Saturday, February 28, 2009

Hijacking Heaven- Chapter VIII

Panting on the edge of exhaustion Rabbit, Jeffery and Amber collapsed beneath the shelter of the old oak tree in Rabbit’s back yard. The sun was making a valiant attempt to peek through the clouds but was still obscured by dark cumulus.

“That was crazy.”

“Maybe we should tell your dad?”

“No!”

“Why not Rabbit? Adults know what to do about stuff like this.” Amber pleaded.

“I know him. He’ll think we’re lying. Birds don’t just fall out of the sky Amber. Come on. Let’s get into the tree house. I don’t want him to see us here trying to catch our breath. He’ll start asking questions.”

“What about our bikes?”

“We’ll go back for them later. Right now I want to get out of sight.”

Jeffery looked at Rabbit between huffs of air. “You knew.....Rabbit.....You knew something was going to happen.....didn’t....you?”

Rabbit looked back at Jeffery but didn’t answer. “Come on.” He started to climb, followed closely by Amber and a few minutes later, when he’d finally caught his breath, Jeffery.

Rabbit didn’t know why he had these feelings. He just did. When they’d first started he had tried to talk to his father only to be questioned as one would question a criminal who’s suspected of not telling the truth. After all, they had coincided with Rabbit’s run of trouble in school, with authority, with his father, so Rabbit now avoided any mention of what he sensed. Instead he learned to harness his ability to his advantage. At first it was cool. He used it to sense what pitch was coming in baseball, the nervousness of fellow competitors at track meets, when a pop quiz was evident in school, but then the new sensations came. They were the ones that stole the very air from his lungs, gave him pins and needles on his finger tips and a sense of urgency. Rabbit quickly learned it meant something bad was imminent and he better stop whatever it was he was doing, or face the consequences. But now, these warning seemed to be moving to the next level. He almost felt sick and all around him seemed to dull into a grey-blue haze.

The wooden slats of the tree fort were solid and well constructed resting soundly between several thick branches of the oak a good twenty feet up. Rabbit sat in the far corner of the structure looking out one of two windows with a strange vigilance.

Amber sat on a wooden box near to him. “What should we do now?”

“I don’t know.”

"Rabbi..."

"I DON'T KNOW!"

Jeffery stood by the tree forts entrance, bent over with his hands on his knees still trying to catch his breath now after his climb.

“What about you Jeffery? Any ideas” Amber said. Jeffery didn’t answer, still taking long deep breaths. “Jeffery? What, did I finally say something to shut you up?”

“I...don’t feel well.”

Rabbit slowly swung his head around to look at Jeffery. The air again felt thick and heavy, much the same as it had been when the birds had started to drop from the sky. Again the day seemed to get greyer, but this time he could see a deep blue haze around Jeffery as he stood hunched over, a bewildered look in his eyes. Jeffery slowly reached for his stomach. As if in empathy, Rabbit felt a surge of sickness swell in his gut.

Amber shouted. “Quit messin’ around!”

“I don’t think he’s lying. Don’t you see how blue he looks?”

“What are you talking about Rabbit?” Amber looked at him like he was losing his mind. “I suppose you’re trying to pull a fast one now?”

He realized what he was saying was foreign to her and only he saw the blue aura around Jeffery. The nausea was intense and he felt like throwing up.

“I’m serious guys. I don’t feel so well.”

“So much for your mother’s cooking.”

“Amber stop it. He doesn’t feel well.”

Jeffery staggered and wavered, his hand reached out to steady himself.

“Jeffery, just sit down. Maybe you’ll feel better. All that running and climbing. You need to calm down and catch your breath.”

“I....ah.....” Jeffery looked back with hollow dead looking eyes as if he was gazing past his friends and beyond the treetop fortress. He toppled backward and was gone. Below the ground offered up a sickening thud.

“Jeffery!!!” Rabbit rushed to the opening past a stunned Amber and threw himself to his stomach as he peered down from the tree top. Jeffery’s broken body lay on the ground below. He wasn’t moving.

