Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Jack & Jill (Part Seventeen)
Jack & Jill (A Love Story)
A Jack Collier Story
By Brett N. Lashuay
Part Seventeen: Jack and Jill Went Up the Hill
The hill didn’t look hard to climb, but that was a bit deceptive. There was a steep incline on three sides, and a nice shallow walk up on the other. We saw Cole doing his best to run up the shallow side and I fired a shot at him. There was a puff of dirt about three feet away, which wasn’t bad at the distance I was at and using a handgun. He turned and fired a wild barrage at us, not hitting much of anything as far as I can tell. We ran up after him, which could have caused trouble. I went around one of the steeper sides and started up it. It wasn’t so steep that I needed to climb with my hands, but it was steep enough to cause trouble.
Cole was sitting at the top of the hill, waiting for us to come up the easy side. I looked at him as Jill got to the top with me. The hill top was barren of cover besides a single maple tree, and Cole didn’t even have the brains to try and climb it. Jill and I started to walk towards him, having come all this way to collect this bucket of piss we’d have to get him.
“Cole?” I asked aloud and he spun around.
He’d been crying, he was still sobbing in fact, wiping his face when he saw us. He couldn’t see very well though, and he was not even beginning to have composure.
“You ain’t gonna take me in.” He cried, aiming his gun at where he assumed I was through his tears.
“Cole! Will you stop you fucking idiot? It’s over! You’re done” I yelled at him. “Drop the gun and I won’t have to kill you here on this hill.”
“You ain’t taking me in on a kiddie rape rap.” Cole growled at me, his gun still trained away from us. “You know what they do to guys on that charge up in Jackson?”
“I know you’re looking at murder and human trafficking.” I told him. “And they’ll either put you in a Texas jail for what you did to the Mexicans, along with a whole lot of angry Mexicans or they’ll put you in a Georgia jail for murder and you can ride old sparky to hell. You’ll die if they send you to either part of the south. You’re a big guy though. You could fight off the guys who’ve got a thing against child molesters in Jackson.”
“Fuck you.” He said as a well reasoned response and he fired a round which went into space.
“Your choice.” I wasn’t going to wait for him to get his bearings and shoot me. I aimed at his right hip and let the Webley do the thing it was made for.
The sound of a gun is never as loud or as booming as the movies make them sound. In fact, outside they’re positively quiet. It’s a sharp noise, lots of treble, and microphones never get it right. He hopped and shouted as the round punched through flesh and bone. I rushed him, hitting his gun hand with the butt of my revolver and then smacking his chest with my shoulder. He went over in a heap on the ground and then rolled onto his side, clutching at his hip. An entire second may have gone by, but I aged an entire year in that time.
“You fucking idiot.” I growled.
“Kill him!” Jill shouted with sudden ferocity.
“What?” I asked.
“Kill him!” She repeated. “He raped me, you should kill him for that.”
There was logic to that, but suddenly I didn’t want him dead. I can’t explain why exactly, but I didn’t want to kill him. I wanted him to have a nice long stretch in the cooler. During that time, he might be inclined to tell me what the hell had been going on. I was still pretty much in the dark about that.
“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t need to, he’s done.”
“Kill him Jack!” She nearly screamed. “Kill him so we can be together.”
“What?” I turned to her and let my gun arm go down to my side.
Had my mother been around, she would have told me that this was my problem, I always lower my gun at the wrong time. That had been my mistake the last time I’d been shot too. My mother wasn’t around though, so she couldn’t help me this time.
“Once he’s dead, you can take over for him.” She said, sounding desperate. “You’ll be my new owner and it’ll be perfect. You can make love to me instead of just fucking me.”
“Uh, no.” I shook my head. “That’s not how it works.”
“Why not?” She looked confused and bewildered.
“Because you’re too young.” I said, trying not to sound like she’d just smacked me in the face with a carp.
“Well I’ll grow up soon.” She smiled. “We can be together then.”
“You’ll still be…” I shouldn’t have trailed off. I should have kept talking, telling her how I had a daughter almost her age, letting her realize what I meant on her own was a bad idea because she thought I meant something else.
“It’s because I’m not pure isn’t it?” She started to cry. “I can’t help that he soiled me. I didn’t want him to.”
“It’s not that.” I said, using my reassuring voice. “You’re less than half my age though. I’ll be too old for you when you’re old enough for me.”
There were sirens in the distance, and I could see flashing red and blue lights coming toward us. I was so close to everything being alright, so close to being out of this situation. This whole thing was way too close to the end for it to all fly apart now. It wasn’t fair that I was five minutes away from the goal only to have things go wrong now.
“Stop lying!” She screamed and the tears poured down her face. “Stop it!”
“I’m not lying.” I said walking towards her. “But you’ll realize when you’re older that you don’t want me.”
“Stop lying to me!” She fell to her knees and Cole’s big forty-five was right in front of her. She picked it up and pointed it at me. “Can’t you see how much I love you?”
“Jill?” Was all I got out before she started shooting.
Four rounds tore through me, much faster than any gun can shoot. All four bullets went through at once, and I felt like I’d been shot again. That would make it seven times that I’ve been hit. She may have screamed, she may have dropped the gun, she may have said she was sorry, but you can’t prove it by me. Why I didn’t collapse might be a mystery to you, but not to me. It was Michigan. This state wasn’t going to let me die so easily.
I do know that the Webley dropped from my fingers because the thud it made when it hit the ground was the loudest and deepest boom since the dinosaurs stopped shaking the earth with their steps. I looked at her and she screamed that she was sorry, I think. I felt my holster flap loose at my side, because one of the bullets had torn the strap that held the holster to my right shoulder.
I walked three whole paces before the hill sloped away and I ran out of level ground. My leg still tried to walk upright, and I fell down the hill. My body tumbled and spun and then Michigan put a big rock in my path, or possibly threw it at me. Who can tell? What I know is that a rock like object smacked into the back of my head and my descent ended. I could tell that I’d broken my skull, and that my brains were leaking out.
There were sirens in the far off distance, possibly as much as ten feet away. I heard shouts and feet tramping and a few more screams from Jill. I managed to see her at the top of the hill and then watched as she fell towards me. She tumbled down the hill and bumped into my side. I felt her fingers on my face and her lips pressing against mine. She told me she was sorry, but she was a million miles away. I could feel her breath, but I couldn’t smell her or hear her and my vision was growing too dark for me to see her. I felt her breath on my skin though, and I could feel her weight on my chest.
How odd, I can clearly remember raising my left arm and putting it around her. I may have even told her it was alright. I think I raised my head just enough to make contact with her. I’d meant to kiss her on the cheek, but she turned her head and I planted it on her lips. I think I told her not to worry, I can’t remember. It seems like the sort of thing I would say though, because I’m a tough guy.
The world was fading away, I couldn’t seem to move any part of me. I felt Jill, but I couldn’t feel the ground or the stone that had drilled its way into my brain. I could just feel this little girl and her breath and nothing else. After a while, I couldn’t even feel her. There was just me, all alone in some tough guy nether world.
And...
And...
And just this once, I decided it would be okay to pass out.
This Ends Jack & Jill: A Love Story
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Here's something most of you won't admit, but all of you think about.
It would be great if Hanna-Barbera could start producing The Smurfs again, only this time do it as a remake of Ilsa, She Wolf of the SS.
I'd also like to see The Seventh Seal performed by the cast of He-Man and the Masters of the Universe.
I would also like to see the Tiny Toons doing faithful adaptation of Pulp Fiction, but that's because I want to hear Plucky Duck talking about a $5 shake. Yeah, I've got Hamton as Jules in my head because those two go so well together and I like the idea of the timid pig asking if Buster Bunny looks like a bitch.
I'd also like to see The Seventh Seal performed by the cast of He-Man and the Masters of the Universe.
