Sunday, April 26, 2009

Hijacking Heaven- Chapter XVII

Len Grimsby awoke as his feet slid from the desk and crashed to the floor of the Apgar Ranger Station on the West Glacier. He’d been working the nightshift- a week on; a week off- which was always a bore and often led to snoozes like this. Len’s sleep usually ended at the shift change when that bastard Ed Crockett awoke him in some foul way. Two weeks ago that meant a bowl of warm water and Grimsby had pissed all over himself much to Crockett’s delight. But today was different. Len had the feeling he’d slept too long. The light outside, although gray, was midday light and not that of a sun just peeking over the horizon. Where the hell is Crockett? If I have to work a double because of that idiot, there’ll be shit in his boots the next time he slips them on. He won`t be laughing so hard then.

Len rose to his feet, taking a moment to scratch his belly and squeeze out the last of the yawns. He rocked his neck from side to side and then glanced at the clock on the wall next to the Montana state flag and Old Glory. 3:30! I slept through the entire morning? This has to be a joke. Crockett’s come in here, moved the clock forward and is probably hiding somewhere, ready to jump out and make me crap a diaper full.

Len Grimsby walked as quietly as he could, searching all the station`s hiding spots and poking in dark corners with a metal ruler from his desk. Perhaps he could scare Ed this time and turn the tables? The rain was pounding the outside of the Ranger Station and he felt sorry for the freaks out there in the wilderness roughing it in the elements. It was one thing to be observing nature`s majesty from the safety of the resort at St. Mary`s, or in one of the Trailhead Cabins, but out under the open skies was a whole other matter. It had been a terrible year for the hikers and campers not only weather-wise, but various areas of the park up by Polebridge, had been closed off by the EPA for more than a year. Too many assholes leaving their soda cans and wrappers floating in streams I guess. And anyone foolish enough to be out there in this, were sitting in their nylon tents like miserable little gofers wishing they could get their hands around Mother Nature`s supple neck and squeeze.

After ten minutes of hide and seek, Len finally came to the conclusion, Crockett was nowhere to be found and he must have, indeed, slept through the day. He wondered why his relief was a no-show. Wasn’t like him at all. Crockett could be inept, but to not at least call and say he’d be running late, was totally out of character. That’s when Grimsby looked out into the parking lot. Crockett’s Jeep Cherokee was there. So he is here planning some prank. The windows of the car were all steamed up like he was hot and heavy with some young hitchhiking chick in the back seat. Bumping one out while I slept and getting paid for it too....that bastard.

The Ranger stood looking at the car for some time, but there was no movement from within. Oh, enough of this! I should have been home hours ago and that jerk has parked in the handicapped spot as well.

Len grabbed at the heavy Ranger coat with the hoody from the rack and thrust his arms into it. Snapping the hood onto his head, he ventured outside into the rain. The drops now plopped steadily onto his coat and hood, but other than the rain, there didn’t seem to be any other noise. No song from the woods, no wildlife, nothing. Even lake McDonald seemed quiet and serene, taking the falling rain and delivering up an sizzling mist.

As he walked up on the vehicle he could see someone was inside sitting in the driver’s seat. If it was Crockett, he couldn’t tell through the fogged windows. The figure was a dark shadow. Len Rapped on the window but the driver made no attempt to lower the glass. Len tried the door. It was unlocked, but took some tugging to get it open

He wouldn’t touch Crockett at the best of times, but when he discovered him sitting in the driver’s seat it nearly sucked Len`s breath from him. Crockett`s tongue was swollen and easily four times its normal size. His right hand clutched the steering wheel in a death grip, and the left hand had been pulled free from the Jeep`s armrest when Len had opened the door. Crockett must have had one hell of a seizure. Plus he smelled bad like rotten eggs and dead rat was the closest olfactory perception he could think of. Crockett’s eyes were open and glazed over. They looked on the verge of popping from his skull, held back by a net of red blood vessels. His head was sunken into the head rest and his mouth- that mouth that had taunted Len so many times- was twisted into a sinister howl of pain. In all, Crockett’s head now appeared to be too big for his body.