Amber began to scream. Quickly Rabbit climbed down from the tree house not making contact with the last rungs and landed on the soft ground next to his motionless friend. The sickness in his stomach had abandoned him as quickly as it had come.

Amber was still screaming from above as Richard Bradley came running around the side of the house into the backyard.

“What happened?! Rabbit what did you do?”

“He....he fell. He just fell.” He was beginning to cry now and Amber’s screaming had also subsided into a blubbering sob.

“Back away Rabbit. Don’t touch him. He may have a broken neck, or back.” Richard said, as he quickly knelt along-side the boy. “What do you mean he just fell?” His father checked the boy’s vital signs.

“We were in the tree house...and....He said he didn’t....feel well....and then he fell.”

“He’s not breathing Rabbit!” Richard Bradley thought for a moment in a tug of war with what his next action should be. He started to perform CPR. “Reach in to my pocket, get the cell and dial 911.”

Rabbit searched his father’s pant pocket and extracted the small phone. He did as directed and held the phone to his father’s ear. There was a see-saw tone. “Rabbit you didn’t dial it right.”

“I did too.”

“Then dial it again. I’m not getting through.”

Rabbit pressed the numbers again. This time it rang, and Richard had a voice on the other end.

“Yes I have an emergency. Send an ambulance right away to......A boy has fallen from a tree. He’s not breathing, there’s no....What do you mean the response time is half an hour. Didn’t you hear what I said? I have a boy, badly hurt, who’s not breathing! He may be paralyzed or...Ah shit! Shit! Shit!” The phone went dead. No choice now. The boy has to be moved. “Rabbit, run to the house get a blanket and my car keys. Bring them here. Hurry now Son!”

Rabbit jumped to his feet and was gone like a bolt.

“Amber honey, come down. It’s going to be OK.”

“I...I can’t.”

“You have to. I’m not leaving you here and we have to get Jeffery to the hospital. Please. Just climb down slowly. I won’t let you fall.”

Amber swung her body out over the edge and on to the top rung. Her body shook, but she was able to cautiously descend as Rabbit’s father coaxed her on. “That’s it. You’re alright. Nice and slow. You’re doing great.”

Rabbit returned with the blanket and the keys jingling madly as his father continued to push on the young boy’s chest and breathe life into his mouth on every five pushes. “Amber I want you to run home and tell your mother what has happened. Do you understand?”

Amber shook her head in compliance.

“Tell her to call Jeffery’s mother. We’re going to take him to General in Martin City. Run honey fast as you can now.”

She was gone.

“OK Rabbit I’m going to ask a big favour of you. See how I’m pushing on his chest and blowing into his mouth? Once we get him into the back seat of the car I’m going to ask you to do this.”

“Dad I can’t.”

“Yes you can. Do you want Jeffery to die?”

“No.”

“Then you have to do it Rabbit. You can’t drive and we have to get him to a hospital. We don’t have time.”

Richard placed the blanket over the boy and scooped his arms under. He struggled to pick up Jeffery’s girth and get to his feet, but managed. With Rabbit leading the way they moved quickly around the side of the house to the driveway. Rabbit opening the black SUV’s backdoor, Richard placed Jeffery’s body, with arms and feet dangling, on the backseat. Rabbit ran to other side and climbed in. “OK Rabbit put your hands together like I showed you and push on his chest.”

Rabbit did as he was told.

“Good,” his father encouraged. “That’s it. Keep it going. Now, tilt his head back and blow into his lungs. Good boy. Do you think you can do that all the way to the hospital?”

“I’ll try.”

Richard Bradley slammed the car door and raced to the driver side. He jumped in, cranked the motor to life, jammed the stick into reverse and blazed backward down the driveway.

For a brief moment as Rabbit pushed on Jeffery’s chest, it seemed his friend had taken a few breaths on his own. His blue aura seemed to gain colour to a deeper shade of blue. But even as they peeled forward and madly sped toward Martin City, Rabbit noticed Jeffery’s blue aura began to fade again. Rabbit knew it. His friend was dead.