I would also like to see the Tiny Toons doing faithful adaptation of Pulp Fiction, but that's because I want to hear Plucky Duck talking about a $5 shake. Yeah, I've got Hamton as Jules in my head because those two go so well together and I like the idea of the timid pig asking if Buster Bunny looks like a bitch.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Time to admit you have a problem.
You know the problem with hating the addiction story line? Everything on TV can be an addiction after a while.
James Kirk has an addiction to tragically doomed women.
Duncan Macleod has an addiction to cutting off heads.
MacGyver has an addiction to building weapons out of junk.
The A-Team has an addiction to helping people in need, who no one else can help. (if you can find them)
The Addams family was addicted to being the sort of goth chic Tim Burton only wishes he could attain.
And of course the crew of the Enterprise D had an addiction to being no where near as cool as Kirk and the boys.
James Kirk has an addiction to tragically doomed women.
Duncan Macleod has an addiction to cutting off heads.
MacGyver has an addiction to building weapons out of junk.
The A-Team has an addiction to helping people in need, who no one else can help. (if you can find them)
The Addams family was addicted to being the sort of goth chic Tim Burton only wishes he could attain.
And of course the crew of the Enterprise D had an addiction to being no where near as cool as Kirk and the boys.
We need another Wizard
You know what 3D hasn't had yet? The Wizard of Oz. I don't mean that someone needs to remake The Wiz in 3D, but that there hasn't been a movie that has demanded a 3D viewing yet. Can you imagine watching The Wizard of Oz without color? It would be horrible, right*? That's my problem with 3D thus far. There hasn't been a movie that NEEDS to be in 3D to really get it. Color was integral to The Wizard of Oz. Interestingly enough, Oz was just the final nail in the "Color is just a gimmick" argument's coffin. It wasn't the first Technicolor film, it wasn't even the first big one that we still remember. In fact, like 3D, color went through several technical stages before they started to get it right. It was 3 strip Technicolor** that really did it. Like 3D, color was around for decades before it went beyond the gimmick stage. Some time I should really do a retrospective on the gimmick of color, because it was also a gimmick for a long time. However, once they got it right, they managed to make it really worth something in just three years.
You had Snow White in 1937, The Adventures of Robin Hood in 1938 and then Wizard of Oz & Gone with the Wind in 1939. In three years, you had a fairly wide collection of movies, pretty much something for everyone. While color was not an integral part to most of those, I think most people would have a problem picturing them without color. No one made Black & White prints like they make 2D prints for people who won't want to see the 3D versions. For that matter, I don't think there were silent versions of early sound movies either.
That's the problem, there hasn't been anything like that yet. Someone has to really sit down and work out visuals for a movie that really ONLY works when seen in 3D. It's not Alice in Wonderland, and it isn't Avatar. Haven't seen it yet, but when it does, it will be the most successful 3D movie ever. Right now, that movie has some serious work to do. If you want to unset the most financially successful 3D movies, hell one of the most successful movies period, you've got to unseat The Stewardesses! Yeah, not Avatar. The 3D movie that made the most money for the least investment was a 1969 skinflick that made 300 times its investment back. What's even more interesting is that according to this review, it was even worse than Avatar. Say what you will about Avatar (and I have) it at least has a plot.
*Yes, yes, I know before 1960-whatever everyone watched it in black and white on TV. Fuck off, I'm trying to make a point here.
**First used for a full length feature in 1935 for Becky Sharp, a movie that exactly no one remembers.
You had Snow White in 1937, The Adventures of Robin Hood in 1938 and then Wizard of Oz & Gone with the Wind in 1939. In three years, you had a fairly wide collection of movies, pretty much something for everyone. While color was not an integral part to most of those, I think most people would have a problem picturing them without color. No one made Black & White prints like they make 2D prints for people who won't want to see the 3D versions. For that matter, I don't think there were silent versions of early sound movies either.
That's the problem, there hasn't been anything like that yet. Someone has to really sit down and work out visuals for a movie that really ONLY works when seen in 3D. It's not Alice in Wonderland, and it isn't Avatar. Haven't seen it yet, but when it does, it will be the most successful 3D movie ever. Right now, that movie has some serious work to do. If you want to unset the most financially successful 3D movies, hell one of the most successful movies period, you've got to unseat The Stewardesses! Yeah, not Avatar. The 3D movie that made the most money for the least investment was a 1969 skinflick that made 300 times its investment back. What's even more interesting is that according to this review, it was even worse than Avatar. Say what you will about Avatar (and I have) it at least has a plot.
*Yes, yes, I know before 1960-whatever everyone watched it in black and white on TV. Fuck off, I'm trying to make a point here.
**First used for a full length feature in 1935 for Becky Sharp, a movie that exactly no one remembers.
Horror Anthology Movies
Got a double feature of two old horror movies. Tales of Terror and it's spiritual sequel Twice-Told Tales. Both of these are anthology movies with three stories each.
And I got to thinking. I've also got Creepshow and Creepshow 2, Cat's Eye and Tales from the Darkside: The Movie. Is there something about horror that leads it to telling being able to tell stories nice and short? The only non-horror anthology movies I can think of are Heavy Metal and Four Rooms, but I don’t have either of those in my collection. I’ve seen them, but I don’t have them. I do have Dolls, but it’s one of those I’ve never had a chance to watch it yet.
I suppose Sin City might count, but I find those stories too interconnected to make it in my mind. My view of an anthology is that they’re only connected through the frame story. Might be dumb, but there it is. Looking at the Wikipedia list (which is never-EVER wrong) almost all them are horror, one or two I think are just plain wrong*, and only a few that aren't horror. It seems that far more than half are horror though.
I can't help but wonder why that is. Sci-Fi can be nice and short too, can’t it? There are more sci-fi short stories floating around than there are in horror in my experience. It just seems odd that most the little short story movies are horror.
*Comedy sketch comedy is sketch comedy and does not an anthology make.
And I got to thinking. I've also got Creepshow and Creepshow 2, Cat's Eye and Tales from the Darkside: The Movie. Is there something about horror that leads it to telling being able to tell stories nice and short? The only non-horror anthology movies I can think of are Heavy Metal and Four Rooms, but I don’t have either of those in my collection. I’ve seen them, but I don’t have them. I do have Dolls, but it’s one of those I’ve never had a chance to watch it yet.
I suppose Sin City might count, but I find those stories too interconnected to make it in my mind. My view of an anthology is that they’re only connected through the frame story. Might be dumb, but there it is. Looking at the Wikipedia list (which is never-EVER wrong) almost all them are horror, one or two I think are just plain wrong*, and only a few that aren't horror. It seems that far more than half are horror though.
I can't help but wonder why that is. Sci-Fi can be nice and short too, can’t it? There are more sci-fi short stories floating around than there are in horror in my experience. It just seems odd that most the little short story movies are horror.
*Comedy sketch comedy is sketch comedy and does not an anthology make.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Again with the photos
Hi. I know there haven’t been many real updates recently, and that’s going to continue for a little while. We appreciate your continued patience during this time.
Jack & Jill (Part Sixteen)
Jack & Jill (A Love Story)
A Jack Collier Story
By Brett N. Lashuay
Part Sixteen: Purity
When we got to the top of the hill, I could already hear the sirens in the distance. Cole was panicky, I could see the sweat leaping off his brow as we approached. He was scared, and with good reason. Jack made a noise so Cole would know we were there. He was noble that he hadn’t even drawn his pistol, leaving it in the clamshell holster under his hip.
“It’s over Cole.” Jack said as he put his hands on his hips. “Let’s just go down and make this end nice and quite. I’m fairly certain I can get you a light sentence.”
“You can go to hell Collier, and take that bitch with you.” Cole rasped and fired four times.
