A book I didn't like

I remember the first time I really hated the main character of a story. I didn't care about the book Island of the Blue Dolphins, but I didn't hate it or the main character. I also remember the book having a pace that made it feel like reading all of Proust in one volume, despite it’s low page count. I just didn’t want to read the book and elected not to finish the stupid thing. I felt guilty about it at first, but then we were shown the movie any and I discovered that there was indeed something worse than reading that book. I didn’t hate it though, I just didn’t care.

No, the story I genuinely hated was Jack London's To Build a Fire. I really hated that story and that character. In fact, I wanted him to die. I remember quite clearly, being 11 and thinking "People this stupid don't deserve fire! If you gave him fire, he'd just burn himself anyway." And then of course, a page or two later, he sets himself on fire! A life long hatred of Jack London started right there and then. There is a difference between a story following the natural progression and boring the reader so bad they start predicting the rest of the tale.

I really, really, REALLY wish that someone had come to me at about age 10 or12 and said "Listen kid, London? Sucks! Steinbeck? Sucks! Hemmingway? Sucks, blows, felches and swallows! Look kid, this is The Maltese Falcon by a guy named Dashiell Hammett." You know, as opposed to boring me to death with bits of shit no one in their right mind would ever read. The sort of things that no one would touch if they weren't so fucking worthy.

I sort of think that's why so many of my generation decided not to read, they were utterly turned off by the shit we were handed in school to read. If I didn't know that there were better books in the world by 9th grade, I myself would have never read anything ever again after Gentlehands for fear of having to read something so fucking stupid ever again in life. I really, really hated that book. If anyone had assigned The Thin Man or Farewell, My Lovely instead... those would have been much needed revelations. I'm all for variety, but we didn't have any in our schools. Worthy book after worthy book. Important story after important story, with enjoyment being looked down upon as something to be shunned.

I do understand that part of the problem is that some asshole of a parent would have bitched and moaned if we read anything even slightly interesting. Interesting books tend to have sex, murders, crimes, velociraptors or zombies in them and parents think their precious little hell spawns are the most innocent of creatures and have never even said the word “darn” much less “cunt-fucker” and desperately want them not to have access to anything beyond The Poky Little Puppy, but a teacher could have noticed my constant complaints about the garbage we were being told to read and suggested something that didn’t suck shit out of a dead donkey’s ass through a garden hose. No, I didn’t quite use those words… I suggested a crazy straw at the time, but upon reflection, it probably would be too narrow.

Extra Life

You want to talk about being behind? Syd's doing her Extra Life thing again this year and I totally blanked on boosting her signal. So I copy, pasted and here is what she said...

My former donation team isn't around this year, the core members having graduated college, so I almost missed Extra Life coming up! Looks like I'll be soloing this year, but I still want to participate.

What is Extra Life, you may ask? It's a video game marathon to support Texas Children's Hospital and pediatric cancer research. It works something like a walkathon -- you donate to "sponsor" me, and on October 16, I play video games for 24 hours straight (with, y'know, bathroom breaks and occasional food so as to not die or anything). All proceeds go directly to Texas Children's Hospital, with no handling/maintenance fees.

Here is a link to my donation page -- please donate today! They "recommend" a sponsorship of $24, but you can donate any amount.



Kick her some funds yo! If we make the goal, I won't send Vienna to eat your faces off. She'll do it too! She might even if we make our goal, but I won't have sent her and she'd be doing it of her own volition at that point.

Open Letter

Dear Def Leppard,

Point One: Learn to spell.
Point Two: You don't just happen to be a man. You've been male since the spermatozoa stage of your life.
Point Three: She doesn't just happen to be a woman.
Point Four: I really doubt that you just happen to be together. I think you planned this. Stop making it sound like this is some sort of happy accident.
Point Five: Only Prince can do wimpy love ballads and still be taken seriously when he rocks the fuck out.
Point Six: You are not Prince.
Point Seven: YOU ARE NOT PRINCE! These things bear repeating.

No sir, I don't like it

Do you remember the first time you decided that you didn’t like something and that you were okay with that? What I mean is, do you remember not being into something despite the fact that everyone you knew was into it? It seems to me that this would actually be a seminal moment for a young person, and a crucial part of their development. We’re not even talking about social pressure, or people treating you like you’re crazy for not being into something. I’m talking about being so young that your enthusiasm just gets swept along with everyone else and you decide to like something almost because everyone around you does.

Except, one day it stops working. You know? Let’s just say that it’s 1985, you’re a boy and everyone is crazy for those robots that turn into cars or planes or ordinary household objects. Except, you just don’t care about cars turning into soldiers or jets turning into treacherous douchebags or a box chicken nuggets turning into alligators or whatever. Now, if you were younger you might have said you liked them, but you like G.I. Joe or The Centurions or something where people are the heroes better, but now you just explain you’re not into them and you don’t really care.