Len grimaced at the sight and smell of him, but forced himself to touch the man’s neck. No pulse. That’s not good. His skin also felt rubbery and seem to glow with a fragile lucidity. Maybe he had Hep G or some other communicable disease? Len noticed a wet stain of urine had made a dark bull’s-eye on the crotch of the man`s Ranger, forest-green issue. I imagine that’s where the shit smell’s coming from too. But the Ranger also noticed the river of piss zigzagged down Crockett`s right leg to his boot and into a puddle of blood. His nemesis had pissed blood in his final moments and not just a little. We’re talking Old Faithful- a geyser of bloody piss. Best leave this for the coroner and the micro fibre specialists. Ain’t no job for a Ranger. Len tried to close the door with his hand retracted in the sleeve of his coat and the other pulled tight across his nose and mouth, as if using his bare skin would risk an infection.

The door hit Crockett`s lifeless left hand now hanging at his side, catching a few of his fingers in the process. The flesh split and squirted a vile yellow liquid onto the pavement. Len backed away in horror, leaving the door ajar and ran to the phone.

Len needed someone, anyone to come and take this body from his sight. He burst through the door of the Ranger Station, clutching on to the desk for balance and grasped at the phone with great urgency. The line was dead. Shit! He slammed the phone down and peeled off his jacket as if it were on fire, turning it inside out in his haste. He tossed it to the far corner next to the water cooler. Len stumbled forward to the radio. He hailed Polebridge, East Glacier, Summit Station, there was no response from anyone.

Friday, April 24, 2009

I've been busy...does it show?

If you are a regular visitor to Strangedaze- all eleven of you- might have noticed through the week these pages have been a little sparse of content.

It's not that I have lost my passion to do this, although it may seem I have. It's just, there are only so many minutes you can squeeze out of a testicle in the course of the day.

Time is a commodity at the moment that everyone seems to be buying my shares.

I'm sure things will return to a normal pace over the next month or so and I'll be back to annoying you on a regular schedule.

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Hijacking Heaven- Chapter XVI

Graham Sheppard knew he had made a wrong turn. It was evident by the dead end he now found himself facing- a faded orange barricade missing an end piece with the word caution barely legible in peeling white paint. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” He studied the map and compared it to the directions Malcolm Buck had given him as the wipers thumped in rhythmic swipes across the windshield. Damn it! They seemed simple enough. Is it starting to work on me? Am I going to end up like the others, losing my fucking mind to some sickness? Running down Malcolm Buck with my stolen police cruiser while he walks right in front of me, oblivious to death?

He shook the map open, its accordion folds bellowing across the dashboard. Quickly he deduced the problem. He had turned left when he should have veered right a mile back at the junction.

Sheppard thrust the map aside onto the passenger seat in a crumpled mass. He jammed the cruiser into reverse. The tires spat gravel as he swung his head to peer out the rear window while he backed up along the unpaved laneway at an alarming speed. He didn’t have time to get lost. Every tick of the clock counted. He had to find the Bradley boy.

Sheppard remembered the first time he had come across the name of William Theodore Bradley. It was long before the boy had earned the moniker of Rabbit, and predated the birth of Graham Sheppard from the mind of the man known as Doctor Robert Forder.

He had been reviewing various environmental effects on pregnant women through hundreds of case studies and had come across one that stood out. A female horticulturist named Diane Bradley who had been exposed for years to chemicals like mecaprop, diacamba and diazanon. She had reported a heightened sensitivity and spirituality during her pregnancy. She claimed she could see a deep blue aura around people who soon after died for one reason or another.

All Forder could find out was; the test subject Diane Bradley, gave birth to a healthy baby boy; seven pounds, two ounces. She died soon after child birth due to complications and the boy, William Theodore Bradley, was being raised by the estranged father Richard Bradley in Coram, Montana. No explanation was given for her condition. Other than a few pages of notes the information seemed rather shallow on scientific theory and all tests had been inconclusive. Since the chemicals in question had all been removed from public consumption, the case had been closed. Forder had just assumed someone had been very sloppy in their research and moved on to the next study.

He had thought nothing more about the case of Diane Bradley until he’d been sent to Texas to investigate the Morgellans outbreak in Trinity. Two children diagnosed with ADD and a young autistic teen of fourteen had miraculously been unaffected by the thread-like liaisons, while the rest of the community were ripping layers off their skin. Yet, the three survivors all made claims of feeling a strange sickness and seeing a blue haze around family members before they took their own lives. The claims had been merely explained as coping mechanisms for the shock of losing family members in such a horrific fashion.

