 

            “Okay Jack.” I nodded at him.

 

            “Oh shut up,” Buddy Holly said, giving him a kick in the side. “Take him for a ride, I don’t want to see him again.”

            The two big guys took him away and the skinny guy with glasses snapped his fingers. Another two big guys brought a girl into the room and threw her down on the floor. One of them gave her a slap when she tried to get up, which sent her spinning and falling to the floor.

 

            “What?” I asked.

 

            “Get to know her,” he said as he walked out the door. “You’re the main course, she’s going to be the starter tonight.”

 

            The door closed behind him and the girl sat up and started to cry. She put her fists against her face and shook her shoulders, and that was all. There wasn’t screaming or wailing, just the shoulder shaking. I guessed she must have known what was ahead for us, but not known that Jack really would be rescuing us just like he promised.

 

            “It’s okay,” I sat down and put my arms around her shoulders. “Jack will come back for us, he always comes back.”

 

            “I’m going to kill that little shit,” she said suddenly.

 

            “What?” I asked.

           

            “I’m going to kill that little Elvis Costello look alike.” she said wiping her face. “He killed Dale. I’m going to kill him.”

 

            She got up and walked to the door, smacking her hand at the place where the knob had been removed. She looked at the spot and then smacked the door with her shoulder a few times. The door didn’t move though, it just sat there while she banged into it. She fell to the floor again, and this time she really did start crying for real.

 

            “Goddamnit!” She snapped as she hit the floor and began to sob in earnest. “Damn it!”

 

            “It’s a locked door,” I said. “Even if you broke it down, there are a dozen guys on the other side.”

 

            “Damn it,” she said again and swiped at her eyes. “I should be able to handle this.”

 

            “Why?” I asked.

 

            “I should be able to do something,” she said.

 

            “There’s nothing to do,” I shrugged. “We’ve just got to wait for Jack.”

 

            “Just wait for the man to come to the rescue?” she asked.

 

            “No,” I said, wondering if she’d ever actually seen him in action. “We wait for Jack.”

 

            There wasn’t much to say after that, so we did wait. And we waited. And waited. I started to get a little worried because after a while it started to get late. The clock was turning around, marking out how much time we had left. The door opened and two of the big men came back in.

 

            “Time to get dressed,” one of them said throwing something at her. I could tell, just by how it landed, it was another sacrificial gown.

 

            “What if we don’t?” she asked.

 

            He didn’t look annoyed or threatening or anything. He just shrugged at her.

 

            “We can do it easy, or we can do it hard,” he said pulling a syringe from his coat pocket. “It won’t matter either way. You’re going to be in that dress and you’re going to do your part. You can either be paralyzed, or you can go willingly. Coming down from this stuff isn’t pleasant though, I’ll tell you that.”

 

            She didn’t say anything, she just pulled her shirt off and started to undo her bra. They walked out and left us to it, giving us a few moments of privacy before we were to be abused. She had a nice body, just the sort of girl I liked. If things had been different, we could have had a nice weekend together, but there wasn’t going to be time for that. If I was lucky, I would just pass out in the first few moments.

 

            We got dressed, we waited until we were called for, and we just looked at each other. I could tell she wanted to talk, but she had clearly decided that sitting in silence was the way to go. When they did come, they looked meaner than ever. I wanted to ask her what her name was, but I didn’t get a chance when we were led from the white room towards the place where it was going to happen.

 

            We were walked into a room where two tables had been set up. No, not tables. They were, well, racks, with stirrups on them. We were each grabbed by a dozen men each and tied down. Our hands were tied over our heads and our legs were tied into the stirrups, putting us in an easy position to be used. They just used strips of cloth, not even leather or anything, it would have been so easy to cut through those with even a small knife.

 

            I looked at her, noticing how she seemed to be taking all this in stride and realized I still didn’t know her name. Whatever moment of weakness she’d had was gone, and they weren’t going to be able to do anything to her because she wasn’t going to be broken. She looked strong and angry and waiting for a moment to attack. I wished I could have been strong like her, but I was getting scared. Jack should have been here and he wasn’t.

 

            Then the talking began, and the ritual began, and I started to cry because I knew I’d been forgotten. They were sprinkling me with water, pouring oil down my legs and I knew he wasn’t coming. They started chanting, and I couldn’t help the tears pouring down my face. I was in that chair for ten minutes, waiting for them to just start and get it over with, before they started the count down.

 

            “Fifteen seconds brothers!” one of them called and pulled open his robe, exposing his erect penis. “Ten seconds!”

 

            They all cheered together as the last few seconds rolled down.

 

            “FIVE! FOUR!” one of them started to crawl on top of me, his breath reeking of booze and something that smelled like pot. “THREE! TWO!”

 

            And I knew I’d been left behind.

 

Only the queen can eat swan.

Do you suppose Queen Liz 2 (Liz Harder*) actually likes swan? It would be shame if she’d rather just have a Big Mac wouldn’t it? You sort of want her going “Ooo! Swan! I get the good bit! Philly, you can Chuckles can fight over the neck. Neither of you will ever actually rule, so it doesn’t matter! I;’m going to give the throne to Harry! He at least has a fucking sense of humor! HA HA!”

I suspect it’s like the diamond encrusted royal butt plug. Sure, a diamond and gold butt plug sounds impressive. HOWEVER! I have it on good authority (Liz Harder herself) that once you actually try to insert it, you discover that diamonds are some jagged motherfuckers and it hurts like hell. She said Philip was shitting blood for a week.






