Problem wiht Poetry

I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this, but I have a problem with poetry. Poetic talk is full of hyperbole, and it tends to get in the way. You take a perfectly ordinary line, such as Was there ever a time, when I didn’t know you? Nothing particularly wrong there the poet is merely suggesting that all time before meeting this person is irrelevant. However, if I try saying that, a little imp pops up and says “Well fuck-cakes, do you remember her at your fifth birthday? No? Were you disappointed she wasn’t there? No? Holy fucking shit! We have an answer. Yes, there was a time you didn’t know her… ya stupid twat dropping.”

I tend to hear that little imp when I’m trying to read poetry as well, because I figure everyone else must have these voices in their heads from time to time. I doubt everyone else has the constant din I do, and probably less profanity, but I still suspect. As a result, when I do try to read poetry (which isn’t very often these days) I hear the sighing, restless, irritated voice of this imp. Then the swearing starts, and once it gets going, it rarely stops.

And I’m not talking about love poetry, which is almost always embarrassing and stupid. First World War poets, Greek Classics, Fourteenth Century Monks, Even the works of people like Poe… they all get hit with the same “You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.” stick. It could be that I just don't like poetry much.

Some old pics I just put on flickr

Camels and Tigers

TIGERS! (Epic Kitty Tummy Edition)

Be More SASSY!

You remember the song It's My Party? It's been bugging me because I've heard it more than a few times lately.

Okay, the girl is bugged because her BF Johnny left her for Judy. I get that. However! She goes on about wanting him back and... why? Why does she want Johnny back? In the sequel, she gets him back and she's so glad because she beat Judy, but honestly, why does she want him back? He's just going to leave for some other chick the next chance he gets.

Had that giurl had a sassy gay friend, the world of pop music would have changed dramatically. Just imagine Graham Norton’s voice here… “Oh sweetie. Look at you, you're lovely. So he decided to go fuck Judy. Well, let him. Either he's going to get bored with her and start banging Helen on the side or Judy’s going to work out he's not such a catch anyway. Besides, now is the time to start talking with Val. I mean look at him. He's GORGEOUS! And I think he's been wait for a moment like this. Go talk to him. Go, go on. I'll wait here.”* I think we should pass a law, requiring every person who might become a songwriter to have a sassy gay friend on hand for all important life moments.

There are many songs that would have been changed for the better. Just think of how different Convoy would have been if there was some guy in pink taffeta to talk down The Rubber Duck.

*In 1962, this was hugely sassy talk.

A few more pictures

Valentine Creep

Valentine’s Day bugs me because I find the whole thing creepy. See, according to the legend, St. Valentine (of which there are at least two BTW) performed lots of marriages in Rome when Rome was all paganny and shit. As he’s called SAINT Valentine, you can guess he wasn’t a paganny type person. So St. V had to go, and he was scheduled to be executed because he refused to obey the law and stop marrying people.

NOW! While he languished in jail, he totally fell for the jailer’s hot jail-bait daughter. Falling for jail-bait was less of a problem in those days, unless you were going to have your head on the block in a couple of days, but they still managed to “Do It” and stuff. So yeah, they were totally in love and he wrote her a note saying how she had great tits and a butt that won’t quit and whatever it is that chicks find romantic. He then signed it “Your Valentine” because he was all cool like that.

Well, what with being killed and having to change his address and one thing and another, he didn’t get to deliver the note. So, according to the story, the Romans delivered it for him. Guessing from the descriptions of her great rack and his admiration for her ability to deep throat, the Romans decided she was as likely as anyone to be his next of kin. Being his next of kin, they delivered the note and his head. Which is nice, not sure how we went from a head as a gift to a heart shaped box of chocolate, but whatev.

So really, when you say “Be my Valentine” what you are asking is “Defy the law, piss off your local emperor, get yourself executed, and have your head delivered to me.” Because nothing says undying devotion like… you know… dying.

Some of you might complain that I’m arguing a false point, since most of what I just told you is bullshit. That whole legend was made up, almost entirely, centuries later. As I said, there are two St. Valentines, neither of their stories have any particular romantic connection, and the celebration of VD as a romantic thing really only dates back to around the early 15th century. Even then you have to wait until the 18th century to get any real sense of celebration in the modern understanding. So why does it still bother me?