The children had all been relocated and placed with foster families, but when Forder looked into the case further, tracking down the homes, he found no such children living there. In one case, the so-called foster parents had been dead for twelve years- killed in a car accident by a drunk driver and now shared, his-and-hers grave stones. Any evidence of the children from Trinity had vanished.

Back in his life as Dr.Robert Forder He had met with a good friend, Marty Stevenson, a professor of the paranormal and unexplained phenomenon, who was often employed by the government to shed his expertise on the unexplainable. Forder had always admired Marty. He reminded him of what Einstein might be like, if he were living in the new millennium; the crazy white hair with a black sole-patch replacing the push broom moustache and gold hoop-earrings, dangling from both ears. Marty had the Einstein wisdom, the loopy smile and the soft nurturing look from the deep pool of his eyes. He was tall and gangly on the verge of appearing clumsy, but the man was as sharp as any tool in the shed.

Forder remembered the night everything had started to come together as he shared his findings from Trinity with Marty. They had gone up to Stevenson’s cabin in Oregon to do a little fishing and re-energize. Then one evening they had shared cognac by the glowing embers of the fireplace, surrounded by the simple comforts in a structure of logged-wood and had started to discuss Trinity.

Stevenson had sat a long while in silence, choosing his words carefully, before he spoke. “What I’m going to tell you Robert cannot be repeated once you leave here. Not even to your wife.”

Forder felt the cognac start to loosen his muscles in relaxing warmth. “Jesus Marty, you want me to pinky swear?”

“I’m serious Robert” Stevenson looked around nervously as if the walls had ears.

“Fine! OK, whatever you want. I won’t even entrust my dog.”

“Those kids, the ones from Trinity. They weren’t placed in foster care as you already know. But what they never told you, or anyone, was they were moved to three different locations for further testing; Kirkland in New Mexico, Vanderberg Air Force Base in California and the grand daddy, Nellis in Nevada. I mean these kids should have died with everyone else in Trinity Robert. It didn’t make sense.”

“So it wasn’t Morgellons after all.”

“No. It was a man made pathogen, delivered in an airborne toxin. The military was testing various biological weapons at the time for use in future conflicts. They wanted something that would make the North Koreans quake in their boots, but you can imagine the public outcry and panic if it ever got out that this shit was tested on our own people before it got the seal of approval. The fact that there were some immune in the test area, you can imagine, it raised a few eyebrows. I mean this was to be a lethal dose. They were out of answers. That’s when they called me in.”

Forder leaned in. “So what did you find out?”

Stevenson lowered his voice further to barely a whisper. “You ever hear of Indigo Children, Robert?”

“Aren’t they like old souls?”

“Very much so, but it’s more than that. They have a heightened sensitivity to the world around them. They seem to know when things are going to happen. They have an acute awareness and think in ways you and I can’t comprehend. Some believe, Indigo kids will play a significant role in the evolution of humanity. Think about it. It’s such an important time in our history; war; famine; sickness; the verge of economic collapse. We need wise souls to guide us. Keep our heads out of our ass. Some believe it’s possible these children are coming to save the world.”

“Come on Marty, like the second coming? A bunch of unruly little Jesuses.” Forder pushed back into his chair and rolled the cognac around the bowl of his glass.

“Laugh all you want Robert but I’m not trying to pull one over on you here. It may not be a scientific fact yet, but there are others who I will not mention, even here, who are very interested in the Indigos. It makes certain people in power very nervous, you understand? It could upset everything. Years of planning for a one world government, ruled by puppet dictators.”

“Forgive me Marty, but I’ve heard the conspiracy theories before.”

“Believe it my friend. Some, like your missing kids in Trinity, are even more advanced than the Indigos I’ve studied over the past few years. You know, one child- a four-year-old Indigo asked me if I knew who Galileo was. I asked him what he knew about Galileo and you know what he told me?"

“I’m all ears.....and booze.”

“He told me Galileo was a good man and also had a pretty good sense of humour. Liked to comb his beard all the time, but that was a long, long time ago. Now what possessed a child of four to say something like that?”

“Kids have vivid imaginations.”

“Maybe so, but your kids in Trinity also had, high levels of Risveratrol in their system.”

“Like in red wine? So what you’re telling me is the kids were drunks?”

“Robert you’d have to drink ten thousand bottles a day to have levels these kids had. They were off the charts.”

Forder perked up again. “You mean...?”