Jack shouted, or at least he made a noise. He reached into his coat and pulled out the big revolver and aimed it. Cole was so dumb struck that he didn’t even shoot again, even thought Jack gave him time. Jack fired a single shot and then struck Cole in the chest, knocking him down.
“You’re done.” Jack said and started to walk away.
“Jack?” I asked him.
“I think I’m done for.” He smiled at me. “Too bad really, or we could have been hsitory’s greatest lovers.”
He collapsed too close to the edge of the hill and fell down it, I watched him vanish over the lip and heard him roll away from me. I looked at Cole, and picked up his gun. I stood over him and squeezed the trigger. A bullet struck him in the leg and he screamed like a little girl with a frog down her pants. He started kicking and yelling about the pain. I pulled back the hammer again and put the gun to his temple, just like Jack would have done I he were there.
“Put it down sweetie.” A voice said behind me.
I turned, but could barely make out the people who were coming up the hill because of the tears in my eyes. They were police, or government people, or something. Someone took the gun out of my hands and tired to lead me away. I looked around for Jack, and only then remembered him falling down the hill.
Someone tried to put their arm on my shoulder, but I shook off their rude touch and went in search of my love. I couldn’t see him anywhere though, he had vanished. Then I remembered him falling after being shot, and saw a patch of dark blood on the grass where he had fallen.
“Jack.” I ran to the edge of the hill and looked where he had dropped away. He was laying in a heap at the bottom of the hill, blood clearly pouring from his head. I ran down the hill, tripping and tumbling down the rest of the way, only stopping when I hit his still body.
“I’m sorry this happened to you.” I said and pressed my lips against his.
“Love you kid.” He put his arm around me and kissed me. “Don’t worry about it. I can take it. Tough guy. Be back on my feet in no time.”
His eyes fluttered, and then shut. I put my ear agains this his chest and heard his heart beating. I don’t know how long we lay together like that, looking like leaves that had been blown away or nuts that had rolled to the place where they would be planted. I wondered if a pair of trees would grow up where we lay and if their branches would be intertwined like our hearts were destined to be.
Eventually, someone came to gather us up, taking me away from him. They put him on a gurney and closed the doors, to separate us. I watched at the red and white lights faded into the distance before I collapsed into tears. I wanted to be strong around him, not to let him know that I wasn’t strong like him. I wanted him to think of me as being strong for him.
Then there was the police and the lawyers and daddy. I don’t remember everything that happened, or all the things they asked me. They kept asking me the same thing over and over, and I kept getting confused because they’d go over something over and over again. I can’t remember any of it very well now, so I have to just go quickly over it.
I do remember the lawyers kept telling me that they had to get the story right so they could put Cole in jail, but then all the sudden it didn’t matter anymore. All the sudden he was confessing to everything and I wouldn’t even need to testify to anything. There was some thing about some dead Mexicans that would have gotten Cole into even worse trouble, so they dropped that and just got him to confess to kidnapping me.
Then there was the state psychologist, and then daddy said I needed to see a private psychologist. They were going to have to put me through a lot of therepy because I’d been so traumatized. I’ve been seeing one doctor after another ever since.
All the while, Jack was still in the hospital. They said he’d broke his skull or something, which I didn’t even know you could do. They don’t know if he’ll come of the coma, and if he does he might not remember me. That might be for the best really, because if he doesn’t come out for five years I’ll have time to purify myself and I’ll be old enough for him to take on as a lover. I would need to be pure for him, I need to be clean.
That’s why I keep going to this psychologist, because he might be able to tell me how to be pure again. I want to be clean for Jack, I want to be pure. I’m sure that when I’m old enough that he’ll fall in love with me if I’m purified. I’ll keep doing what I’m supposed to do, so I can be right and good for him. I don’t need to be pure in some religious way, but in the way he would have thought was pure and good. I need to be good enough for him, so that if he lives we can be together one day.
I never tell the shrinks about this, because they wouldn’t approve of it. I found out quickly that they don’t approve of a lot of things, but if I’m careful I can get what I want out of them. While all this has been going on, I think I’ve started to understand Jack better. They keep telling me how he was paranoid, how he was troubled, but they’re wrong. Jack isn’t was anything because he’s still in the present tense. And if Jack is paranoid it’s with a good reason. He helped me understand that everyone is only working for their own goals and if I’m going to get ahead I need to make them work for me.
The best way for me to do that is to get them to tell me how to be pure again. I need to find out how to cleanse myself of the touch of evil. I know that one day it will require me to kill daddy, and if I get a chance I’ll have to kill Cole King too, but that will be okay. When I’ve done those things I can be clean, I can be pure, and I can be worthy of my sweet love.
Oh Jack, I wish you were here to see how much I understand now, how ready I am to love you. I only hope you get better and that you don’t die.
Photo Everyday (027)
So who is Rhonda on flickr?
See, I need to know because they bought me a year's pro membership and I need to thank them.
I'll also give you your photo for today, which is the first picture I uploaded to flickr, now that I can find it without any trouble.
See, I need to know because they bought me a year's pro membership and I need to thank them.
I'll also give you your photo for today, which is the first picture I uploaded to flickr, now that I can find it without any trouble.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Lost Powers
You know something that always strikes me? The “I lost my superpowers” story is one of the dumbest storylines I can think of. This is actually one of the places where I wonder if Batman doesn’t have superpowers. He’s got intellect and physical fitness driven by an obsessive disorder that we spent most of the nineties reading about, and reaches a point where he exceeds other men. Gimme a second, I’m getting to the point.
Unless Batman took a crane hook to the temple, could he loose his detective powers? To what level would you expect his mental powers to be lowered if someone had a ray gun that would take people’s powers away? Would he suddenly be lowered to the level where he’d need a caretaker to sign important papers for him? What about his physical prowess? Would he become crippled and unable to move around without a wheelchair?
I ask these questions because taking powers away from say, Superman, never really addresses those problems. They just make him a “Normal Man” without ever really telling us what baseline normal is. I find it particularly troubling since these days we’re supposed to have better explanations for powers than “Cause I said so” and give some kind of science to the reasons. Superman, according to the movie, is supposed to have an extremely dense molecular structure which is why he can’t be hurt. You can’t just zap away an extremely dense molecular structure, can you? His strength would be a direct result of having to carry a body that heavy around, and in the first few years he didn’t actually fly, he just jumped really far. My point is, you’d have to change his entire physical being. There is a lot more to him than just zapping away his powers. You’d have to transform him from an alien, into a human… or something.
Spider-Man’s powers are supposed to be a result of a change in his DNA after the mutating effects of being bitten by the radioactive spider. That of course depends on whose version you read, but I’m going to go with it for the moment. You can’t just zap away his powers, or have them fade because he’s under the influence of a depressive spell. Yes, actually I am looking directly in Sam Raimi’s direction, why do you ask?
This is why I bring up Batman first, because in many ways he has a superpower. Sure, it’s the result of insanity mixed with hard work, but his levels of wealth and determination are as much a product of fantasy as a man flying or climbing up a wall. If you say you’re going to strip Superman of his ability to fly, without any explanation besides a crystal chamber or Spider-Man because he’s caught a sever case of Emo, then why not say you’re going to strip Batman of his upper body strength or suddenly zap away his wealth. It makes roughly the same amount of sense really.
In a way, it’s like the problem people have with any number of so-called invisible illnesses. People take one glance and can’t see immediately what the problem is and declare that the sufferer should be able to snap out of it, or stop faking, or that it was insane to suggest they could ever fly in the first place. Batman’s imaginary wealth and physical prowess is a more traditional disability, a missing leg or something. It’s easy to see the source of the problem, even at a glance, so no one ever suggests just removing the issue even though it would be just as easy for a person with out a leg to get over it as it would be for a fibromyalgia or depression sufferer to do.
This got more symbolic than I meant it to. Either way, it’s a bad storyline and I don’t like it.