*Electric Queenabo just didn’t sound right.

Okay so why a pair of ducks? Why-a no chicken?

The problem I have with using the time machine is the paradoxes. I never know whether any given memory is real or not.

I have the same problem, with drug induced hallucinations, but I can usually discount anything with dragons and nurses with massive rows of sharp teeth jutting from the mouth on their chests.


(P.S. If you get the joke in the title, bless your little heart)

Return of Jack Collier (Chapter Twenty-Six)

The Return of Jack Collier

A Jack Collier Story

By Brett N. Lashuay

 

 

Last week’s entry can be found here. 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Six: Trouble

Chapter Twenty-Six: Trouble

 

            It may be irresponsible of me, but I’m not going to describe the next three days worth of work because it’s boring. The problem there is that it always makes detective work seem more exciting than it is because storytelling conventions require taking out the hours, days, and sometimes weeks of mindless grind that goes with the job. Still though, I’m telling the story, not you, and I get so bored even thinking about it that my eyes cross. So you will please excuse me while I ignore the three days of ground pounding and foot flattening we performed while looking for the place where Jill was most likely kept away in a dark room.

 

            It was a frustrating and increasingly hectic few days, with me checking the clock every fifteen seconds on that last day. It was the last day after all, only a few hours before zero hour and we had only just decided on what was probably the best bet. When looking at a situation like this, you look for who looks shifty, who looks paranoid. Who has extra security, who has too much coming in or out the door? The problem is that just about everyone out there had too much security going on. Legalized pot had made the entire state paranoid. What’s interesting is that if I hadn’t made a few mistakes, and they hadn’t made a few mistakes, I probably wouldn’t have found her in time.

 

            The house was in the hills. Don’t ask me which hills, because I can’t remember. We’d more or less come to the conclusion that this one house was probably the place because it had seen an increase in security in the last few hours. We’d been watching half a dozen properties playing the old 47 Ronin game, and I got to be the mad man, and this was the place. I wasn’t sure though, so we were harmlessly trespassing on the grounds when we spotted the suits walking toward us. Shiri, Dale and I were standing together, looking like two gay burnouts and their annoyingly out of place dealer. I just didn’t get the memo that we were going to be street kids that day, and I’m ten years older than the both of them so I wouldn’t have fit in anyway.

 

            “We’ve been spotted,” Shiri said as she looked over Dale’s shoulder.

 

            “We’re being fenced in,” Dale said as he looked over her shoulder.

 

            I kept looking at the house and didn’t look at either of them. I was trying to decide what I was going to do while slipping the leather persuader out of my back pocket and sliding it up my sleeve. I was pretty sure that we were in trouble by the way Dale’s arms tensed up and the way Shiri’s legs moved as they came close.

 

            “We were just looking for a place to hang out till dark man,” Dale started. “Sorry man, we’ll just…”

 

            Someone hit Dale across the mouth and I finally decided to look at the group that had approached us. A little runt who looked like he worshipped the ground Buddy Holly walked on was adjusting a pair of brass knuckles on his hand. I looked down and saw Dale spit out a mouthful of blood and what looked like a tooth.

 

            “No,” the little Buddy Holly look-alike said succinctly. “You were snooping, weren’t you? Shall we try again? Were you snooping?”

 

            “Of course we were,” I said.

 

            “I wasn’t talking to you,” he snapped at me. “I was talking to the faggot.”

 

            “Well you should have been talking to me,” I said.

 

            “I was talking to him,” he pointed the hand with the knuckle dusters at Dale.

 

            “Well talk to me instead,” I said, sounding just a little too arrogant. “It’s more sporting if you hit me.”

 

            “Oh yeah?” he asked.

 

            “Yeah,” I said. “I’m more used to being hit with illegal weapons. We’ll both enjoy it more.”

 

            “Oh these,” he gave me a prod in the stomach that bent me over a bit but didn’t do much more than let me know we were both there. “I’ve got lots more than these.”

 

            “Good to know,” I straightened up and looked down on him, which is unusual because I rarely tower over anyone.

 

            “So what are you three doing here?” he asked.

 

            “Snooping,” I told him. “I thought we’d established that.”

 

            He swung his fist, but it was in such a big wide arc that there was no effort getting out of the way. I blocked with my left arm and tapped him in the belly with my right fist, just enough for him to know I knew how to hit. He staggered back a few steps and looked like he wanted to leap on me. He didn’t though, not matter how much he wanted to, which was an important note for both of us. Something looked broken in his eyes, like a dog that was raised wild and wouldn’t ever be completely tame.

 

            “Who are you?” he asked, after regaining his composure.

 

            I looked behind us and saw that while this fellow had come with three guys, there were another four that had come up the other path. If I ran down the hill, I could get into the house and check to see if that was indeed the full compliment of security staff. Heck, they might even shoot at me to show me if they were armed or not. I looked at the little guy and his large companions and thought of how best to answer that.

 

            “I’m Jack Collier,” I said. “These two said they lived around here, so I asked them to show me this place.”

 

            “Collier?” the little guy asked, tilting his head from side to side, bringing little cracking noises from his neck. “You’d be the private eye from Michigan then?”

 

            “That’s right,” I nodded.

 

            “We thought you people were in Georgia.”

 

            “Some are,” I said. “I came out here.”

 

            “Would you be the Jack Collier who was part of that big Seven With One Blow thing a few years ago?” his face looked cold, implacable, and very cold.