“That’s right. With levels like that, these kids would live way beyond the normal life span you and I are familiar with. Not only that, but their bodies produced amazing antioxidants to any free radicals they introduced to their systems; Bird Flu, Hemorrhagic Fever, Ebola, Marburg. And get this. They all had three strands of DNA.”

Forder was now excited. “Marty, you have to help me get access to these kids.”

“I can’t.”

“But you have clearance I only dream of. You know the strings to pull.”

“I can’t. They’re dead Robert.”

“What? But you said...”

“...Just because you going to live beyond your years and never get sick doesn’t mean you’re not susceptible to other ways to die. They tried to harvest this fountain of youth from these kids you know. And it was the strangest thing Robert. They were all being studied at different facilities, miles from one another, yet they all died the same night, by swallowing their tongues and choking to death at precisely the same time. Now I ask you, how is that possible? Telepathy? Some sort of subconscious connection with each other? They weren’t even related.”

Forder felt the bubble burst around him like a child that is promised something extraordinary only to have preverbal carrot yanked. He looked at Marty. The fire was dying, casting deep shadows and placing the two men almost in darkness as Marty spoke again. “Something big is coming Robert. They’re going to try to flush out more of this new breed of Indigo. They’ve developed a thirst for what these kids have and will stop at nothing until they have a commodity. Just think of it Robert, a miracle cure and anti-aging vaccine to the highest bidders. Oil, gold,’s all nothing. The future currencies are these hybred Indigos.

You pets are on drugs #5

A busy week by the numbers

The 10 most amazing Japanese game show moments.

The 11 best cat puking videos on the internet.

The 55 most disturbing toys ever made.

100 famous movie lines in 200 seconds.

You pets are on drugs #4

Again with the tips

Yup! That's right for those who are still having problems swallowing the motherload, here are more tips to help you reach the promised land.

Just put your tongue above the penis, and let it flow! - Anonymous, U. S.

My tip is to stick the cock at the very back of your throat when he is going to cum and let it roll down your throat. This way the girl will taste nothing, maybe a little aftertaste, but that can be solved easily....and the guy enjoys his whole cock in your mouth. I do it all the time. - Anonymous, Canada -

I got this hint from my mother (of all people). She told me to control the "gag" reflex when trying to deep throat, squirt a little Chloraseptic in the back of your throat before going down on your man. I could never even come close to deep throating my guy till I tried this trick, but it worked fantastic! Not to say that it still wasn't a little uncomfortable, but the reaction from my man was more than enough for me. He was completely amazed. More than a year later, I don't need the Chloraseptic anymore and he thinks I am his own little sex star. - Kim, U. S.

Don't breathe through your nose when it is time to swallow... it cuts WAY down on the taste factor to make it palatable. - Anonymous, Gainesville

I find that swallowing slowly makes me gag less than swallowing fast. - Anonymous, Atlanta

The first time I swallowed, my husband had been drinking Jack Daniels and coke. Since I was pregnant, I was just drinking a coke. I was going down and had never swallowed before. He had cum in my mouth before, but the taste made me sick, so I didn't DARE swallow! Well, after getting it on for a while, he asked me to suck his dick again. I did and was I surprised when he moaned very loudly and shuddered! He had cum in my mouth, and as a reflex, I swallowed. I didn't even taste it, due to the aftertaste of the coke! Anyone who is not sure should try it! Also, flavored, water-based lubricant is absolutely wonderful! You don't taste anything but sweetness! - Heather, North Carolina

All you can really do is swallow A.S.A.P., and after a few swallows of your own spit, the taste should be gone. I actually don't like deep throating because then the taste goes straight to the bitter-tasting taste buds of your tongue, and that's usually where the taste stays. If you just have him cum into the center of your mouth then swallow, the semen will just quickly flow down and the taste doesn't linger. - Bianca, Detroit

Watch out for the power shooter! Sometimes guys shoot with great force. If he blows a healthy load, you may find yourself choking on his goodness. If your guy fires forcefully just pull back a bit - it'll help you from gagging on his cum. - Kyle, North Carolina

Get the guy to go vegetarian. The cum will be sweet and not bitter. - Anonymous, U. S.