It has become a case of can’t unhear this shit. I see those cardboard hearts filled with chocolate and all I can think of is that they should really be head shaped. Since most things people do for VD is based on some bullshit idea of romantic entanglement, the fact that the story it’s based on is also bullshit bothers me less. So all I end up hearing is girls saying to their boyfriends, “You never get killed by the state to prove your love for me.” and in a way it follows the sinking suspicion I’ve always had about women from the medieval period on when talking about romance. I think they’re using the idea of romance to try and kill or bankrupt the men around them. “If you really loved me you’d go fight that other knight, go on the crusades, drive a motorcycle without a helmet, tame a lion using only a dog leash, kill a dragon with a toothpick, kill yourself some other way while I end up fucking some douche with a guitar and a stupid haircut.” Yeah, I’m looking at you ya fucking troubadours.

Sad Panda in the snow

He's not really sad, he was chasing a black squirrel and having a hell of a lot of fun, but I wanted to use that title.

Let's have some older pics

Fox Photos

For those who'd rather live one day...

NO! No no! No more musicals! NO!

What the fuck is it with musical loving asshole? Can't you chair humping syphilitic cat molesters leave ANYTHING unblemished by your hellish hatred of narrative and good writing? These Sci-Fi classics don’t need musicals. You’ve already ruined The Wizard of Oz... TWICE! Isn't that enough for you barbarians? Must you destroy Logan's Run? Leave Logan's Run alone! It was fine already. It doesn't, and never fucking will, need Logan singing a song about how he's never really examined the world around him. We really don't need a song about Carousel.

Sweet Monkey Jesus, stop it with the fucking musicals you pock ridden, moon faced, assassins of joy!

If you have nothing to say, post a photo of a peacock

Animals

I wrote a kid's book just now

Once upon a time, there was a boy. He had a dog that he loved very much. He and the dog had many adventures, but one day the dog had to be killed. BANG!

...

Now gimme my Newberry Award!

More Zoo Pics

75 sexy things?

So... Cosmo has a story on their cover this month "Naughty Girl Sex: 75 surprising things to try on him in the bedroom" Or something like that. All I can think is that the surprising thing is thaty they thing those things are shocking, or thought of as naughty. Maybe I know too many freaks, but I can't think of that many things that the people around me would think of as really "Naughty" that only need two people or lack the use of leather goods and latex products. I keep wondering, but I don't want to be seen reading Cosmo to find out.

So do tell kids, do I just know too many freaks* or are these people living in caves?



*I maintain that this is a logical impossibility.

Lion & Monkey

Another Tiger pic

In other news, a picture of a tiger

Return of Jack Collier (Chapter Twenty-Eight)

The Return of Jack Collier

A Jack Collier Story

By Brett N. Lashuay

 

Last week’s entry can be found here. 

 

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Meanwhile

 

            I think I saw Jill, and then there was a baseball bat and a lot of pain. Then there was the trunk of a car. If these details are a little scant it’s because the whole thing is sort of hazy in my head. I was chucked into the trunk of a car and driven for sometime, fighting for breath through the pain the whole time. The trip was long enough for me to take stock of all the little pains I had. My left eye was swelling shut, the ribs on my right side might have been broken, my right shoulder felt dislocated, but probably wasn’t and my fingers had been used as a dance floor by one of those guys.

 

            I was doing really well. I’d only had employees under me for a couple of days and I’d already gotten one of them killed and another one kidnapped and probably raped and sold into slavery. Oh, and I was being taken for a ride, which as we all know means I would not make it. So all in all, I was doing just awesome thanks. I couldn’t even manage to get angry, I was just tired.

 

            The car eventually stopped after a few hours, which probably only took a few seconds, the trunk was opened. I could hear one of them call to another to pop the trunk and when it opened a little I couldn’t even manage to jump out at them. I just waited for them.

 

            “He’s still out,” one of them said.

 

            “So drag him,” another said, so I was pulled out of the car by my arms and dragged across a lot of gravel.

 

            “Make sure he’s dead,” Quale’s voice called out before another door closed and an engine started.

 

            “Fuck you,” one of them said soft enough that only the guy next to him and I could hear.

 

            “Come on, let’s dump him.” his buddy said.