What I’m trying for here, is when you realized that it was actually sort of okay not to be into something just because everyone else was into it. We all have some things we’re just not into, and for the most part, we’re cool with it and so are other people. Now granted, some people still loose their shit if you don’t have the latest smartphone or whatever useless item the hell Apple has foisted upon humanity this week, but I’m not talking about those dicks. I’m talking about normal, everyday people who accept that not every person they meet is going to be into exactly everything that they’re into. Some people watch American Idol, some people watch Lost (assuming both those shows are still on) and for the most part, people are cool with that.

There has to be a point though, where you realized that it actually was okay not to like something popular. I’m trying to remember what mine was, but I can’t quite come up with it. I know it had to be sometime in middle school, but I can’t put my finger on any one thing. I think because I never cared about sports, that might be my thing, but I can’t help but think there’s something else.

ALSO!

The skeletons in Target are FABULOUS!!!

And now... photos

The Return of Jack Collier (Chapter Fifteen)

The Return of Jack Collier

A Jack Collier Story

By Brett N. Lashuay

 

 

Last week’s entry can be found here.

 

 

Chapter Fifteen: Found him

 

            It took six days (that I don’t intend to describe) to find her. I do not wish to report them, because it would sound like I was being hard on Texas. David Eller was about the worst Texan I’ve ever met, a drunk who never stopped calling his daughter ‘that bitch.’ Her friends were a little better, but less helpful since meeting Pa Eller at least gave me some serious clues about why she ran off.

 

            Still I found out that she lived in an apartment in the suburbs of Dallas, which was pretty far from where her father lived. I won’t say now how I got the information because I told the person who told me that I would keep them out of it. Besides, it really isn’t that interesting. It was just a lot of grind and while explaining it might make for a more complete story, just thinking about it bores me rigid. The point is, that I found her.

 

            The apartment complex was like every other apartment complex I’ve ever seen. It might have been in Michigan really, except for a few differences. I was surprised to see a patch of woods behind the complex that would have blocked out some of the noise from the nearby highway. It was just a bunch of rooms, piled together into a long rectangular building, with the doors leading directly out onto the street.

 

            I saw an old Ford Tempo pull up and I saw the girl who looked like the yearbook photo I’d seen. She looked thin, tired, and a little scared. When she got out, I saw she was wearing a waitress’s uniform over her thin frame. I couldn’t help but wonder what a few weeks on a proper diet would do to her. She was pretty, but there was something wrong there.

 

            “Cindy Eller?” I asked as I approached her.

 

            “Yeah?” she looked at me and realizing she’d never seen me before added, “Who are you?”

 

            “Does Cole King live here with you?”

 

            “Yeah?” she raised her left arm to push back her straw blond hair and I caught the dark splotch on her bicep, hiding just above the spot where the sleeve ended. “But who are you?”

 

            “I need to see Cole,” I said.

 

            “Look Mister,” she said, “you’re going to have to tell me who you are.”

 

            “Someone who knew Cole before he went to jail.” I raised my eyebrows at her. “You dig?”

 

            “Oh,” She said and put her hand to her lip, and that splotch of a bruise just poked out. Maybe you’d have to be observant to see it, maybe you had to know you were going to need to look for it, maybe I’m just suspicious.

 

            “Yeah.” I reached to my back pocket where I’d stowed the leather persuader. “I need to see him.”

 

            “Okay,” she smiled nervously at me and turned around to walk to the door.

 

            I pulled the persuader out of my back pocket and palmed it up my right sleeve. When I wanted to, I could bring it out. I sort of guessed I was going to want it. She opened the door and turned her head over her shoulder to tell me to come in. The place was done up with things from Kmart and thrift shops, and pretty sparsely at that. It wasn’t messy, but it was definitely untidy. She looked around as we came in and I noticed her shoulders slump perceptibly. She wasn’t going to complain to me about Cole’s habits, or how the place was clean when she left, but she was thinking it.

 

            “Cole!” she shouted up the stairs. “Someone here to see you.”

 

            “Aw, what the fuck?” he demanded and began to move around. I saw her flinch a little when he spoke.

 

            She walked ten steps from the stairs to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator as feet began to clump around upstairs. I walked to the small, narrow kitchen and looked at her as she opened the door and pulled out a carton of orange juice. She looked up at the ceiling and made a face that I didn’t like. She looked like she would really like me to stay between her and Cole.

 

            “Cole’s your cousin?” I asked.

 

            “Yeah.”

 

            “You pay for this place?”

 

            “He’s between work,” she said as the feet moved around up there.

 

            “You mean he’s afraid to find a job because they’d find him and take him back to jail?” I suggested.

 

            “Well,” She looked at me, and looked scared.

 

            “Has he been beating you up?” I asked.

 

            “Mister,” she said, “don’t get involved, Cole hurts people.”

 

            “Who the fuck is here?” Cole said as he came down the stairs. She cringed a little, and looked like a trapped animal. I looked at her and put a finger to my lips, I then came around the corner to look at him. “Oh shit.”

 

            “Hi Cole,” I said, as our eyes met.