My girlfriend always gets me to eat a lot of pineapple the day before she gives me a blowjob. She says it really makes my cum taste sweet. Whatever, no complaints, she's the boss!! All I know is I'm getting a lot more head than I normally would and I couldn't be happier!! - Anonymous, Calgary

I hated swallowing my boyfriend's cum until I just focused on the pleasure it was giving him. I just put the taste of it out of my mind and swallowed. At first it was gross, I will admit, but after a few times I really started to enjoy it. - Anonymous, Ohio

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Hijacking Heaven- Chapter XV

Malcolm Buck stood for what seemed like ages, after Graham Sheppard left in the Trooper’s cruiser, peering at the officer whose life he had ended without much forethought. He had just reacted and now the young Trooper was dead with half his head blown out. The beige and gray tiles around him were a wet puddle of life blood. Buck’s initial sickness had passed, but the shock of his actions had remained and he stood waiting for the authorities to come and cuff his massive mitts- haul him away for murder of a State Trooper- the death penalty for sure even if it was in self defence. But no one came. No ambulance, no firefighters, no police, no one.

Slowly he walked to the door, where across the street the skeleton of the charred vehicle still gave fuel to flame. It continued to crackle like the fire pit of a camping getaway. He closed and locked the door more in habit and flipped the sign to, “Sorry we’re closed.”

If I’m going to wait here for the consequences it might as well be by my wife’s side.

Malcolm turned to a door at the back of the store where a staircase led to an apartment above the shop. An apartment he shared with his wife. He stepped over the fallen police officer. His march continued in a funeral dirge and methodically he began to climb the stairs.

Everything had happened so fast and not just today. Six months ago his wife had been diagnosed with a rare form of inoperable brain cancer- a high grade Astrocytoma they had said. The disease had infected the healthy tissue in her brain. Three months ago doctors had put her on a new experimental treatment with heavy chemo and miraculously her cancer had gone into remission. She had started to improve. Her mobility, her appetite, her jest for life had all returned and there seemed cause for celebration. Then three weeks ago it had all stopped- crumbling bricks from a house rebuilt. She had taken a turn and her condition worsened, leaving her immobilized and bed-ridden.

There would be no hospital bed in Whitefish for her. Buck understood that much. Before her speech had finally abandoned her, she had said, “If I’m going to pass, then it’s at home with my husband by my side, not surrounded by walls of sea-foam green and waited on by nurses because it’s their job. Promise me that Malcolm.” And he had. As dire as the reality of the situation today seemed and Sheppard’s warning of more to come, he could not leave his wife like this. She needed him even if her time was drawing to an end.

He unlocked the door and walked in to the apartment, placing his keys on the hook by the door. He quietly entered the bedroom and stopped for a moment to take her in- fragile in her form, almost brittle.

She had kicked off the covers, perhaps in pain and Buck released another shot of morphine into the IV with a press of his thumb on the button control next to the bed. Her legs had taken on a purplish hue. Circulation’s going. Not long now. He covered her up and gently kissed her forehead. She had lost so much weight and was now just a shell of her former self. To one who didn’t know, the union between this huge man and this diminutive woman would seem inconceivable.
The rain began to fall heavier in the outside world, making a sizzling noise on the glass and pane. Buck closed the window.

He then positioned his chair on an angle facing his wife and sat in it. He took her idle hand in his, engulfing it. He stroked her wrist. “I did a bad thing today Emma. I took a life.”

Emma laid quietly, a gentle rising and falling of her breast as her husband continued his confession. “I wish I knew what to do about that? I suspect eventually they’ll come for me, but they’ll have to drag me from your side, I can tell you that much.”

Her skin was pale and shiny like glass, but she seemed calmer- more at peace than he’d seen her in some time. Her lips in a paper thin straight line, her eyes lidded and sunken, but there was still a beauty and delicate air about her.

“Have I told you how much I love you lately?” Buck said, the tears welling up in his eyes.

She seemed to smile- a barely noticeable curve at the corners of her mouth, but he could see it as much as feel it. It comforted him to know on some subconscious level she could still hear his words, sense his presence, and respond to his touch.

“There was another fellow, came in to the shop. Said we’re all in trouble here in Coram. From what I saw, I tend to believe him Emma......Jed Bradshaw’s dead. Dallas Shaver’s dead. In fact there’s a whole lot of people in a bad way. I’m not sure who we can turn to. I.....I wish I had you to tell me what you think is the right thing.”
Emma took a deep breath and exhaled in a long gush of air. It was her last.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

So this is Easter

And the dilemma is, should I post something Easter related or the worst robot sword fight ever filmed?