You kid's toys are on drugs

Thursday, February 26, 2009

As if one Mickey wasn't enough

Today is National Do-over Day.

Since at the moment I can't figure out what it is that I'd like to do-over, I'm simply going to do-over yesterday's post.



Wow! How lazy was that......

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

A Mickey fin, ok make that six minutes

I meant to post this on Monday, but what the heh....

Just to show you the type of speech you missed by not seeing the Best Actor Oscar go to Micky Rourke.



Who's sorry now Academy........

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Mossy cottage

Many days I've said to myself. "Self, I wish I had a place i could go when I needed another word for vagina."

If you've been faced with the same dilemma, worry no more my friends. The information you seek is right here at, Ineedanotherwordforvagina.com

Monday, February 23, 2009

Black humor for a blue Monday

In honour of Slumdog Millionaire here is your Monday joke:

A guy says to his wife: "Darling, what would you do if I said I've won the lottery?"

Wife replies: "I'd take half then leave you."

Guy says: "Excellent! I had three numbers and won Ten Dollars. Here's five...now fuck-off!


This giggle brought to you courtesy of Dickie Sanchez. That is all.

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Milking it for all it's worth


Sean Penn is a talented actor- please excuse Shanghai Surprise or whatever it was called. Sean Penn is a talented writer, director, producer - anyone see Into the Wild?

Yet, for some reason, the Academy hates Sean Penn.

Is it because they can't see giving an Oscar to a dude who played the dim witted stoner Jeff Spicoli in Fast Times at Ridgemount High? No that can't be it. They gave a few to Tom Hanks and he was in Bosom Buddies and Turner and Hooch.

Is it because they like Clint Eastwood better? But Clint was snubbed this year for Gran Torino and the Changeling, Penn at least got an actor nod and won the Best Actor Oscar for his roll in Clint's MR.

Is it because he went full-retard in I Am Sam? Perhaps the Academy thought he was making fun of them after dolling out awards to Hanks for Forrest Gump and Hoffman for Rain Man?

All I know is, Penn has done a decent portrayal of Harvey Milk the first openly gay politician elected to office, but I feel the warm fuzzy hate between him and the Academy will get a little deeper and we'll all find Oscar is lactose intolerant.

The Oscars go tonight.

Saturday, February 21, 2009

Nixon will finally be impeached


Nixon was a crook and resigned before he was impeached. Frost was the Ellen Degeneres of his day. History is replayed and it wouldn't seem that an interview involving the two would be that interesting, but it is. I believe only because, Frank Langella gives such a compelling portrayal of Nixon.

Really he should win best actor, but he won't. Micky Rourke's dog died this week and with a superb performance in the Wrestler, how can they not give it to the comeback kid?

However, I'm losing the frosting off my Nixon here and need to get back to it. Frost Nixon is a good little film, quite enjoyable....until Ron Howard does what Ron Howard always does and gives his brother a job. When Clint Howard hit the screen everyone around me ran for the exits.

No matter how many goatee's, hair pieces, prosthetic noses they put on this guy it's still thugly Clint Howard.

Lesson learned Ron. The next time you do a movie about two dudes in an interview, in fact any movie, leave nepotism out of it. Pleeeeese!

Friday, February 20, 2009

This dog has fleas


Everyone is calling for this film to piss with the big dogs of cinema and take home the Oscar. Although it's not my choice for winner take all, I'll let the water carry me down stream and say it will win. I guess you don't have to like the Academy's decision- remember The English patient?

The reason I feel this way? I guess it's because I heard so much buzz before I saw the film. My expectations were just too high.

Don't get me wrong, this movie is a feel good picture with hope, drama, romance, intrigue and a little kid covered in shit that makes a good picture....well good.

It's about a dude from the slums who ends up on India's version of, "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?" and answers questions based on his life experience.

Yet, I can't shake the annoying voice in my head. The host of the show in the movie who says "Mil-on-air" for an hour-and-a-half. It grates on me like a hooker with steel wool between her legs- other than that my trip to Mexico was excellent.