 

            “I heard you were dead,” he looked fitter, less fat and more muscle. Of course that’s what happens when all you’ve got to do is lift weights and wait out the time.

 

            “Nope,” I shook my head. “Not dead.”

 

            “What’d you let him in here for?” he shouted and Cindy fell back against the wall and slid to the floor.

 

            “I’m sorry,” she cried suddenly.

 

            “You’re gonna be,” He shouted and started a hand out.

 

            I brought the persuader down on his right hand as he reached out. There was a delightful snap that filled the room, followed by another as I slapped him across the cheek with the sap. He fell backwards and tripped over one of the chairs for the small dining room that was half connected to the kitchen.

 

            “I’ve not been here five minutes,” I told Cole, “And she’s cringed twice and actually fell to the floor, going into a defense posture. You are in a lot of trouble.”

 

            “Please mister!” she sobbed at me. “You’re just going to make it worse.”

 

            “Shut up!” I snapped at her and gave Cole a good swift kick in the side. “Get up you piece of shit.”

 

            He got to his feet, and I kept myself between her and him. She sobbed behind me, but I wasn’t about to turn around to look at her. He looked like he would like to kill me, but he didn’t have the stones to raise a hand at this point.

 

            “Go sit down,” I pointed to the couch that was sitting in what had to be the living room because there was only the tiled kitchen and the single large room to be seen and there was a couch there. He looked at me and then did what he was told. I then turned slightly to Cindy “You stand over there in the corner. Keep the table between him and you.”

 

            “Please,” she was crying now. “He beat up Kyle so bad, you’ll just make it worse.”

 

            “Go!” I shouted and she moved, doing what I told her to do.

 

            When she was standing behind the round table, which would keep her at least a little safe if Cole decided to suddenly charge, I reached back and touched the holster on my belt. I’d packed a special surprise, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to use it yet. I looked at Cole, who probably could have started beating me up if he wasn’t such a coward. I’d proven to be the biggest and meanest on the block though, so he just tried to burn holes in me with his eyes.

 

            “You know what I’m wondering?” I asked Cole after a moment’s pause. “Did you kidnap Jill because she reminds you of Cindy, or are you with Cindy now because she reminds you of Jill?”

 

            “Fuck you,” was his witty retort, so I gave him an open handed slap across the face.

 

            “There is a lady in the room,” I said.

 

            “There’s a little bitch,” he snarled and looked at her. “A little bitch whose gonna be fucking sorry.”

 

            “Cole,” I brought the sap down on his right hand again, which produced another howl of pain.

 

            “Please!” she shouted at me. “Please, don’t.”

 

            “Take your shirt off,” I snapped at her, taking a step towards her. “Take it off! Now!”

 

            “Okay,” she sobbed.

 

            She was too scared, stupefied with terror perhaps. She pulled the shirt off and it was pretty obvious looking at her front what had been going on. She started to fiddle with her bra strap and my sense of decency managed to kick in just in time.

 

            “Hey!” I shouted. “Keep your bra on. I’m not getting a cheap look here, I’m proving a point, now turn around.”

 

            She did as she was told and my blood started to boil as I looked at the map of bruises, fresh dark purples and blues laid on top of older yellowing marks. I barely looked at Cole, just let my hand fly and caught him across the left side. The fact that I hit him in almost the same place on his left side as I’d hit him on the right side was coincidental, although the twin bruises on his face did give a nice symmetry which his work clearly lacked.

 

            “You can put your shirt back on now,” I said looking at her again.

 

            “Okay,” She squeaked and started to put her shirt back on.

 

            “Oh Cole,” I almost whispered. “You are in so much trouble. Is it something about girls born at that time? Do you have some sort of thing about the mid-nineties?”

 

            “Mister,” she whined.

 

            “You can’t do nothing without me!” he shouted at her suddenly. “You want to go back to sucking your daddy’s dick? You’ll be back with him by six if anything happens to me you little bitch!”

 

            “Shut up,” I said and brought the sap down on the top of his head. He slumped over and fell flat on the floor.

 

            “Mister,” she said.

 

            “My name is Jack,” I said. “You want to get out of here?”

 

            “I can’t go back to my father,” she almost started crying.

 

            “Go upstairs and grab what you need,” I told her, while looking down at the prostrate form of Cole King. “Clothes, books, jewelry, whatever. I’ll take you where ever you want to go.”

 

            “But, won’t they?”

            “No,” I said. “You go upstairs and you get your things. We’ll have to leave the furniture and shit, but I assume that stuff doesn’t matter, does it?”

 

            “I guess not,” she said.

 

            “Okay,” I told her, and decided to risk my luck. “I’ll take care of things, just trust me.”

 

            “Okay Mister...” I looked up at her and she stopped. “Okay, Jack is it?”

 

            “Mister Collier if you’re nasty,” I said.

 

            “What?” she sort of smiled in confusion.

 

            “Nevermind,” I smiled back. “A girl my age would get it. Go on, Cole and I have got to do some talking.”