Hmmm...Easter?.....Worst robot sword fight ever filmed?

Another 10 BJ tips

I barely tried swallowing because of one bad taste experience, but now I always have a glass with Coca Cola ready. After swallowing I drink some cola and it really helps getting rid of the aftertaste. - Joyce, Holland

I like to throw my head back as though I'm drinking a shot. - TD, Maryland

Blokes, swallow some yourself one day, that way you are showing that there really is nothing wrong with it. She may find it wrong to swallow but (let's face it) most guys are very uncomfortable with this taboo. She'll feel a little silly for wondering why she never did it. - M., London

If you deep throat you can barely taste it, not that it tastes bad. I rather enjoy the satisfaction of a job well done. - Anonymous, U. S.

Just close you eyes and swallow fast like your taking meds. - Anonymous, U.S.

Ten seconds of yuck doesn't equal ten minutes. Remember, men usually are up to their eyelashes in a woman's juices - so women shouldn't complain about a teaspoon! - Anonymous, Canada

Swallowing my man's cum has never been an issue with me. It's something I've always enjoyed. He inserts his penis inside my mouth and puts it all the way in and then moves back and forth until he explodes in my mouth. I sometimes spit it into a glass and then drink it down. Sometimes I put his cum in my coffee cup; it's better than cream. I would never spit my man's cum out. That would be totally wrong and would make your man think you didn't like it. The taste of cum is a bit different. However, it's not as hard to take as you think and if you really have a problem with the taste there's always mouthwash. - Amy, U. S.

If you don't like to swallow, just ask your boyfriend if it's OK if you have a drink next to the bed. You can come up with an excuse like, "Giving blowjobs makes my mouth dry," or just say you like to have a drink afterwards. You could also tell him the truth, but you'll never know how he's gonna take it (it might be insulting). When you have just swallowed, give him a smile and wait a few seconds before reaching over to your drink to get the sperm-taste out of your mouth. Hardly any man will notice. - Anonymous, Holland

I always found whenever I was receiving a blow job, my 'muff' got in the way, but I never thought anything of it until I was giving the nickname Muffy, my actual name being Murphy. I found that if I give myself a little trim down there, it appears to increase the size of your organ. And if your lover does swallow, she won't choke on anything. My girlfriend liked it a lot more as well. - Muffy, England

Just get his dick far down your throat when he cums! It's brilliant because you miss the taste (if you do not like it - I personally do), and it goes straight down your throat. Plus the boy will really like it. - Minerva, U. K.

Thursday, April 09, 2009

Wednesday, April 08, 2009

Do you know the Wicker Man?

Never one to miss an opportunity to post something from one of the funniest movies of all time....The Wicker Man....I will yet again appease you with Nick Cage and Beethoven's Fifth.

Tuesday, April 07, 2009

Saturday, April 04, 2009

Hijacking Heaven- Chapter XIV

Colonel Hayden Grant sat in the chopper feeling his fingers itch in anticipation, yet his breathing was relaxed and calm from the camouflaged cocoon of his N.B.C. suit. The N.B.C.’s, (nuclear, biological, chemical), were better than the clumsy yellow hazmats used by firefighters and general chemical cleanup crews. These uniforms were designed to be worn for extended periods of time and allowed the wearer a full range of motion. Grant didn’t expect to need his suit for very long. After all, this was a simple task; extract the apple from the tree, maybe waste a few infectees, decontaminate in the safe zone the other side of Glacier National Park and then home in time for Jeopardy. I’ll take, “ways to kill the population off” for $400 Alex.

The last five minutes in the skies above Montana they had flown through some chop and a misty wall of vapour surrounded them, but it was nothing to worry about. He and Van Gogh had been through much worse, flying into the South American jungle, repelling into the vicious green below, all while being shot at. A virtual stew of nasty contagions seemed relatively benevolent in comparison.

Grant gazed down through the cloud cover. Occasionally he could see the quilted patches of land stitched together by roads into rectangular patterns of green and gold sometimes split open by veins of creaks and small waterways.

The chopper pilot held up his hand stretching out his fingers. Five minutes. Grant’s N.B.C. twin, Van Gogh motioned back with a thumbs-up. Almost time.