 

            “That’s right,” I told him. “Although it was really six with one, the seventh came a lot later.”

 

            “You killed a good friend of mine,” he pulled out what at first looked like a slim pocket knife, until he hit a button and I realized it was a switchblade. This boy was full of illegal weapons today, this one was one of those fancy out the front types that pops straight out and then flicks back in with a touch of the button. “I’m Steve Quale. Chester Cat was a friend of mine.”

 

            “Well, he wasn’t easy to kill,” I told him, waiting to see if I couldn’t get him to stab at me. “That should make you happy.”

 

            He snarled at me for a moment, which was not an attractive look for him. His eyes flicked to the left at Dale and then back at me. I should have jumped then, I’ll admit it. I should have seen what that flick in his eyes meant, but I’m not as smart as some people. His hand moved with a flash of speed that would have left a cobra gaping and the blade slashes across Dale’s neck.

 

            Dale’s eyes bulged, his hands went to his throat and he started to stumble as blood began to run down his chest. I caught him halfway through his fall and pressed my hand against the large wound on his neck, trying to staunch the blood flow. It was pointless because keeping the blood in his body only meant there was more to go into his lungs and drown him. I sat there for a moment or two, while blood soaked between my fingers and dropped onto my pants and into the dusty ground around us.

 

            “You killed a friend of mine, I killed a friend of yours,” Quale said.

 

            “He wasn’t a friend of mine,” I said looking up at him. “I barely knew the guy. He just worked in the office out here.”

 

            “So he was one of your little faggots,” He sneered. “This would be your pet dyke then.”

 

            I started to stand up, intent on giving him a good hiding, but he was faster than me. In fact, Mister Quale was faster than lightning. Somehow he’d gotten his brass knuckles back on his hand and smacked me in the face with them. Then hands were on my shoulders and arms and another pair of strikes hit me in the stomach.

 

            “You’ve got your little army of sodomites, and I’ve got an army of righteous men,” Quale said. “You people don’t know what you’re up against. You think this is some little gang of punks? We’re the soldiers of God, we’re going to sweep our hands of fire across the land.”

 

            His fist hit me again, and my head was filled with the songs I’d never bothered to hear. My brain was still rocking from side to side when Quale announced it was time to go see someone he called the bitch. Or maybe he was going to let me see her, or let her see me, something like that. I wasn’t too terribly clear on the details because at that moment I was trying to keep my brain from leaking out of my nose by concentration alone.

 

            I was in trouble though, that much was clear. I had clearly screwed something up because I was being dragged along by two guys about the size of Belgium into a house where I was thinking Jill might be kept. If I was being taken to see her, it was not so I could pick her up and take her home. I was sort of thinking that I was about to be taken for a ride, the sort you don’t come back from.

 

            This would have been a time to come up with a plan, or attack with sudden violence and save the day. The problem was that my guns were back at the hotel, because I didn’t think I’d need them just yet. I had a pocket knife, but my arms were being held by the two guys who could each stand in for Belgium. I couldn’t come up with a plan anyway, because I was distracted by all the pain. If I didn’t think of something soon though, we were all going to be in a lot of trouble.

 

            Why can’t it ever be following a guy around to see if he’s really broken his leg or is just faking it to get the insurance benefits. No, it has to be adventure, excitement, and really wild things. Someday I’m going to get my head caved in, and this was starting to look like the day.

 

Arctic Foxes!

Then there was the time Johnny Cash got some chicks drunk and called it a Christmas song.

Okay, download this song called Figgy Puddin'

Now for a minute it sounds okay, but at 1:03... a drunk walks in. The crazy bitch just starts screaming about wanting her Figgy Puddin', and that she won't leave until someone gives her some figgy pudding.

This goes further than wondering if you can trust your senses, this is like... I think I'm going to be visited by three spirits or some shit.

A VEWPRF Gift Reminder

As tomorrow is Buddha Day, I thought I would remind you of some important gift giving things.

Sometimes, people actually WANT socks. Some people would hate the idea of getting an official Red Ryder carbine-action, two hundred shot Range Model air rifle with a compass in the stock and a thing which tells time and other long for a pink jelly butt plug. Please remember to think of the person while buying the gift. Also, remember that gifts are not a requirement but rather a way to show affection. It's not a competition, it should just be a nice thing you've decided to do.

If you're stuck though, you could always just get a Red Buddha figure for your loved ones. And you can get little Buddha figures for your friends and work mates.

It is Buddha Day after all.

The Buddha Day Request

Tomorrow is Buddha Day! In remembrance of that, let's have an essay I wrote a couple of years ago!

Let me explain this for those of you who are Christian or live in primarily Christian areas as to why many non-Christians get fed up with Christmas and the forcing of Christmas upon us.

Let us imagine for a moment that you live in an alternate Universe where the Chinese used all those inventions that they came up with first and that Eastern Culture took over the world instead of Western Culture. Now let us imagine that there is a holiday at the end of December called Buddha Day. Now imagine that for two months solid, every store you went into, every ad circular, every commercial break on every TV and radio station had tons and tons of Buddha Day reminders. The Buddha Day music starts in mid November, the little red resin Buddha statues start being sold before Halloween, the big light up Buddhas start showing up before Thanksgiving. You start seeing Buddha Day things in August and the rumble becomes a huge blaring noise that just builds for four god damn months. By December you can't go out of your house without seeing all sorts of Buddha Day decorations and being told to "Be Peaceful, Buddha Day is coming" and even when they don't mention Buddha, you know that's what they mean. The thin man in the green robes who delivers cakes on Buddha Day Eve might be an old throw back and more commercial than religious, but you KNOW what day he's for. All the specials are for Buddha Day, all the commercials are for Buddha Day, all the "Holiday Editions" are always sold with traditional (if non-religious) Buddhist symbols on them.