But I assume that when the question to who won the Oscar for best film this year is asked, the answer will be Slumdog Millionaire.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Usually reading puts me to sleep


But then again, of the five nominated films up for the Oscar as best movie this year, this was the only one I didn't get to see. However, I did see the trailer and feel it's enough to give you my review on this work.

So....some dude is seeing his therapist and telling her of when he was a boy....not like the young/old Benjamin Button, or the old/young Benjamin Button for that matter....you know what I'm just going to drop the whole CC of BB altogether.

You get it, he's a teen and he has an affair with this chick who makes him read to her. Then all hell breaks loose, there's a trial and betrayal.....which kind of sounds like the French for trial except it isn't.

I'm pretty sure there's some lesbian sex, perhaps an Alien or two and some trans-gender morphing......you know what?

Maybe I should actually watch the movie and get back to you?

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Push de button


So here it is, the first of the reviews of the five nominated films for best picture. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.

Here we have a film where a dude is born as an old man as a baby....following so far?....and gets younger with each year until he turns into Brad Pitt who had a wonderful poignancy as an old baby dude but is just Brad Pitt when he's younger.

Subsequently there's Cate Blanchett who gets older in the film and turns into an old woman destroying all my sexual fantasies of the woman in the process.

And they do this in a movie so long it took two days to watch it all.

But I love David Fincher and his directorial style. Remember Fight Club? Remember Seven? Huh? Huh? Remember Aliens 3?.....OK maybe not Alien's 3, but it wasn't released as he initially intended so don't blame him. Blame those studio bastards!

And I don't blame him either for the Curious Case of the Old Woman and the Young Brad Pitt Dude. Although I'm not sure it has the legs to walk away with that old Oscar dude who doesn't age at all.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Movies by the numbers


Next Sunday is the Oscar telecast, so pretty much all this week, I'll be posting strictly in that vein......except today.

But, to get you in the mood here are some movie numbers to keep you occupied.

20 Baffling foreign movie posters.

The 10 worst movie edits for television.

The 50 best movie deaths.

Bonus Oscar link.

Monday, February 16, 2009

Black humour for a blue Monday

Two homeless men are standing around bragging about their day. The First hobo says "Today i found $20, and was able to buy a nice hot meal. It was my luckiest day ever!".
to which the second hobo replies: "oh yeah, my day was way better! I was at the train yard, and found a woman tied to the train tracks. After I untied her, we fucked all day"
"Did you get a blow job?"
"Naw, I couldnt find her head"

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Hijacking Heaven- Chapter VII

The Trooper pulled in behind Sheppard and left the engine running. He sat there for what seemed like an eternity. Sheppard’s grip of the gun tightened as he waited for the officer to get out and approach his car. Finally the door swung open and the Trooper got out and slowly meandered up to where Sheppard sat. He was tall and muscular with thin pursed lips and features tanned and complex yet hidden behind the dark abyss of the twin orbs of his sunglasses and the brimmed hat of a highway patrolman. His walk was confident and deliberate in its relaxed pace, surely to intimidate the suspect. It was working. Sheppard felt his anxiety reach a fevered peak.

Play it cool Shep. This might be nothing. It couldn’t be them yet. Just going too fast.

Sheppard pulled his hand from the bag and lowered the window as the officer came to the side. “Yes, Officer, what seems to be the trouble?”

The Trooper’s voice was low and gravelly. “Do you know how fast you were going?”

Speeding, that’s all. Just let him give you a ticket. “No, I guess my mind was focused on other things. I’m sorry.”

“Licence and registration please.”

“Of course Officer.”

But they’ll know Shep. They’re already looking for you. They’re tied into the grid. They’ll find out where you are. Once they get the satellite images you’re done.

“Is there a reason you have no plates on this vehicle Sir?”

Shit the plates! I didn’t put them back on when I left the motel. Grab the gun Shep! Shoot him!