Unless Batman took a crane hook to the temple, could he loose his detective powers? To what level would you expect his mental powers to be lowered if someone had a ray gun that would take people’s powers away? Would he suddenly be lowered to the level where he’d need a caretaker to sign important papers for him? What about his physical prowess? Would he become crippled and unable to move around without a wheelchair?
I ask these questions because taking powers away from say, Superman, never really addresses those problems. They just make him a “Normal Man” without ever really telling us what baseline normal is. I find it particularly troubling since these days we’re supposed to have better explanations for powers than “Cause I said so” and give some kind of science to the reasons. Superman, according to the movie, is supposed to have an extremely dense molecular structure which is why he can’t be hurt. You can’t just zap away an extremely dense molecular structure, can you? His strength would be a direct result of having to carry a body that heavy around, and in the first few years he didn’t actually fly, he just jumped really far. My point is, you’d have to change his entire physical being. There is a lot more to him than just zapping away his powers. You’d have to transform him from an alien, into a human… or something.
Spider-Man’s powers are supposed to be a result of a change in his DNA after the mutating effects of being bitten by the radioactive spider. That of course depends on whose version you read, but I’m going to go with it for the moment. You can’t just zap away his powers, or have them fade because he’s under the influence of a depressive spell. Yes, actually I am looking directly in Sam Raimi’s direction, why do you ask?
This is why I bring up Batman first, because in many ways he has a superpower. Sure, it’s the result of insanity mixed with hard work, but his levels of wealth and determination are as much a product of fantasy as a man flying or climbing up a wall. If you say you’re going to strip Superman of his ability to fly, without any explanation besides a crystal chamber or Spider-Man because he’s caught a sever case of Emo, then why not say you’re going to strip Batman of his upper body strength or suddenly zap away his wealth. It makes roughly the same amount of sense really.
In a way, it’s like the problem people have with any number of so-called invisible illnesses. People take one glance and can’t see immediately what the problem is and declare that the sufferer should be able to snap out of it, or stop faking, or that it was insane to suggest they could ever fly in the first place. Batman’s imaginary wealth and physical prowess is a more traditional disability, a missing leg or something. It’s easy to see the source of the problem, even at a glance, so no one ever suggests just removing the issue even though it would be just as easy for a person with out a leg to get over it as it would be for a fibromyalgia or depression sufferer to do.
This got more symbolic than I meant it to. Either way, it’s a bad storyline and I don’t like it.
Photo Everyday (025)
I have a strange love for these little cans.
I can't explain it, but I love these things.
I can't explain it, but I love these things.
Monday, April 19, 2010
God of War
I got God of War II for VEWPRF and I only just started playing it this week.
I have an observation.
If Kratos weren't such a dick, he might have more friends. Also, if he weren't such a massive asshole, things might go a little easier for him. It is interesting though that the writers know full well he's a dickhead, making all his problems in the games his own fault.
I have an observation.
If Kratos weren't such a dick, he might have more friends. Also, if he weren't such a massive asshole, things might go a little easier for him. It is interesting though that the writers know full well he's a dickhead, making all his problems in the games his own fault.
A handbag
I've always thought that Lady Bracknell should be played by a man in drag. Women can try, but only a man playing up the whole thing can really properly give the line "A HANDBAG?" with the right amount of overacting. I've always felt that the best woman in a case like this is a man. A big fat man, ready to queen it up quite a bit.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Photo Everyday (022)
Crap! A wormhole went an ate Saturday before I had a chance to post a photo for it.
As a way of apologizing, here is a link to my review of Mission: Impossible II.
As a way of apologizing, here is a link to my review of Mission: Impossible II.
Friday, April 16, 2010
From the unwritten archives...
Devil Inc.
I had an idea about a guy working for someone he thinks is the devil, but it never went anywhere. It also got lost in one of the… 47(?) hard drive crashes I’ve had over the years. The idea was semi-horror/fantasy based, with a bit of mystery and mysticism mixed in.
The idea was this, a man is approached by a recruiting officer for a company (I never came up with a name, but it would have been something bland like Infinidim Enterprises) and gets a high paying job with the company to do… something. I wanted to call him a Public Service Representative or something like that, but I never came up with a title. After he starts working, he discovers that the job isn’t exactly what he had described to him. The actual job is trading objects for favors, and the company can grant almost any favor it wants. This is where the fantasy comes in. Agents get opportunities sent to them on their phones or in e-mail like salesmen do, and they have to approach the subject like a salesman, but the method deviates from there.
The fantasy elements come in that they have devices that can transport them places, stop time and even bend reality. See, what they’re asked to get are usually inconsequential items, and they’re allowed to offer almost anything. The only real request given by the boss is not to give up more than the item is worth because they still want to keep costs down. The trick, our hero is told, is to find just the right time to ask for the object and give just the right incentive.
He’s sent through training with another agent who tells him how everything works and even takes him on a job. In that job, they happen to land themselves in the car of a man who’s about to be killed in a road accident. The training agent explains how they want whatever it was they were sent for and in return they’ll shift things just enough that he won’t even get his paint scratched. They do, he does, happy endings all ‘round. The hero is a little shocked at the method, but he admits that no one got hurt and the guy was exceptionally grateful to gain his life for what I believe I’d decided was a keychain fob of some description.
Our hero’s first requested object is a tea set that someone got from their great aunt in her will. The aunt never used the tea set, they guy never took it out of the packaging, and our hero even has a suggestion that offering the guy twenty bucks will do the trick. So, he offers, he gets it, and he’s off to a great career. That’s where I stopped working on the story and never came back to it.
I wanted to have the guy wondering why his company wanted the objects, what they did with them, what was going on really. I had a subplot in mind where one the agents starts getting too aggressive and becomes troublesome because he creates situations where people give him what he wants so he’ll stop tormenting him. That guy has to be taken down and it takes more than a talking to by the HR person to do it.
The two problems I had were A) I couldn’t think of where to take the hero that would be remotely interesting and B) I couldn’t decide on how it should end. If you’ve got a mystery in mind, you should have some idea where you’re eventually going to take it and I had nothing. I have the skeleton of an idea, but I didn’t have anything else. The hero was also bland as hell, but I had him playing observer up until that point so I didn’t hold it against him.
I had an idea about a guy working for someone he thinks is the devil, but it never went anywhere. It also got lost in one of the… 47(?) hard drive crashes I’ve had over the years. The idea was semi-horror/fantasy based, with a bit of mystery and mysticism mixed in.
The idea was this, a man is approached by a recruiting officer for a company (I never came up with a name, but it would have been something bland like Infinidim Enterprises) and gets a high paying job with the company to do… something. I wanted to call him a Public Service Representative or something like that, but I never came up with a title. After he starts working, he discovers that the job isn’t exactly what he had described to him. The actual job is trading objects for favors, and the company can grant almost any favor it wants. This is where the fantasy comes in. Agents get opportunities sent to them on their phones or in e-mail like salesmen do, and they have to approach the subject like a salesman, but the method deviates from there.
The fantasy elements come in that they have devices that can transport them places, stop time and even bend reality. See, what they’re asked to get are usually inconsequential items, and they’re allowed to offer almost anything. The only real request given by the boss is not to give up more than the item is worth because they still want to keep costs down. The trick, our hero is told, is to find just the right time to ask for the object and give just the right incentive.
He’s sent through training with another agent who tells him how everything works and even takes him on a job. In that job, they happen to land themselves in the car of a man who’s about to be killed in a road accident. The training agent explains how they want whatever it was they were sent for and in return they’ll shift things just enough that he won’t even get his paint scratched. They do, he does, happy endings all ‘round. The hero is a little shocked at the method, but he admits that no one got hurt and the guy was exceptionally grateful to gain his life for what I believe I’d decided was a keychain fob of some description.