And now here is the clincher, here is the part that gets you. No one knows a thing about Christmas or Christianity, in fact, they're kind of dismissive about it. You tell people you don't celebrate Buddha Day because you're Christian and they say things like "Oh, but you must do something for it, right? I mean, for the kids at least." Or they say things like "Oh, Christmas right, that's the one where Moses comes back from the dead after being drowned in the big flood right?" and then they change the subject about this great gift they got their brother for Buddha Day. Anytime you try to say "Merry Christmas"to someone they give you a dirty look like you're tying to corrupt their children with your evil Jesus thing, or they complain about these filthy minorities always having to have their own stupid minority holiday that's just a cheep rip off of Buddha day. No one outside your little community sells anything (and I mean ANYTHING) for Christmas, you can barely find a little statue of Jesus for the dashboard of the car outside of the "Jesustown" shops. You felt lucky in the mid 90s when multiculturalism was hip and a Nickelodeon show did one (1) special just for Christmas although you can't find it on DVD because Christmas isn't very popular.

Under this system, you might get a little sick of Buddha Day after a while, wouldn't you? I mean even people who celebrate complain about feeling worn down by it. It might even feel a little galling when you discover that half the Buddha Day celebrations are based on (you guessed it) Christmas celebrations that were in place before the Chinese took over Europe. For all their bitching about "The War On Buddha Day" its really been a war to squash the truth that Christians started this in the first place and are still out there. In fact you come to the conclusion that the whole "War on Buddha Day" is really an excuse to shove Buddha Day down your throat even more and to remind you that as a Christian you are a small minority in enemy territory. When anyone tries to be inclusive and says "Happy Holidays" instead of "Happy Buddha Day" small groups of religious loonies stir up a huge stink and act like Buddha Day is being erased from the calendar despite the fact that the one day holiday now covers fully a third of the year.

With all this in mind, don't you think you might get a little hyper-sensitive about Buddha Day?

Maybe those who celebrate Buddha Day should confine it to December, at the very least?

I mean, I like Buddha Day, but I also like Christmas, Hanukkah, Dogbert Day, Yule, Kwanzaa, and all the other early winter holidays as well.

Respect for others and an understanding that not everyone celebrates Buddha Day would be nice at this time of year when we're supposed to love our fellow humans.

Let's not let Buddha Day take over and destroy all the other holidays, okay?

LINKS!

I have little to say today...
um...
Have a bunch of links!
Silent Night Deadly Night, Part 2 Garbage Day!
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
McDonald’s “Totally Toy Holiday” Happy Meal! Yummy and time wasting!
Movie Review: Scrooge (1951) This is the Alastair Sim version!
Santa Fu! Video Game!
Movie Review: Morozko (Jack Frost) AWESOME RUSSIAN MOVIE!
Don't Open Till Christmas Woo!
Cartoon Review: A Garfield Christmas Less awesome!
4 Bad Lessons 'Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer' Teaches Kids

The Venus of Willendorf in cookie form!

Venus of Willendorf... in cookie form!



And her male counterpart.

And now...

Six to Eight Blackmen - A story of Santa Claus

Part 1


Part 2


Part 3



All in one mp3. (not a .rar file)

Open Letter

Dear Pope,

I will not be lectured on morality by someone who absolutely refuses to stop molesting children no matter how many times we yell at him. As a massive supporter of child molestation, you are as guilty of the crime as any priest who actually blew a load all over a four year old. Actually, since you threatened and browbeat the children to stop them from testifying, going so far as to tell them that they'd go to hell if they ever talked about it, you're even worse. You victimized the children again, and as such are a loathsome little fuckwad.

Everyone picks and chooses their own morals. As far as I can tell, the church chooses not to have any morals. For example, I think murder is wrong, the church you represent thinks it's okay in many, many, many, many circumstances.

In short, fuck off until you stop being a huge fucking hypocrite.

Like Oscar, I hate Christmas

Why do songs like Just 3 Letters for Christmas exist? Hey kids, it's The Holidays, so let's make you feel as bad as possible!

Have a listen to the fucking thing...


OH FUCK YOU CHRISTMAS! Fuck you right in the ear. Fuck you forever! Can we PLEASE, PLEASE BAN THIS HOLIDAY? Let's just get rid of the whole thing if it's going to cause fucking songs like this bullshit! FUCK YOU! Fuck your passive aggressive, shouldn't you call your poor old crippled maw dog shit! I am so fucking sick of people using holidays like this to make me feel bad, and I'm sick to death of emotional blackmail. Fuck Christmas, I hope the world goes atheist Dec 23rd and avoids the whole thing! Fuck the guy who wrote this, I hope his kids really did avoid him on the The Holidays out of spite and disgust.


Fuck it, you know what else exists?

Just a Little Christmas Blowjob


Okay, that's kind of funny.


Here, read this, it's also funny. And pictures, mustn't forget the pictures.

Gift packs from The Movies

Well friends, The Holidays are upon us once again and many people don’t know what to get their loved ones. Worse yet, times being what they are, many people can’t afford much. HOWEVER! As always, I have a solution. Why not go to the movies, not as a gift, but as an inspiration for gift giving ideas. Films and TV are filled with examples of people shopping on a budget. Just put together one of these packages and give them either to one single loved one or to the group to show your cleverness. This will make iut the best VEWPRF ever! If it works, I should totally get the credit.