Sheppard thought quickly. “Yes Officer. Some kids must have taken them when I was staying in Butte. Or at least that’s what I think happened. Must be some new thing like collecting hood ornaments. Remember that?....”

“Step out of the vehicle slowly. Keep both hands where I can see them.” The trooper had placed his hand on his holster and unsnapped the release.

Too late. Now I’ll be dead before I can get a shot off. “By all means Officer.” Sheppard unbuckled his seatbelt, trying to keep his cool. He slowly opened the door and got out. He handed his info to the Trooper.

“It’s against the law to drive an unplated vehicle Sir. Why didn’t you take care of it in Butte?”

“I didn’t realize the plates were gone until I stopped last night in Columbia Falls. I guess that’s why all those trucker’s were blasting their horns at me. I was going to take care of it when I got to Martin City, but you pulled me over first.”

“Martin City is in the other direction Sir. You’re headed for Glacier National Park.”

“I am? I guess it’s evident I’m not from around here. I'm not exactly a genius when it comes to sense of dirrection.”

The Trooper remained stoic. “Stay here Sir, while I check this out and don’t get back into the vehicle.” He returned to his patrol car and spent some time on the radio occasionally glancing up and looking in Sheppard’s direction. Each second was agonizing and it was time he didn’t have to spare.

The Officer appeared to be talking quickly now as if new information had just reached his ears. This man isn’t who he seems. He’s a dangerous fugitive wanted by Federal B.I. dead or alive. Approach with extreme caution. The Trooper gazed at Sheppard from the patrol car through the impenetrable deep of his shades. His brow furrowed as if contemplating his next move. He suddenly got out and walked briskly toward Sheppard.

Here it comes, Shep. He’s going to do what you couldn’t. Put one in your brain pan and say it was in self defence.

The Trooper was almost on him now. Close enough to finish him off execution style. Command him to his knees and jam the cold barrel into his crown. One squeeze and his gray matter would explode into his throat with shattered fragments of skull.

“Normally I would impound the car,” The Trooper said. “But it’s your lucky day.” He handed a ticket for speeding to Sheppard. “Take care of the plates in Martin City, buy yourself a GPS and slow it down Sir.”

“Yes Officer. Thank you.”

The Trooper hustled back to his car. He sped off with the siren blaring in the direction of Coram. Something must have happened that had him leave in a hell of a hurry, but what?

Sheppard watched as he pulled from sight then tossed the ticket on the ground and climbed back into the car and drove after him. Inside he knew.

So it’s begun...Project Eden.....I’m too late.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Famous dudes I almost know (part 3)



It's a funny story about Bill and I.....no wait....I can't tell that one. Let's just say it involves an internship and a cigar.

Oh, what could have been......yet, it was not I that met Bill last year, but my trusty cohort Bob Noxious on that sunny day in Miami.

I'll just have to be content on shaking the hand of the hand that shook the hand of the man. Which to me, is just as good because I know for a fact, Bob Noxious never washes his hands.

That's why I can also claim 2 degrees of separation to Rainn Wilson, Bob Denver (Gilligan)- before he died of course and the original line-up of Yes.

Friday, February 13, 2009

Now back to the sex and violen.....more sex


I could go on about how it's Friday the 13th and the history of bad luck and such, or the fact that I may have anal chugged one-to-many bottles of tequila this week- I'm sorry that's an image you didn't need.

However, I'm going to stick with the tried and true linkage in a homage to my laziness.

So in a mini sex-by-the-numbers, here are 10 sexual anomalies that will make your head spin.

I'm not sure you really needed these images either......

Thursday, February 12, 2009

A Blog in all seriousness.



I may be away but there's no reason you can't check out my other blog "the Grass is Greener" before I get back.

Now, by "the grass is greener" I'm not trying to insinuate some sort of sexual site in a cuffs and collars, carpet and drapes metaphor. This is a serious site for the lawn enthusiast....no I'm serious.....the lawn enthusiast.....stop laughing!

Oh never mind!

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Life's a beach

Greetings from the Mayan Riviera. While I'm away I will try to simulate as best I can the experience of actually being here.