 

            I was dragged across some concrete and thrown into something that might have been a reservoir. It was cold water, colder than it should have been for summer in California, and that woke me up. I let myself drift for a few second and then lifted my head above the water. I put my hands on the bottom of the concrete water holder and pushed myself up from water. They had decided to drown me in the shallow end, because I managed to stand up and the water was only up to my knees. The two of them had already left, but I sort of surmised that they hadn’t quite gone yet. They would want to pretend that they stood on my back and made me drown.

 

            I felt something stirring in me. Something sort of new. It wasn’t anger exactly, it was that feeling I’d felt while hanging on that flag. It was the feeling that I was simply not going to take anymore of this bullshit. I put my hands in my pocket and found the one weapon I’d brought with me, the Laguiole pocket knife Willy had sent me. Fine then, I’d use that until I got to my guns and then I would shoot everyone in the world who looked at me funny. I opened the knife and started up the hill.

 

            They were standing next to their car, smoking cigarettes, and chatting back and forth. I thought about grabbing one, cutting his throat and then making the other talk, but that seemed needlessly violent. No, I decided on a better tact as I came up behind them. I ran behind and stabbed one in the ass, which wasn’t fatal. The scream was beautiful as the guy realized he’d just been stabbed and where it’d been done. I came around and put the tip of the knife to his buddy’s throat.

 

            “How bad is this going to get?” I asked, letting the nastiness drip from my voice. “Do I have to cut your throat?”

 

            “God, please no!” he said while his buddy writhed around on the ground.

 

            “He stabbed me!” the other one shouted. “Oh Jesus, I’m bleeding!”

 

            “Oh shut up. It’s just a cut on your ass,” I snapped and turned to the one I was holding. “Now, were would I find Mister Quale?”

 

            “He’d kill me!” he shrieked.

 

            “No.” I said pressing the knife into his neck just enough so that he could feel the point. “I’m going to kill him, so he won’t even know where I got the information.”

 

            “Quale’ll kill me,” he said again.

 

            “Is Quale here right now?” I asked letting go of his shirt and taking a fistful of his hair so I could pull his head back. “Or am I? That’s the point isn’t it? Who has a knife to your throat right now?”

 

            “You do,” he said, and looked at his buddy who was clearly no longer prostrate.

 

            The idiot had gotten over the fact that I’d stabbed him and had pulled his gun out. It was so clear that he wasn’t on the ball though, it was too easy really. He started to walk towards me, limping and winced when he had to stretch his left leg out. When he winced, and his eye closed, I kicked him in the balls. He yipped, and went down like a sack of potatoes. I kept my left hand in my victim’s hair but closed the knife against my leg, slipping it in my pocket. I then bent down, taking my new BFF with me and grabbed the gun off the ground.

 

            “Where were we?” I asked putting the gun under his nose. “Did I get as far as telling you that I was here and Quale wasn’t?”

 

            “I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” he wimpered.

 

            “That’s the helpful spirit I like,” I told him.

 

            Twenty minutes later I was pulling into the hotel parking lot to grab my own guns, and another twenty minutes later I was kicking the door to Quale’s house open. I did not go unattended. My two new BFFs were with me. Kicking the door in is actually a little of an exaggeration, as one of them had a key and unlocked the door for me. I did give the door a good solid kick though to make sure it opened right though. I was expecting a shot down the hall, but all I heard was running water and then a voice calling out.

 

            “That you guys?” Quale’s voice called.

 

            I looked at one of the two with me and he looked at me and then into the house. He stepped through the doorway, but made no sudden attempt to slam the door in my face. He looked towards the stairs and called up.

 

            “Yeah,” he shouted up the stairs. “I brought some friends, we can party.”

 

            “Well bring ‘em up,” Quale’s voice called. “I’m just about to get in the bath.”

 

            “Party?” I asked.

 

            “He thinks I brought girls,” he whispered. “You know, whores. He’ll want one to blow him in the tub.”

 

            “Ah,” I said as I pulled the Marley from its holster. “Well, he’s going to end up fucked in an entirely different way. You boys had probably better go.”

 

            They didn’t need another inducement. They ran out the door as I started up the stairs. I heard a bath running and as I turned the corner into a large bathroom, Quayle was standing in a black silk robe with gold dragons embroidered on it. His smile faded instantly upon seeing me and he tried to bolt from the bathroom. I reached out and grabbed his hair though, and for good measure I administered a hefty wallop to his face. I then kicked him in the groin and smacked his head into the glass of the mirror, causing a large spider web of damage. The belt attached to the back of his robe was right there so I tied his hands behind him, which pulled the robe open unfortunately.