Our hero’s first requested object is a tea set that someone got from their great aunt in her will. The aunt never used the tea set, they guy never took it out of the packaging, and our hero even has a suggestion that offering the guy twenty bucks will do the trick. So, he offers, he gets it, and he’s off to a great career. That’s where I stopped working on the story and never came back to it.
I wanted to have the guy wondering why his company wanted the objects, what they did with them, what was going on really. I had a subplot in mind where one the agents starts getting too aggressive and becomes troublesome because he creates situations where people give him what he wants so he’ll stop tormenting him. That guy has to be taken down and it takes more than a talking to by the HR person to do it.
The two problems I had were A) I couldn’t think of where to take the hero that would be remotely interesting and B) I couldn’t decide on how it should end. If you’ve got a mystery in mind, you should have some idea where you’re eventually going to take it and I had nothing. I have the skeleton of an idea, but I didn’t have anything else. The hero was also bland as hell, but I had him playing observer up until that point so I didn’t hold it against him.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Jack & Jill (Part Fifteen)
Jack & Jill (A Love Story)
A Jack Collier Story
By Brett N. Lashuay
Part Fifteen: Home Again, Home Again
It was getting late when we pulled up into the driveway of the Piper house. I’d called and told Peter that we were coming, but he seemed disconnected again. When I drew up I noticed a dark Dodge Durango sitting in the lot, almost aimed towards the dirt path that lead to Piper’s acres of private land. I suppose I shouldn’t have felt suspicious about that, but I did. I reached into the panel under the dashboard and pulled one of the silenced pistols out. I checked it to make sure it was fully loaded and put it into an easily accessible panel in the door. Something sort of told me I would want it there.
Not that the Dodge Durango is a rare vehicle, like say… a Hudson Super Six, but my recent experiences with Durango drivers hadn’t left me feeling positive towards them. Jill waited for me to get myself arranged before approaching the door. She grabbed my hand before going in and gave it a squeeze.
“Thank you for everything.” She said and hugged me.
“It’s okay.” I told her and gave her a squeeze around the shoulders.
She opened the door and we walked in… and found Cole King sitting on the couch with Peter Piper sitting across from him. I’ll admit I should have thought more, but my right hand has this nasty habit of pulling what ever gun is in my shoulder holster out and pointing it at people who have previously tried to shoot me.
“Mister Collier.” Piper said setting down the hash piper he was holding and standing up somewhat unsteadily. “How nice of you to come.”
“Mister Piper.” I said, observing the bong in front of Cole and the bag of pot sitting on the table.
“We were just smoking a bowl while waiting for you.” Piper reached his hand into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a small nickel plated hand gun. “Now please put that gun down before someone gets hurt.”
“Piper.” I said looking him in the eyes.
Cole took the opportunity of my not watching him to move and pick up his own hand gun which was lying on the couch next to him. He stood up and pointed it at me as well. I looked at him and then at Piper and then at young Jill. She looked scared, and disappointed.
“I wasn’t supposed to find her, was I?” I asked.
“No.” Cole said holding his hand out. “Gimme the gun.”
“I could probably shoot the two of you before either one of you could get off a shot.” I commented, just to say something.
“Don’t be dramatic.” Piper said grabbing his daughter by the wrist and dragging her to him.
He pulled her in front of him and put his gun to her head. She didn’t scream, just looked bewildered as to what was going on. That was enough for me to want to kill him, that right there, but I couldn’t at the moment so I walked to a table next to the front door and set my Webley down on it.
“Into the living room.” Piper told me.
I started to follow him, but Cole decided to get cute with the butt of his gun and smacked me in the face. A bright plume of fire exploded across my mouth as I fell backwards and hit the ground. He grabbed my jacket and pulled me up, smacking me in the face again. This time the pain went across my left check and another one went over my eye.
“Stop it!” Jill screamed, and the pummeling ended for a moment before starting again.
“Enough.” Piper said and that ended it for real.
I was shoved toward the living room which fortunately had a mirror. I stopped at the mirror and pulled the handkerchief out of my top pocket to examine my face. Cole gave my shoulder a shove, but I just looked at him. This meant looking down the barrel of his big ol’ Drexel automatic, but I fastened on his eyes and gave him the impression that gun or not I would end him if he shoved me again.
“Sit down Cole.” Piper said. “Let the man attend to his face.”
I looked at the cuts on my eye brow, the one above my cheek and my cut lip. I glanced at Jill and decided to try and be a stand up guy. I’d told her what being a tough guy was all about, so I let her see me being matter of fact about the wounds. I wiped away some of the blood, refolded my handkerchief so the blood wouldn’t be visible and put the handkerchief in my top pocket again.
“Look what you’ve done to my shirt.” I complained to Cole. “You’ve gotten blood on my shirt.”
They all looked at me for a moment, and I could see the wheels in Cole’s head turning as he tried to decide if I really was that tough or if I was just bluffing him. I wish I knew so I could have told him one way or the other. If I was really this tough, maybe I wouldn’t have that tight cold fist in my guts. Then again, there was no reason to inform anyone else that I might not be that tough if they thought I was.
“Sit down.” Cole told me and I did as I was told, sitting in the chair Piper had vacated when we entered.
“Sure.” I grinned and nodded.
I did as I was told and Piper shoved his daughter down in the middle of the couch, sitting next to her and Cole sitting on the other side. My lip hurt, and blood kept dripping down the side of my eyebrow, but that was okay. I was a full blown tough guy in Jill’s eyes now. That was important, to be a fourteen year old’s idea of a tough guy. I could see the admiration in her eyes as she looked at me, and that was nice. Maybe she’d sew me a banner or give me a scarf that I could tie to the front of my lance one day. She might even have a cousin old enough for me to date and tell her all about me sometime.
“So.” I smiled at the both of them, despite how much it hurt. “What was it really? Jill some sort of payoff?”
“Not a payoff.” Cole said. “He wasn’t fuckin’ paying me off.”
“Payoff insinuates that I was trying to get rid of Mister King.” Piper said.
“She’s a reward then?” I asked.
“I doubt your tiny mind could comprehend this.” He spoke with contempt, and I decided to rub at my lip to show that I wasn’t impressed by his jibe.
“Try me.” I said.
“No point.” Piper said. “Why explain things to a dead man?”
“We’re gonna fuckin’ bury you out there.” Cole said, waving the gun out towards the grounds.
“Oh come on.” I said taking my handkerchief out and dabbing at the blood. “What harm could it do? If you’re going to kill me anyway.”
“No.” Piper said. “I think that it’ll be easier to just let Cole have his fun with you.”
“Oh.” I said and reached behind me to rub at my left kidney.
“What’re you doing?” Cole demanded, pointing the gun at me.
“I hit my damn back when I fell down.” I told him. “It hurts.”
“Oh.” He actually accepted that and set his gun down on the side table next to him.
I have to say that I actually just sat there, utterly stunned as he reached for the bong and grabbed his lighter. He flicked the lighter into life and lowered it towards the bowl before I got my head back in the game. I hope I can be forgiven, since it’s been a long time since I’ve been exposed to anyone this stupid. I reached down lower, grabbed at the Marley and pulled it out as I stood up.
I was trying to hit Piper in the leg, but I missed completely and the round tore a large hole in the side of the couch. I twisted and jammed my hand into the bottom of the bong, giving Cole a smack and sending the plastic tube flying. A spray of filthy water splattered on me, but I was already bringing the Marley down to hammer on Piper’s wrist. The gun fell from his fingers and then I was hit in the face again.
“Kill him Cole.” Piper shouted as I hit the coffee table, or pot table perhaps would be more accurate, and rolled behind the chair.