I think this link should suffice.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

C.S.I....esta

This is the first thing GICC and I did when we got into our hotel room in Mexico.

Monday, February 09, 2009

Black humour for a blue Monday

A kid is sitting at the kitchen table in the morning and says, "Hey mom, pass the fuckin corn flakes." She takes him out back and whips him with a rod then sits him back down and says, "Now would you like something from the table?" He says, "Well I sure as shit don't want those fuckin corn flakes."

Sunday, February 08, 2009

Hijacking Heaven- Chapter VI

“Milk, bread, canned peas, whole wheat pasta, milk bread, canned peas, whole wheat pasta”....so the mantra continued, as Dallas Shaver walked briskly to the “Trading Post Emporium” to pick up the items on his mental list. The TPE, as it was known to the locals, was a store mostly for the tourists and hikers on their way up to Glacier Park. It had a variety of camping supplies, food, maps, postcards, survival and sightseeing guides, in a rustic interior of logged wood adorned with the busts of bear, deer and elk. It also sufficed as a convenience store for the people of Coram on their way home from work in Martin City or Columbia Falls who didn’t find time in their busy days to stop at the super market. It was owned by a big, long-haired, Indian named Malcolm Buck and his wife, which made calling the store the TPE a tongue and cheek apropos

“Canned milk, bread, peas, whole wheat pasta.”

Dallas still held on to his black nylon umbrella even though the rain had stopped. He’d been caught one too many times without it of late and had ended up drenched, so he was taking no chances. Nothing irritated him more than wet hair, whether it be the white bristle on his head, or his close-cropped beard. It wasn’t that he was an old man, but his hair had gone stark white in his youth giving him an appearance of one of advanced years instead of someone in their early fifties.

“Milk, whole wheat bread, canned peas, pasta...that’s not right...come on, surely I can remember a few items my wife had told me to get. What was it again Whole milk, wheat bread, canned pasta and peas...ah shit!”

He had parked the car at the post office, fired off a few bills and a letter to his Daughter at UCLA despite her pleas of, “Dad! E-mail, text, or call! Nobody sends letters anymore. Move out of the Stone Age.” Yet, Dallas was entrenched in the old world. He could do without the viruses and spyware infections of their computer planet. Isn’t it enough I pay my taxes then to have them watching my every move? No thank you. Keep your fancy technological advances. I do just fine without their modems and liquid crystal do-dads.

Dallas approached the corner of Seville Lane and Route 2, what you could barely call, downtown Coram. Besides the Post Office and the TPE there were a few other stores- mostly bars and restaurants nestled between a garage, hotel and a two pump gas station. There was only one traffic light and it had changed from amber to solid red. He stood and waited to cross. “Milk, bread, canned peas and something.”

He scratched at his arm. Lately it felt as if something was crawling under his skin. At times he thought he saw threads of black and red and it was getting painful. His wife had urged him to get medical help, but the Doctor in Martin City had told him not to worry. It was a phantom sensation brought on by sensitivity most likely to insect bites, he’d said. “The Horseflies are extremely bad this year- all that damn rain. Even the deer are charging out into the road to get away from them. You should see the number of broken bones I have to attend to because of it all. Driver’s not paying attention. Jed Bradshaw over at the garage must be pretty happy though- plenty of work for him. Probably throwing nightly parties with all the dough he’s makin.” The Doctor had hardly glanced at the lesion, prescribing a topical cream and shooing Dallas away like he was the annoying horsefly he spoke of.

“Jed Bradshaw. I should take the car into see him. Get him to check out the knocking sound in the Chevy.” Ever since Dallas and his wife had returned from dropping their Daughter off in California the car had been acting up, but if anyone knew what to do, it was Jed. Dallas had known Jed for years and trusted the man like few others he knew.

“What the hell is taking this light so long? It’s not like this is Rodeo Drive or Times Square by Christ!”