Homer Simpson's Gift Basket
These are what Homer got the family (Dog not included)
Pack of Panty Hose (six pack is best)
Pack of Legal Pads (Three of these)
Pork Chop Dog Toy
Bird House (It was in the tree)


A Christmas Story
Taken both from the movie and from the original story, these are things Ralph got for his family and one thing Ralph got.
Toy Zeppelin
Container of Simoniz
String of fake pearls
Red Ryder BB gun

Miracle on 34th Street
Things given by Kris
Official NFL Football Helmet
Fire Engine that squirts
X-Ray Machine
House

It's a Wonderful Life
Oh you know where this is going…
Suitcase
Zuzu’s Petals
Wings
Life


And for those of you who are into counter programming...
Jason Bourne Gift Package
He gives them to people! These are gifts!
Pall Point Pen (for stabbing)
Magazine (for rolling up into club)
Bottle of Vodka (improvised mace & disinfectant)
Copy of The Parkour and Freerunning Handbook (for doing all that free running stuff)

Helen Hokinson

Helen Hokinson was a cartoonist for the New Yorker during the 30s and 40s. Her stule was the sort of slice of life stuff that The New Yorker valued in those days, primarily centered on women. She specialized in plump, middle aged, wealthy women. Here are a couple of examples of her work...

Update from Fancy

Boy: Still Missing
Dead Ninjas: Still on Floor. Still Stink
Christmas: CANCELED (per Request from one S. Claus)
Suggested Action: Watch This

Just to Prove I'm not Mad at You

I'm not mad at you, but we must have these talks from time to time.

Let's have us a nice set of photos, shall we?

We say "Happy Holidays" because there's more than one.

Ah, once again we get the Bad Christians whining like they’re somehow a persecuted minority in this nation. American Family Association Goes After Chase Over Lack Of Christmas Trees. Which is interesting, because the tree is a Pagan symbol. The problem is, forced civilities tend to be less welcome than none at all really. You can sense the resentment when they're forced.

In fact, as I saw a sign saying “Merry CHIRSTmas” today, let's get into this shall we? I won’t go the Marcus Bridgestock route and list all the things that make our country a predominantly Christian nation and ask what it’ll take for these people to stop their fucking whining. I instead have a different area I wish to expose to the light. Yes, it does have something to do with the phrase Vague Early Winter Possibly Religious Festival, why do you ask?

Christmas is a religious holiday. FULL STOP!
Anyone who claims it is anything besides a religious festival is either lying to you or so woefully misinformed that you should pay attention to absolutely nothing that they say. Christmas is a celebration of a person that is (if you follow the mythology) the savior of all mankind. A savior who preached humility, tolerance, poverty and love for your fellow man BTW. I know most Christians have never actually opened a bible, so I need to tell them what's in it, apologies if you're one of the 2% of Christians who actually knows what the fuck it is your religion believes. The point is, that Christmas should be kept in the home and in the church, what with it being a religious thing and Jesus having that whole “Don’t worship in public like those douchebag Pharisees do. God, those fuckers piss me off.”* thing going on.

Christmas is not a secular celebration, not in anyway. It is a RELIGIOUS celebration and nothing more. Nothing we do during December, outside of a church, celebrates the birth of Jesus of Nazareth in any way, shape, or form. I think Christians who want to celebrate CHRISTmas, are going to have to do so while adhering to Christian policies and only things that are held within the religion. They cannot follow Pagan beliefs, or perform Pagan Rites and Rituals. To use an old cliché, it's sort of against your religion. Anyone who claims history, tradition or anything besides a religious faith is a lying son of a bitch and you have my permission to punch them in the crotch.

Now, there might be an argument to be had about the old pagan rites. I mean, most people put out lights without understanding how the extra lights are to call back the sun or that the bells are to chase off evil spirits. Without understanding, does the practice still count? This is the empty temple question, or perhaps the empty gesture one. It would be an interesting question to try and answer, but it doesn't change the fundamental fact that there are still Pagans around and all these things are part of their belief and celebration system. If you do these things and you are not a Pagany type person, this is frankly as offensive as someone engaging in faux cannibalism and vampirism while claiming that the bread and wine have no meaning and it’s just fun to pretend it’s flesh and blood. I’m being absolutely serious here. If you want to get all high horse about it, if you want to get offended, I’ll get offensive.

Here are a list of things a good Christian no can has, because they is teh Pagans things!

Trees
Candles
Bells
Lights
Red & Green ANYTHING (that is soooooo fucking Pagan)
Anthropomorphic Cookies
Other kinds of cookies
Drunken Debauchery
Sober Debauchery
Huge meals made mostly of meat
Cakes
Booze
Huge Fires
Ornaments
Hot girl on girl/man on man action
Ivy
Holly
Molly
Other things that end in 'olly
Talking snowmen
Talking Animals
Astrology (not connected to this holiday, but it is a Pagan based pass time)
Wreaths. You REALLY can't have wreaths! There are about five different levels on which you most defiantly no can has!
Santa Claus OH YES MY DEARS! You can have St. Nicholas, but only on St. Nicholas day and you have to be Catholic because otherwise you are venerating a saint and it tends to be a sin to venerate Saints for anyone but the Catholics. Also, St Nick can't fly, wear a red suit, consume milk or cookies (I mean Seriously! What the fuck? You leave offerings? Do you have any conception of how fucking Pagan that shit is?) come in statue or drawing form, leave gifts (If you're Catholic, he can, in your shoe) or have elves. These are all so severally representative of Pagan beliefs that I have a hard time understanding why people who pretend only to believe in one great power allow each other to get away with this shit.