A big forty five slug smashed through the chair and missed me by about an inch before burying itself in the floor. I rolled across the floor to get away from the chair and Piper dove for his gun. I managed to crouch and fired a round at Cole, which missed again. I really have to learn how to shoot with my left hand at some point. The bullet hit the wall near Cole and sprayed drywall dust at him. He waved the gun and shot three times, one of those times hit Piper in the leg and sent him to the ground shouting.
“Come on!” I said grabbing Jill’s hand. “I’m not leaving you with these nuts.”
We ran out of the house just fast enough to see Cole speed away down the dirt path. I fired the Marley a few more times but the gun was out. We ran to the car and I started it as Jill ran around to get into the car. I turned the lights on and we started down the dirt road after him. I think he was depending on his Hemi driven SUV to save him from me. I was driving a bootlegger’s car though, one that was used to hidden back roads just like this one. I started after him with all possible speed.
“When this is over,” I said throwing my empty Marley over my shoulder into the gun repository, “I will take you anywhere you want to go. As long as I’m able, I’ll keep you safe.”
“Thank you.” She said meekly.
“Did you know anything about what they were talking about?” I asked.
“No.” She shook her head.
I looked at her for a second, glancing at the road to make sure. I think she really didn’t know everything, so there wasn’t much hope in grilling her. If I didn’t do this right, Piper could form any story he wanted and just make it that Cole came to kidnap her again once he’d gotten away. I would have to make sure I didn’t get killed so I could make a note to take them all in.
“Okay.” I pulled my cellphone out and tossed it to her. “Find Alice in the phone book and call her. Tell her you’re speaking for me and where we are. We’re going to need all available help on this.”
I saw the Durango’s lights in the distance and put on more speed to catch up to him. He tried to put on even more speed, but his mass produced power wasn’t cutting it. I reached into the side door panel and decided to hell with anyone finding out about the silenced pistols. I sped up, but it was sort of useless because while I could plug a lot of little holes through his back window, I couldn’t really see him to know if I was hitting him. There was a big meadow after a bit of driving along the single lane with trees on both sides and he drove into it to try and get away from me.
I aimed the silenced gun out my window and fired four good shots. Both his back tired popped and when he tried to turn the Durango flipped through the meadow. I stopped the Hudson and opened the door. I saw him run away from the truck and fired at him, but I’m not as good at distance shooting as I should be and it was already getting pretty dark. Another twenty minutes and we wouldn’t be able to see a thing.
“Take this.” Jill yelled as she shimmed across the bench seat and got out on my side. She held the Webley in her hand, which meant that she had a better mind for things than I did. She had stopped to make sure she grabbed it for me.
“Thank you.” I said and slipped the silenced gun back into its hole, closing the panel.
“She says everyone she can get will be on their way in a few minutes.” Jill told me.
“Good job.” I said, patting her on the shoulder. “You stay with the car, I’ll got get Cole.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m staying with you.”
That could prove troublesome, and as you may have figured out by now it did. At the time though, it seemed like a good idea to keep her near so I could keep her safe. Besides, she knew this ground and I didn’t.
“Okay.” I said. “Where is he likely to go?”
“Up to Cobbler’s hill.” She told me. “That way.”
She pointed in the direction he had run and we went after him.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
What I want
I want a movie about Jesus in the form of a blaxploitation picture. I want an Angry Black Jesus. Played by 1973 era Jim Brown or the nearest current equivalent please. And Jesus can’t die at the end. That’s more because in a proper blaxploitation, the brother has to win out over The Man.
I want a secret agent movie where the hero beds every cute slut he comes across, seduces enemy agents and uses them to foil the plans of their evil bosses. I just want said secret agent to be gay and to seduce the male guards. Tiny, TINY change really.
I want a trial movie, which turns out to be the trail of someone involved in what amounts to an action movie. You have the action scenes presented in flashback (so you can still have kick ass action) and then show the victims or witnesses (so we can see the consequences) telling how the action scene later affected them.
And of course… I WANNA HOLD YOUR HAAAAAND
I would say I want a western peopled entirely by folks shorter than Syd, but that exists already
and I just need to buy it.
I was going to say that I’d like a serial killer movie where the killer not only isn’t obsessed with toying with the investigator, but doesn’t even know who that person is. However, that movie was released under the title The Silence of the Lambs
. I understand it was something of a hit at the time.
I want a secret agent movie where the hero beds every cute slut he comes across, seduces enemy agents and uses them to foil the plans of their evil bosses. I just want said secret agent to be gay and to seduce the male guards. Tiny, TINY change really.
I want a trial movie, which turns out to be the trail of someone involved in what amounts to an action movie. You have the action scenes presented in flashback (so you can still have kick ass action) and then show the victims or witnesses (so we can see the consequences) telling how the action scene later affected them.
And of course… I WANNA HOLD YOUR HAAAAAND
I would say I want a western peopled entirely by folks shorter than Syd, but that exists already
and I just need to buy it. I was going to say that I’d like a serial killer movie where the killer not only isn’t obsessed with toying with the investigator, but doesn’t even know who that person is. However, that movie was released under the title The Silence of the Lambs
. I understand it was something of a hit at the time.
Camp Songs
There were ten in the bed and the little one said “Roll over, roll over!”
So they all rolled over and one fell out and smacked his head on the bedside table and his skull cracked open and there was blood and screaming and an ambulance and a corner’s inquest and the tragedy struck the whole town.
There were nine in the bed and the little one said “Roll over, roll over!”
But the other eight were having none of it, thinking anyone of them could be next so they smothered the little one, buried his body at the old crossroads and kept the secret of what happened that night until the ghost of the little one came to claim them all.
True story.
ALSO!
You'd think after the third or fourth time the doctor would be less "No more monkeys jumpin' on the bed" and a bit more "I'm calling social services" wouldn't you?
So they all rolled over and one fell out and smacked his head on the bedside table and his skull cracked open and there was blood and screaming and an ambulance and a corner’s inquest and the tragedy struck the whole town.
There were nine in the bed and the little one said “Roll over, roll over!”
But the other eight were having none of it, thinking anyone of them could be next so they smothered the little one, buried his body at the old crossroads and kept the secret of what happened that night until the ghost of the little one came to claim them all.
True story.
ALSO!
You'd think after the third or fourth time the doctor would be less "No more monkeys jumpin' on the bed" and a bit more "I'm calling social services" wouldn't you?
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Keeping the Disc
In preperation for the move, I've pulled maybe 100 DVDs from my collection. Mainly things that I either got as part of a set but never had an interest in watching, things I've half watched and have no desire to finish, and things I've replaced with better versions. There were also some TV shows that Holly liked and I didn't, so I gave them to her. You know what I've kept though? My Little Pony: A Very Minty Christmas
, which my mother got for us four or five years ago and we have NEVER watched. We looked at the disc, just a peek, and the horror of the sing along song was sufficient for us never to want to open that dark chest of evil again.
Why then? Why not pull it? Why not discard it? I asked myself these questions. Actually, what I asked was “When am I even going to watch this?”
And a voice, dark and fell, speaking in the eldritch tones of comic sans replied, “December.”
This was an odd answer, so I asked back, “Pardon?”
And the voice was only too happy to expand on that answer, “You’re going to want something to review come VEWPRF time.”
“Oh come now!” I expressed, “Surely I have plenty of material to review. I don’t need this little bit of nightmare fodder.”
The little dark voice, an obvious grin in its dark tones asked, “Can you honestly say any of them are quite as good as this?”
“Good to watch or good for writing a review?” I asked.
“Well, clearly it’s a sliding scale.” It explained.
After having this discussion with what must be a manifestation of my own madness, I went and asked Syd about it. She must be working with a voices, because she said, “Keep it, you probably will want to write a review of it later.”
This is what being doomed is like kids. At least I have a few months to gather my strength before it happens.
, which my mother got for us four or five years ago and we have NEVER watched. We looked at the disc, just a peek, and the horror of the sing along song was sufficient for us never to want to open that dark chest of evil again. Why then? Why not pull it? Why not discard it? I asked myself these questions. Actually, what I asked was “When am I even going to watch this?”