"A whole can of pasta and wheat bread peas...Jesus!. Milk, bread, canned peas, whole wheat pasta, That’s it! Green light. Finally.” He stepped from the curb. A voice yelled out, “Dallas! Wait!” It was too late.

An old Ford pickup accelerated and ploughed into him, obliterating Dallas’s pelvis with a sickening crunch and sending him into the windshield. His head cracked through the glass as the car slammed into a mailbox and then the brick wall of the Post office with enough force to send his lifeless body into the wall minus a good portion of his face and an eye ripped from his socket. The umbrella floated effortlessly to the ground and lay on an angle like a top at rest.

The driver of the truck had fared no better. His face had gone into the steering wheel which had peeled back his lower jaw from the tongue down. It hung to his crushed chest in a trickling waterfall of blood beneath what was left of a row of upper teeth and the stunned vacant stare of Jed Bradshaw.

Malcolm Buck ran back into his store to call in the accident. He had felt something in his bones- a warning compelling him to leave his shop and step outside. He’d seen Dallas Shaver with his umbrella down, walk out into the street against the red light. He also saw Jed Bradshaw’s pickup accelerate as if the driver had intended to mow the man down. He had yelled out to Dallas, but the man had walked directly into the path of the speeding vehicle anyway. Everything after that was in slow motion....or a dream. Buck had been so tired lately, pulling double shifts in the store. His wife was ill and barely came down from their apartment above the shop and the young girl he’d hired to help him out had also been sick the past few weeks. All the hours to keep the shop open had dulled his senses he wasn’t sure if what he’d witnessed had actually happened. But it wasn’t a dream. The crunched hood of the pickup still smoked from the wall of the Post Office and the bodies of both driver and pedestrian remained motionless.

Bystanders were now crowding around as Benjamin Triggs from the Post Office came running out and tried to pry open the driver door with the help of a taller man to release Jed, or what was left of him, from the wreckage.

Buck was on the phone stating the nature of the emergency. “Yes there’s been an accident.....corner of Two and Seville.....truck hit a pedestrian......I don’t know...... Malcolm Buck......Trading Post Emporium......Hurry, please!”

Buck grabbed his cowboy hat, left the store and ran to the accident. Someone had placed a coat over Dallas Shaver’s body that lay to the side of the pick-up, his one leg, broken and twisted, looked as if it were ready to walk away from the rest of the body, a broken femur jutted out of his pants like a jagged white tooth. Many had recoiled in horror at the sight and the tall fellow who was probably just passing through and stopped for a bite, lost his lunch on Benjamin Triggs’s shoes when they finally pried the driver door open and pull the lifeless body of Jed Bradshaw free from the wreckage, flapping lower jaw and all.

The crowd was all a murmur and the questions were being asked. “How did something like this happen in a town with virtually no traffic?” Malcolm Buck didn’t have the answers, but what he did know; in his forty-two years on this earth this was the strangest thing he’d ever seen.

Saturday, February 07, 2009

Opera anyone?

I like Robot Chicken and I like Star Trek and I like opera.....OK opera not so much, but if you have the other two elements then I love opera.

Hijacking Heaven- Chapter V

Graham Sheppard sped down Route 2 away from Columbia Falls wrestling with his thoughts. It’s too late for martyrs. I should have pulled the trigger and ended it. But Sheppard had not taken his own life. He had felt a sudden rush of adrenaline and urgency as if the walls were constricting around him. Was it the siren in the distance? He didn’t know, but the feeling had been so overwhelming, he had put the gun down, packed up his shit and got in the car all within minutes of having the barrel in his mouth ready to blow his brains out.

He’d left in such a hurry; he hadn’t even turned in the key to his room. Not that it would’ve mattered. The motel clerk had been feeling ill for the past few weeks, unable to keep anything from running through his bowels. He had been on the toilet too many times to mention. Raw and sore he had been shitting blood for the past four days and as Sheppard had haste-fully departed, nature had called and the man was again glued to the porcelain bus. He’d eventually be found, still sitting on the toilet, slumped against the wall, his pants around his ankles and a yellowish liquid in the bowl below him mixed with a coil of blackish blood and about four feet of intestine.