You can have music, because I'm not insisting you become Calvinists, but that's about it. Practically everything is a hold over or reintroduction of old Pagan practices. Sorry, but it's so. Besides, Christianity is preached a faith of humility, and through much of their history, as one of poverty or at least austerity. So let's see some austerity and humility, fuckers. Seriously, I feel bad for the few good Christians I know. Partly because I feel compelled to insert "Few good" and partly because groups like this don't help. I've also noticed that the good Christians I know are as offended by the AFA as I am, because they understand that the way you celebrate the birth of someone like Jesus is in trying to sort of be like him.

NOW!
If you want to be nice, and play in our reindeer games (Oh yeah, can't have reindeer) you could always calm down and join the rest of us in our merry and gleeful Vague Early Winter Possibly Religious Festival or as some like to call it "The Holidays" which does sort of requires twinkling text and/or jazz hands. It does rather depend on you understanding that some people don't like having Christ shoved in their face and you do have to stop being such dickheads. You’ll need to understand that non-Christians have had it forced on them for sometime and at this point, they’re a little resentful about the whole Jesus thing. Also, stop beating people up for saying something besides Merry Christmas, because that is just douchebag behavior.

The Pagans are, and always have been, willing to let anyone come share in their celebrations. Most the Pagans I know (not all, but most) don't much care what god you follow and are just happy to have you at the table. If you get offended at the phrase “Happy Holidays”, well I’m sorry, but there are several at this time of year. I’ve covered this many, many times and I’m not going to go over it all again. Suffice to say, I’ve never found a society that didn’t have some celebration going on ‘round about the third week in December. All it requires is for people to stop acting like douchebags.


Also?
“Happy Holidays”

I love that sparkle text, it's like Jazz Hands for words.



*Generals 2:15:26

5 Things (Secret Confession Edition)

#1. I have never owned a pair of pinking shears, and I never want to.

#2. I like exactly two musicals. The Muppet Movies don't count because you could take those sogns away and not hurt the narrative of the story.

#3. I am entranced with historical figures like Charles VI of France. I like him because he was so crazy that he thought he was made of glass. I read a historical account once that Chuckie there kept a glass maker around for a while so that if his head borke the glassier could repair it or make another one. I like my royals crazy.

#4. There was a time when I would shamelessly eat Cracker Jack. These days, I don't like it so much. Besides, the prize has sucked for years.

#5. I've been known to feed strays. Both the animal and the human kinds.

Girls and Zombies should be awesome

It's a shame that neither Onechanbara: Bikini Samurai Squad or the movie based on it are (reportedly) very good.

Because they should be, you know? Girls in bikini's, righting zombies, what could go wrong? As it turns out, the game is lousy and the movie is fairly bad too.



ALSO!
Yogi Bear movie ending

I hate the Cratchits

You ever notice that the two young Cratchits have no names? They're just "The two Young Cratchits": without sex or names. Not even Merry & Pippin or Rosencrantz & Guildensternesque designation.
The Cratchits are just sooo fucking worthy and grateful for everything.
If only someone would nail Tiny Tim to a cross, his transformation could be complete.

I mean REALLY! C'mon! He's glad he's a cripple and that people see him on Christmas to remind them about Jesus? Really? And what did he die of in the future shadows? Being lame in one leg? You can die from that?

Tiny Tim died for your sins Scrooge!

Say "Hello" Riff

Forgot to mention. I got Syd to watch RHPS this week. She liked it, but her comments were (and I paraphase!) “It's a bit dated. Hardly shocking anymore. Besides, Frank's a fucking weirdo transvestite and I'm used to executive transvestites.”

I have to admit she's right. The idea of a man hopping around in stockings and a corset it no where near as mind blowing as it once was. Even mentioning that 1990 (when I first saw it) was a loooong time ago, the movie was a bit dated at the time. Besides, now we've sort of got Eddie and Frank has sort of been left behind. Still, she wants to see Shock Treatment so she can find out what became of Brad and Janet. Her theory is that Janet would quickly grow tired of Brad and leave him, but I have no idea. We'll have to wait until I send The Warlords (the most cheerful movie this side of Old Yeller) back to netflix.

I think there is also a hugely different vibe watching it at 33 than she would have experienced if she'd seen it at, say 16.

However, we do agree that Columbia is the cute one.

She'd like to see the show in theater, but the only theater in Michigan that shows it is about two hours from here. Maybe after the New Year, if things go well, we can make a trip out of it.

Return of Jack Collier (Chapter Twenty-Five)

The Return of Jack Collier

A Jack Collier Story

By Brett N. Lashuay

 

 

Last week’s entry can be found here.

 

Chapter Twenty-Five: California Dreaming

 

            Driving across country is not the best way to spend your days. I drove fast and hard, taking the quickest route and going for as long as I could each day. It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t fun, but I managed to cross this great nation of ours in record time. When I finally pulled Debbie’s car into the parking lot of the San Francisco office I still had five days to find Jill and her captors, which was excellent really.