 

            For about three seconds after that I had one of those moments. You know, the sort of, ‘what do I do with you now’ sort of moments. My eyes fell on the tub, full of nice warm water. I kicked him in the back of the legs, causing his knees to buckle, and we went down to the tile floor. His head banged on the side of the tub and I think he had an idea of what was going to happen because he started to struggle. I hit him twice in the side, the second time I felt something crack and I hoped it wasn’t my hand.

 

            “Where’s the girl?” I asked him, putting the short barrel of my Marley against his head.

 

            “What are you talking about?” he asked, rather stupidly I thought. I informed him of how stupid it was by clocking him with the butt of the revolver before shouting at him.

 

            “Where’s the girl?” I was calm, matter of fact.

 

            “At the house! You were there!” he shouted.

 

            “Where is my employee?”

 

            “Same place.”

 

            I shoved his head under the water and held him there for a while, counting to ten slowly. I adjusted my fingers in his hair, making sure I had a good grip while we were under.  I then pulled him up and let him get a gasp of air before starting in on him again.

 

            “Where is she?”

 

            “They’re both at the same place,” he demanded. “Seriously.”

 

            “What do they want them for?”

 

            “Oh come on,” he said, looking at me like I was an idiot. “You know what this is about.”

 

            I am not an idiot, and I resent being spoken to as if I am, so back under he went. I held him down there for a lot longer this time, waiting for him to get really frantic before pull him up for air. I tapped the side of his noggin with the butt of the Marley, just to remind him that there were two ways this could go.

 

            “Come on now,” I told him. “Why do they want the girls?”

 

            “They’re going to fuck the bitches,” he said, and received another well deserved blow to the torso.

 

            “You mean they’re going to rape them?” I asked.

 

            “Yeah,” he tried to nod, but was impeded by my having his hair in my hand. “It’s part of the ritual.”

 

            “Ah,” I nodded. “Well, thanks.”

 

            “You’re gonna let me go now, right?” he looked panicked. “I told you wanted to know.”

 

            “Huh?” I asked. “Oh no, you’re mistaken. Torturing people to get information is wrong and I wouldn’t do that. This isn’t an interrogation, it’s a murder.” With that I put his head under the water.

 

            It takes a long time to drown a man, a damn long time. While you’re doing that, you can think about whether or not you really want to blacken your soul with yet another death. Do you really want to commit cold blooded murder? Please check Y/N and return this note. I knew I would have only a very limited time after he stopped struggling. I looked at his still form and decided that I’d probably killed enough for now, and I pulled him out of the water.

 

            I left him on the floor and took his car back to the big house in the hills. There wasn’t a person on the gate, just a card reader, and of course I had his card along with the rest of his identification. I walked around to the back of the house, where a large pool gave off an eerie light that shone up from it. I stood on the large concrete patio area and looked at the large picture window that showed a large living room area. The light of the pool suddenly went out behind me, leaving me with only the orgy of rape before me. They hadn’t yet gotten started, but they had dragged the girls in and strapped them down to tables. Shiri looked angry, but resigned. Jill tried weakly to fight, but it didn’t do her any good.

 

            Over by the pool there was a large oak table with heavy oak chairs. I assume they were oak, they might have been anything actually. The point is that these were not some flimsy pieces of lawn furniture. They were heavy antique chairs that should have been in some European museum. They were large and heavy and one of them was calling out to me. I picked it up and carried it towards the big picture window. They couldn’t see me, they were two busy counting down from ten. I heard them as I got into position, heard them as I began to spin myself and the chair around.

 

            I heard them shouting.

 

            “Three! Two! One!”

 

            I let the chair go and watched it sail towards the single panel of light that was left in the world as I pulled the Marley and Webley from their respective holsters.

 

           

 

Where am I on the Internet?

Okay!

So, like... here is a list of the places I'm online.
Livejournal!
Twitter!
Wordpress!
Blogger!
Facebook!
Dreamwidth!

Aaaand, here are the places where you can find Retroflix.
Livejournal!
Blogger!
Wordpress!
Tumblr!

And here is where you can find Grey Weirdo's Rules of Etiquette
Tumblr!
Wordpress!
Blogger!

RODENT!