And a voice, dark and fell, speaking in the eldritch tones of comic sans replied, “December.”
This was an odd answer, so I asked back, “Pardon?”
And the voice was only too happy to expand on that answer, “You’re going to want something to review come VEWPRF time.”
“Oh come now!” I expressed, “Surely I have plenty of material to review. I don’t need this little bit of nightmare fodder.”
The little dark voice, an obvious grin in its dark tones asked, “Can you honestly say any of them are quite as good as this?”
“Good to watch or good for writing a review?” I asked.
“Well, clearly it’s a sliding scale.” It explained.
After having this discussion with what must be a manifestation of my own madness, I went and asked Syd about it. She must be working with a voices, because she said, “Keep it, you probably will want to write a review of it later.”
This is what being doomed is like kids. At least I have a few months to gather my strength before it happens.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Saturday, April 10, 2010
World War Two: The Short Version
Syd wants to buy a video camera just so she can record me talking about World War Two for five minutes and put it up on the internet.
We’ve sort of got a script because it’s a stock explanation.
The following contains harsh language and unacceptable national stereotypes.It also contains spoilers for how World War Two ends. Just in case you needed a heads up there.
World War Two went like this…
Act One
Germany: I want to own Europe
Italy: I want to ride Germany’s coattails.
Japan: I want to own Asia
England: I say! P.G. Wodehouse sure is a funny fellow, isn’t he?
America: Could you keep it down? I’ve got a headache and I’m a little depressed.
Act Two
Germany: Ima claim Poland!
England: Um… you can’t do that.
Germany: Can. Watch me!
England: I say!
Germany: Ima take the Sudetenland next.
England: France, say something.
France: *Puffs cigarette* Who cares? We’re all going to die anyway.
England: If you don’t stop this really quite sharpish I’ll… I’ll… Well I’ll jolly well write a strongly worded letter to The Times.
America: Keep it down over there!
Japan: *Acts like a pack of COMPLETE psychos*
Act Three
Germany: Put ‘em up France. You gonna fight or what?
France: *puffs cigarette* Fuck this! We give up. *puts up hands, lowers them to puff at cigarette again* I’m sure surrenduring this one time won’t produce a national stereotype that will follow us for years.
England: What? Good Lord! France has surrendeured. That leaves… just us. Damn! Well, we’ll fight on!
Germany: Oh yes?
England: Yeah! Backs to the wall, stiff upper lip, the armada and all that.
Germany: um… yeah. Gonna hafta smack you like a bitch I think.
Germany tries to bitch slap England, but England don’t go down like no bitch.
England: Pip pip, mothafucka!
Germany: Fuck! Change of plans, let’s fuck with Russia instead.
Russia: Oh no you didn’t!
Japan: *Keeps on acting like a pack of COMPLETE psychos*
America: KEEP! IT! DOWN!
Act Four (the reckonin’)
Japan: Ima fuck with America. *fucks up Pearl Harbor’s shit but good*
America: *Looks at the shattered remains of Pearl Harbor and quietly walks back into the house*
Japan: Yeah! That’s right bitch! You go back in the house and make me a sammich!
Germany: Make me a sammich too bitch.
England: Oh dear, he didn’t look happy.
America: *Kicks open the door holding biggest pair of guns ye hath ever seen* I SAID KEEP IT DOWN! I just wanted some peace and quiet. But NOOOOO! Some motherfucker had to go and fuck with me. Now! NOW! Now I’m going to kill every last one of you fucks!
Italy: Meep!
America: BOOM! *Shoots Italy in the face*
Germany: Um…
America: BOOM! *shoots Germany in the gut*
Russia: Aight muddafucka! Ima take this bitch.
America: Go for it.
Germany: Oh shi…
Russia: *CURBSTOMP!*
America: Who wants some?
Japan: Meep!
America: BOOM! *shoots Japan in the face* BOOM! *Aaaand again*
Russia: Right on.
America: *Punches Russia in the mouth*
Russia: The fuck?
America: I’m in a fightin’ mood now. Killed the Nazis, now I’ll take out the commies. I said I’m gonna kill fuckin’ everybody and I meant it.
England: This can’t be good. *munches spam for like… the next forty years*
We’ve sort of got a script because it’s a stock explanation.
The following contains harsh language and unacceptable national stereotypes.It also contains spoilers for how World War Two ends. Just in case you needed a heads up there.
World War Two went like this…
Act One
Germany: I want to own Europe
Italy: I want to ride Germany’s coattails.
Japan: I want to own Asia
England: I say! P.G. Wodehouse sure is a funny fellow, isn’t he?
America: Could you keep it down? I’ve got a headache and I’m a little depressed.
Act Two
Germany: Ima claim Poland!
England: Um… you can’t do that.
Germany: Can. Watch me!
England: I say!
Germany: Ima take the Sudetenland next.
England: France, say something.
France: *Puffs cigarette* Who cares? We’re all going to die anyway.
England: If you don’t stop this really quite sharpish I’ll… I’ll… Well I’ll jolly well write a strongly worded letter to The Times.
America: Keep it down over there!
Japan: *Acts like a pack of COMPLETE psychos*
Act Three
Germany: Put ‘em up France. You gonna fight or what?
France: *puffs cigarette* Fuck this! We give up. *puts up hands, lowers them to puff at cigarette again* I’m sure surrenduring this one time won’t produce a national stereotype that will follow us for years.
England: What? Good Lord! France has surrendeured. That leaves… just us. Damn! Well, we’ll fight on!
Germany: Oh yes?
England: Yeah! Backs to the wall, stiff upper lip, the armada and all that.
Germany: um… yeah. Gonna hafta smack you like a bitch I think.
Germany tries to bitch slap England, but England don’t go down like no bitch.
England: Pip pip, mothafucka!
Germany: Fuck! Change of plans, let’s fuck with Russia instead.
Russia: Oh no you didn’t!
Japan: *Keeps on acting like a pack of COMPLETE psychos*
America: KEEP! IT! DOWN!
Act Four (the reckonin’)
Japan: Ima fuck with America. *fucks up Pearl Harbor’s shit but good*
America: *Looks at the shattered remains of Pearl Harbor and quietly walks back into the house*
Japan: Yeah! That’s right bitch! You go back in the house and make me a sammich!
Germany: Make me a sammich too bitch.
England: Oh dear, he didn’t look happy.
America: *Kicks open the door holding biggest pair of guns ye hath ever seen* I SAID KEEP IT DOWN! I just wanted some peace and quiet. But NOOOOO! Some motherfucker had to go and fuck with me. Now! NOW! Now I’m going to kill every last one of you fucks!
Italy: Meep!
America: BOOM! *Shoots Italy in the face*
Germany: Um…
America: BOOM! *shoots Germany in the gut*
Russia: Aight muddafucka! Ima take this bitch.
America: Go for it.
Germany: Oh shi…
Russia: *CURBSTOMP!*
America: Who wants some?
Japan: Meep!
America: BOOM! *shoots Japan in the face* BOOM! *Aaaand again*
Russia: Right on.
America: *Punches Russia in the mouth*
Russia: The fuck?
America: I’m in a fightin’ mood now. Killed the Nazis, now I’ll take out the commies. I said I’m gonna kill fuckin’ everybody and I meant it.
England: This can’t be good. *munches spam for like… the next forty years*
Friday, April 9, 2010
As Sallah said to Indy "Bad Dates"
Can I ask a question of everyone? I hope so, because I'm going to.
I was asked a question the other day and it made me wonder if men and women don't see this differently. Someone asked what my worst dating experience was, and I really couldn't think of one. It's not that I've never had a bad date or anything, but a “Worst Ever” experience? Nothing comes to mind.