 

            There is nothing better than to find that you’re under a time constraint, in a city you’ve never visited, working with agents you’ve never met, looking for a girl who is likely to try and shoot you in the chest again. If anyone ever tells you there are better ways to spend your week, just laugh at them because they clearly don’t know what they’re gibbering about and there is no point trying to discuss things with them. After that, you can hit yourself in the crotch with a hammer and post it on the internet.

 

            Anyway, I looked at the red brick building that housed the California office for the Collier Private Investigation Company, or whatever we call it. I always just gave my name, I’m not even sure I know what’s on the form we gave to the state when we incorporated. Truth be told, I have always let Debbie deal with those things. Except the bills for the office. I did those, but I don’t seem to get them anymore. Debbie says it’s all done electronically now, but that seems slipshod to me. How can you know the bill was paid?

 

            I looked at the building for a while before entering, trying to decide if I was looking at the right place. It was supposed to be the correct address, but they don’t do addresses anything like human style out there. I looked at the sign near the door though, which informed me that this was Collier Private Investigations and under it was written Chicago IL and Troy MI so it must be the place. I still thought about getting in the car and driving home and claiming I couldn’t find the place, but that wasn’t really an option.

 

            I had to think of Jill. Scared little Jill, who I still pictured as a fourteen-year-old girl. That image would need some updating, as would my attitude towards her, I would soon discover, but that’s for later. I took in a deep breath and walked into the building, a rush of cool air struck me as I entered the artificial cold of air conditioning. I walked up the stairs and looked at another door with my name on it.

 

            It was sort of uncomfortable, looking at the frosted glass with my name on it in that old style. It sort of added the idea that one was hiring guys from the era my grandfather worked in, when smoking was cool and girls were there to be slept with. It would be like walking through the door of a film noir if I went in that door. The thing that made me really uncomfortable though was the fact that these people worked for me. My dad wore a white shirt and tie to work, but he worked for the auto industry and had to go to quite a few factories in his time.

 

            We may have been middle class, but we spent a lot of my youth as lower middle. I don’t have a blue collar per se, but my collar isn’t all white either. It’s probably white with a lot of blue soaked into it from one rubbing against the other. Anyway you put it though we were never part of the executive class. We were never the bosses and we certainly weren’t rich. We had to work hard to get everything we had, and here I was working off a retainer that was bigger than any fee I’d ever accepted. I’m not sure I’d ever made that much in a year, or even all the years I’d been working. I could have called myself rich just off the retainer, and there were millions more to come.

 

            The worst part is how Debbie reacted. She didn’t. She just acted like it was nothing big. Oh sure, two million all in one lump was a bit of a shock, but as a yearly take it didn’t shock her at all. She just filed it and got on with her day, telling me that she’s become used to that sort of take. That worries me, I’m not sure I could take being used to that kind of money.

 

            Money has always made me uncomfortable, and having to be the boss makes my palms itch. I’ve never felt that I was the rich type, the upper class sort. I’m common, I’m down on the ground with a plebs, I’m not exactly one of the proletariat, but I have more sympathy for them than I do for the tofts at the top. I’m not one of them, I’m one of us, right? I hope so, because I don’t think I could manage being one of the upper classes if I had to become one. I don’t really like wine, can’t do sprizters, I don’t like vinaigrette, and if I found an underpaid foreigner vacuuming my living room I would throw a fit about how I can vacuum for myself and then try to get them a better paying job.

 

            The bottom line was, I was not happy about all this money, maybe I could give it away in bonuses at the end of the year or something.

 

            I walked into the California office of Collier Private Investigations and looked at the adorable creature behind the desk. She had bright pink hair with metallic blue stripes that had been cut into a little pixie style cut, there was a hoop of metal encircling her lip and the small pin prick of a steel stud barely showing on her right nostril. Both her arms were covered from shoulder to wrist in tattoos and looking at her I sort of guessed that there was more ink in store for the person who could get her naked.

 

            I’m guessing that half the architecture in the office was original. There was the receptionist’s desk next to the door, and then a long but low wooden railing and balustrade that separated the working area from the reception area. A small swinging gate could be shoved out of the way if one needed to get into the office area, at least it could be if it weren’t attached to one of the old wooden desks with a wire to hold it open. It really did look like something out of a movie with the four desks, the wall lined with filing cabinets and windows that started just about the cabinets letting light flood into the office in controlled streams. There were two private offices, one to the right and one to the left, both doors being at the back of the office to allow whoever had the offices to walk out into the work area and stride across it toward whoever was in the front.

 

            “Can I help you?” the girl smiled at me in a friendly but slightly worried look. Here she was, face of the new generation and someone who looked like a throwback to two generations past had walked in the door. In my suit, with the fedora, I looked like the sort of person who would disapprove of her adornments.

 

            “Is Shiri Cove in?” I asked, smiling to show her it was possible.

 

            “Yes sir, who shall I say is here?”

 

            “Jack Collier,” I told her. “You’re supposed to be expecting me.”

 

            “Oh shit,” the words were out of her lips before her hand could snap over it. She looked like she was trying to cover a burp in a very lady like fashion and then her eyes met mine and became so huge I was worried they would spring from their sockets. “I’m sorry,” she said.

 

            “What for? Swearing?” She nodded vigorously at that. “Well I swear all the time, don’t worry about it.”

 

            “I thought you were coming tomorrow,” she said. “Shiri said we should try to look more professional when you came. I was supposed to wear long sleeves.”

 

            “Shiri bothered by the tats and the steel?” I asked.

 

            “Not normally, but you know, you’re the boss.”

 

            “Hmm,” I said raising my head a little at that. “I was a teen during the nineties though. I mean it is sort of normal, right?”