Grant now marvelled at the precision of the whole operation. No stone had been left unturned. Every aspect had been covered; the increased barium levels, the hallucinogens and biological parasites, all to control, enslave, and exterminate a docile populace. It had been delivered with stealth, not just in the air, but in bottled water, the frozen and fresh food, the God damn toothpaste. The minds had been polluted through subliminal messages delivered digitally by DSN cables and to IPS addresses. Microwaves had fried brains through cell phones and caused tumours to grow at an exponential rate to the size of grapefruits.

Yes-sir-ee, his employers had thought of everything and deserved the fucking gold medal for genocide. Compared to them, Hitler was a pussy. The Nazi’s had fucked up when they just targeted the Jews, the mentally handicapped and the cripples. Project Eden had the real balls. There were no boundaries of creed, race, colour and ability. Fuck status and moderate wealth. No one gave a shit if you were ancient, or a wailing newborn fresh out of the womb. You were either in the loop, or out of it. And if you were on the outside looking in, you better make peace with whatever God you prayed to.

It was a thing of beauty, really and they knew only one percent of the population would be immune. In a town the size of Coram that meant approximately four people. Ted Ellington, a young man barely into his thirties, who they nabbed in St. Louis, while he was on a business trip last week, was one. He would never know that his wife had smothered their children back in Coram, suffocating them with their own pillows, believing they were aliens before she haemorrhaged out her eyes. She would then try to carve them from her skull with a table spoon before she collapsed in their kitchen.

But before they’d send Mr. Ellington a first class ticket to see his wife and kids in the here-after, they’d need to poke and prod the man. He required studying, dissection at the DNA level. They’d have to cut his shit into tiny pieces to view under a microscope. From Ellington they hoped to harvest a vaccine that could be sold to the highest bidder in the time of impending chaos. But that bastard had overturned the bed in his cell and impaled his throat on one of the legs, rupturing the carotid artery and bleeding out before they could save him. Even though he’d been lied to, and assured the tests were routine, it was as if he knew he’d eventually be killed when they got what they wanted.

No matter, there was a new test subject, a twelve-year-old known as Rabbit Bradley and he’d soon be in their hands. This area would be in quarantine for sometime as the news spread of a biological terrorist attack from an, as yet unknown, Asian country. The media, as they had in the past, would be the catalyst, just one in an endless arsenal of propaganda and weaponry. Very soon martial law would be declared and everyone would hand over the last tattered threads of their freedom. They would willingly welcome the embedded microchips to document their every move. They would applaud the vigilant cameras on every street corner. They would encourage the detention of all who opposed the new will for the greater good.

And soon there would be a new weapon in a war to end all wars. Grant thought. And nothing is more profitable than war.

The next phase of Project Eden would give them a definite edge on control over the planet, a unified, one world vision, with a chosen few peering down from their throne in God-like existence. All would acquiesce, or die.

The 10's unit

The 10 funniest trailer mash-ups.

The 10 funniest 911 calls.

The 10 greatest South Park characters of alltime.

The 10 funniest Freudian slips.

Last of the wood

Leg Up

It’s not uncommon to have an erection that curves to one side or the other. If yours does this, you’ll need to compensate accordingly. Use the bathroom walls to brace yourself as you balance on one foot and tilt your body until your curve is pointing down toward the toilet bowl. You might want to install a grab bar by the toilet if you do this regularly.


If you're a man of steel in the morning, you might as well be a superhero. Tie on the bedsheet for a cape, mount the bowl in a single bound, and make like you're flying. Hopefully the pressure relief will be like Kryptonite for your boner.

Friday, April 03, 2009

You pets are on drugs #2

With a link to the evidence of course.

That is all.

Thursday, April 02, 2009

Adding up the numbers

Before they were celebrities they made commercials. Here are 10 of the most embarrassing.

Before they were homeless....wait....that doesn't make any sense. Here are 50 of the funniest homeless signs. Not that there's really anything funny about being homeless, but what the hey.

After they were Rockstars they did some pretty crazy shit. Here are 10 of the craziest Rockstar sex stories ever told.

Wednesday, April 01, 2009

Black humour for a blue Fool's Day,

A woman successfully gives birth after several hours of labor. The doctor takes the baby and leaves the room to perform some tests. Several minutes later, the doctor returns with the baby in his arms and then suddenly begins to punch it, kick it, throw it about the room and slam it against an adjacent wall. The woman screams, "OH MY GOD WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY BABY?!" To which the doctor replies, "April Fool's! It was already dead!"