It got me thinking. I've heard girl talking about bad dates, and when you get them going, you can get some real horror stories. Guys don't seem to have that so much though. I know one or two guys who have dated complete psychos, but usually he’s stuck in a relationship with her instead of one or two dates.
This is my experience anyway.
Is it because guys do most the asking? Is there some sort of buffer for guys? Is it that we see a girl who looks like a bunny boiler and we don’t even approach? I’ve found myself wondering about this for like two days now, because it seems odd that I can’t remember but one or two tales from guys. Those stories are normally told in the back room with an air of “Gather round lads, I have a cautionary tale to tell…” and almost always, any given guy only has one story. The assumption I’ve always carried is that a guy learns his lesson and avoids the crazy after that.
As I say though, it tends to be an on going relationship. Even if it’s just that said girl has become obsessed and wants to wear our skin like a costume, it’s an ongoing stalking we have to worry about instead of just one bad date. Or is it possible I'm too forgiving, too kind, too careful, and too mentally maladjusted to the point where fear is something that happens to other people?
What I want to know is, do guys have horrific dating stories? And if they do, are there more than one or two?
I was asked a question the other day and it made me wonder if men and women don't see this differently. Someone asked what my worst dating experience was, and I really couldn't think of one. It's not that I've never had a bad date or anything, but a “Worst Ever” experience? Nothing comes to mind.
It got me thinking. I've heard girl talking about bad dates, and when you get them going, you can get some real horror stories. Guys don't seem to have that so much though. I know one or two guys who have dated complete psychos, but usually he’s stuck in a relationship with her instead of one or two dates.
This is my experience anyway.
Is it because guys do most the asking? Is there some sort of buffer for guys? Is it that we see a girl who looks like a bunny boiler and we don’t even approach? I’ve found myself wondering about this for like two days now, because it seems odd that I can’t remember but one or two tales from guys. Those stories are normally told in the back room with an air of “Gather round lads, I have a cautionary tale to tell…” and almost always, any given guy only has one story. The assumption I’ve always carried is that a guy learns his lesson and avoids the crazy after that.
As I say though, it tends to be an on going relationship. Even if it’s just that said girl has become obsessed and wants to wear our skin like a costume, it’s an ongoing stalking we have to worry about instead of just one bad date. Or is it possible I'm too forgiving, too kind, too careful, and too mentally maladjusted to the point where fear is something that happens to other people?
What I want to know is, do guys have horrific dating stories? And if they do, are there more than one or two?
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Jack & Jill (Part Fourteen)
Jack & Jill (A Love Story)
A Jack Collier Story
By Brett N. Lashuay
I’ve been told by my lawyer that I need to write out this confession for my plea bargain. I’m supposed to write down everything that happened, so that they can have it on record or something. I don’t know why I can’t just tell the shyster or something, but I’ll manage. I can use a computer, I can type. My lawyer keeps telling me that it’s got to me in my own words or something. Whatever.
I’ll start with the little bitch, because that’s what I’m supposed to be pleading to anyway. I understand that now that she’s back home she’s been claiming I kidnapped her and that I raped her and I stole her away from home. They also say I shot that detective, tried to kill him. That’s bullshit right there.
I’ve been fucking her whenever I’ve been in town since her 13th birthday, and she started it by the way. At that party her dad threw for her, she came and saw me in the pool house late at night, after everyone had gone to bed. She looked so hot in her little red swimsuit, and she started striping it off while I watched. She blew me right there in my chair, did me in the hot tub, and she weren’t no virgin when I started with her let me tell you that. Little bitch was a slut long before I got there.
I’ve still got all the txt’s that she sent me still on my phone, where she begs me to come get her and save her. She said it was horrible being there, she said she was being choked to death or some shit. I’ve got the records of all those IM conversations when she came asking me to come get her and take her back with me to my place. A year and a half that went on, with her telling me how she wanted me inside her, and how great it would be if we could be together, and all the things we’d do when she was with me.
So yeah, I went up there and got her. She had a bag ready, so I was only there a couple of minutes. We didn’t want to attract a lot of attention, so we drove back down there instead of taking a flight. It wasn’t because I was trying to keep her secret or anything, it was just that we were worried people might think something was wrong with us flying together. Flyings a bitch anymore anyway. Fucking people won’t even let you take a fuckin water bottle on a fuckin flight no more. Some damn towel heads pull some shit and a decent American can’t take a fucking bottle on a plane, ain’t that some shit?
I didn’t tie her up, and I didn’t leave her in the back seat with a sack over her head. The only times I did that shit is when she wanted it, she was a kinky little cunt. I had her right next to me, in the front seat where we could play road games. She’d blow me as I drove along, I’d finger her while the miles clicked by, it was fun. She was so beautiful, sitting there in the front seat smiling at me. She sat naked all the way through West Virginia, just so I could look at her as we drove. She just kept a blanket she could throw over herself in case a cop drove by or something.
It was after we got to Texas that thing started to go wrong. She started missing home or some shit, I don’t know. Then that detective guy started poking into what was going on in Georgia and I had to straighten that shit out too. If he’d stayed away from the damn wet-backs it wouldn’t have been a problem, or I suppose if the Fiddlers hadn’t been sot damn stupid.
Yeah, we hired illegal wet backs, you try and get white people to pick the damn peppers for Piper to pickle and still make a fuckin’ profit. If I can point out to you, it ain’t just us either. Everybody fuckin does it. Still, that ain’t the issue here. What happened to them poor wet backs ain’t got nothing to do with me anyway. I was at home that whole time and what the Fiddlers did down there is on them. I didn’t have nothing to do with any of it.
We did have to go to the plantation, so I could keep an eye on things. If I didn’t, then the fiddlers would have killed all them little spicks. I guess that’s what led them down there in the first place, taht’s what I heard anyway. If that detective could talk, he’d tell you all about it, but it sounds like he might not ever do any talking ever. Shame, ‘cause he’d tell you all about when the little bitch told him about how she planned everything to make sure she wouldn’t get in any trouble.
I don’t know how she did what she did with the cell phone and computer stuff. She told me when they she started to get on my nerves that if anything happened to her she made sure I’d go up forever on a kiddie rape rap. That’s stupid because she had to know I kept records, even if she managed to get things removed or whatever the hell she did.
I’ll cop to taking her out of state to fuck her, but that’s what she wanted me to do. She asked me to do that for her. She said we’d be together. She came on to me, I want that fully understood. I couldn’t never have kidnapped her and I couldn’t never have raped her cause she wanted it. Bitch was randy as hell, had me stick it in every hole too. She loved it. She was a fucking whore. She only changed her tune when she knew that the fuckin’ detective was on to her. Then all the sudden I was a horrible person who kept her in a cage in the basement or some shit.
I never did none of that shit. I just took her when she wanted to go and let her stay with me. I didn’t hurt her, I never hurt nobody. I never done nothing to nobody, not never.
I got the wet backs into the country, but I never hit none of them and I didn’t kill anybody. I never shot anybody, the little bitch shot that detective fellah. Yeah, I followed them when that fucker broke into my place and shot at me. He snatched her away, I thought he was gonna kill her some thing. How the fuck do I know he’s hired by her daddy to come get her?
So I came after them, and yeah, I shot Piper, but the fucker had it coming. He fucked up everything, and he shot at me first so fuck him. He ain’t dead, he’s just hurt in the leg a little. Fucker should be glad I didn’t shoot him in the balls like I was planning. Fuckin faggit got off light I can tell you that.
I never did nothing wrong, not ever. I’ve always been an upstanding guy, done what was right. All these fuckers are just out to get me cause I fucked the little bitch, and I only did that cause she fuckin’ begged me to. That bitch was a little whore, and the fuckin detecive was a goddamn fucking psyco. I don’t desrve this shit. I never did nothing to no one.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)