 

            “I don’t know,” she said, and then proceeded to make me feel like an ancient old codger. “I was born in nineteen ninety.”

 

            “Stop talking,” I told her. “Please, just stop.”

 

            “Am I in trouble?” she asked.

 

            “Only for being so damn young,” I told her. “You shouldn’t be so cute and so much younger than me. It’s not fair.”

 

            I’m glad to say she grinned and blushed at that, even shrugged her shoulders up and tucked her head down to try and hide the fact that she was blushing. She then reached for her phone and I saw that on the back of her right hand was a female symbol locked inside another female symbol. A day a straight guy can make a lesbian blush and go all girly is a pretty good day in my book.

 

            “Shiri?” she asked into the receiver. “Mister Collier is here. Okay.” She set the phone down and looked at me. “She’ll be right out.”

 

            A door opened and I saw a short dark haired woman come out. As she started towards us I could make out some Asian features, even though her cheeks and nose might have come right off a Polish immigrant’s face. She smiled and extended a hand in my direction which I took.

 

            “Nice to meet you Mister Collier. I’m Shiri Cove,” she said. “You’ve met Kari.”

 

            “Yes,” I smiled. “And it’s Jack. Calling me Mister Collier just makes it worse.”

 

            “Makes what worse?” Shiri asked and shot a glance to Kari who smiled back at her local boss.

 

            “Just something Kari and I were discussing before she called you,” I tipped a wink to Kari and she blushed again. “I approve of your idea of a dress code, much better than having everyone dress up just because some stiff from head office is coming.”

 

            I’m not sure if Kari smiled at that, because my back was turned to her by then, but a look of relief did pass across Shiri’s testament to the positive aspects of racial mixing. She smiled and waved a hand in the direction of the office she had emerged from.

 

            “Shall we go to my office?” she asked.

 

            “Yes, let’s do that,” I said.

           

            The office had a nice look out onto the bay, which was expected but unusual. If this were a TV show it would be expected that she’d have an office that looked out onto the bay. Even the office that was directly across from hers would have a view of the bay, because that’s how things work on TV. I have mentioned before though that TV is a lying harlot, so we shouldn’t be surprised by that.

 

            “You’re looking for the kidnapped rich girl,” Shiri said as she sat down behind her desk.

 

            “I am,” I told her. “Have you been informed of our situation?”

 

            “I’ve been told what to look for,” she nodded. “We’ve been doing some looking.”

 

            “Is that I file I see before me?” I asked looking at the folder on the desk between us.

 

            “Yeah, but I’m not sure I want to give it to you just yet,” she said leaning back in her chair a little. “It would cause a lot of trouble if we started invading the wrong people’s personal space. You know?”

 

            “The whole idea is to invade people’s space,” I told her. “We’re supposed to look into places where we aren’t supposed to look. The whole idea of an investigating firm is sort of set on performing investigations when other people don’t want you to.”

 

            “Yes, I know that,” she smiled at me and almost rolled her eyes. “It’s just back east if you annoy the wrong people they kill you, around here they take an interest in you and get personal.”

 

            “Scared?” I asked, looking at the folder.

 

            “Of the Church of Thinkonomics?” she asked. “Yeah, a little.”

 

            “Why?” I asked. “They’re not that tough.”

 

            “They are,” she demanded.

 

            “Okay,” I shrugged and started to reach for the folder. “I can do it myself. Don’t worry. I’ve been a tough guy on my own before.”

 

            “I didn’t say I was going to make you do it yourself,” she said, slapping her hand down on the file. “I was just saying that it’s not as easy to grab something they have decided is theirs.”

 

            “This is a person, and they’ve kidnapped her,” I told her. “We’re just rushing into a dragon’s den to save a princess.”

 

            “What if they say we can’t see her?” she asked.

 

            “Oh, we’re not going that way,” I told her. “That would take too long.”

 

            “Oh?”

 

            “No,” I shook my head. “We’re just going to kidnap what they’ve rightfully stolen and bring her home before anyone knows what we’re up to. It’s a simple matter of kicking down a door, grabbing the girl, shooting of a few guns and running away.”

 

            “That could cause a lot of trouble,” she said. “For a lot of people.”

 

            “It’s a simple smash and grab,” I said. “We don’t admit we were there, we just take what we want and go. We’re not playing legal on this one, there isn’t time.”

 

            “I just worry about getting everyone into trouble,” she said.

 

            “I don’t mind a reasonable amount of trouble.”

 

            “Do you do that all the time?” she asked.

 

            “What?”

 

            “Reasonable amount of trouble, kidnapping what they’ve rightfully stolen. Is this a habit of yours or are you trying to be cute?”

           

            “I don’t need to try to be cute,” I said.

 

            “Maybe,” she said. “But am I to expect you to talk like this all the time?”

 

            “Pretty much,” I agreed. “It’s how I talk.”

           

            “So you won’t suddenly stop when I agree?”

 

            “I won’t do it deliberately,” I assured her.

 

            “Good enough I suppose,” she said, taking her hand off the file. “I just want to be able to keep working and living around here.”

 

            “If we’re careful about this, they’ll never know it was you anyway,” I said, taking the file. “If we’re not careful, I’ll make such a big stink that they’ll have to hide in a very deep hole just to be safe from the pitchfork wielding mobs.”

 

            “How would you manage that?” she asked.

 

            “Ah, that’s for me to know,” I smiled, since I had no idea how I’d go about it.