Sheppard shifted his gaze to the surroundings as he raced his car toward Coram, his two canister respirator with charcoal filters rested on the passenger seat on top of a brown satchel that contained his belongings. No need to wear that any longer. I’m in the deep shit now. There’s plenty of other ways for it to get into my system .I’d be surprised if it wasn’t already. The respirator won’t help. Either way he looked at it, he was already dead. Whether by his own hand, or at some unforeseen juncture in the coming hours, through the will of someone else, his end seemed inevitable. Dead man walking.

Sheppard remembered the first time he had come in contact with the phenomenon in 2006. He’d been dispatched to study an anomaly near Trinity, Texas, where there had been reports of a skin irritant. People had complained to their physicians about different colour threads, or fibre-like lesions appearing under and on their skin.

Sheppard had witnessed it firsthand. He had examined dozens of all ages with varying degrees of growths affecting their bodies. In his report he had noted, "It sounds a little like a parasite, like a fungal infection, like a bacterial infection, but it never quite fits all the criteria of any known pathogen. The lesions contain fuzzy thread-like spores approximately a quarter to an eighth of an inch long that cause the subject to experience the crawling sensation under their skin combined with a great deal of discomfort. Patients have been prescribed Tamadone for pain and Viltricide, an anti-parasitic, but nothing has worked. The cause of this disease is as yet unknown."

The University of Texas Health and Science Center along with the World Health Organization had determined the disease was Morgellans and since it wasn’t contagious, there was no risk of further infection. They also questioned whether many of the people studied even had Morgellans. It was suggested most of the patients seemed to be borderline delusional with wounds that were self inflicted.

Self inflicted? They got that right. Over a hundred people studied, suffering from this “mass delusion” had torn, or cut the very flesh from their bodies and committed suicide shortly after WHO had packed up their swabs, microscopes, and general disinterest and returned to Atlanta.

Sheppard, however, had continued with his own research. He had started to question the findings of those higher up, and he had uncovered the sequence of things to come. It scared the shit out of him. Trinity was child’s play compared to what was planned for Coram. Sheppard knew it.

If only I had more time. If only. Sheppard’s foot pressed harder on the gas pedal as if applying the whip to get more speed from the horse. How anyone could have such disregard for human life was beyond his comprehension. This wasn’t even in the name of science, or rendering a killer disease benign. This was all about reclamation by those who believed the earth was theirs to share with no one. This was about constructing a new super highway right through the backyard of humanity.

Sheppard glanced in the rear-view mirror. Behind him flashing red lights blazed. A police car was coming up fast behind him. He was being pulled over. Instinctively he searched the bag next to him for the gun as he slowed and pulled onto the shoulder. Perhaps this is all going to end sooner than I thought.

Thursday, February 05, 2009

Go MILF yourself

It's cold and I don't feel like doing anything today but posting a link.

So here you go.

Wednesday, February 04, 2009

More B.J. tips for don't spit-swallow

Submitted by you for you.

I tell my mate to let me know when he's ready to cum, by tapping my head or shoulder. When he does I take his penis as far back in my mouth as I can. That way I feel the hot cum, but the taste is not as bad as it would be up front. Practice on dildos to perfect this technique. - Bobbie, Kentucky

I have a tongue piercing, but its overrated if you know how to use your tongue. Not too much, but not too little. Use your tongue on the back of his dick and around the head. Start slowly at the top like you're making out with it, then work your way down and increase the speed. They love it! (Hint: Drink alcohol and fruit juice combined for the best tasting cum.) - Lexi, Seattle

There must be something good about Asian diets, because the taste of Asian cum is just wonderful. Has anyone else noticed this? - Matt, Australia

Brush your teeth before - that way you don't taste it. - Shannon, U. S. - If gagging can not be helped or prevented, put 1 or 2 cough drops in your mouth. This will help numb the back of your throat and also give him a tingling sensation. - Anonymous, Maryland

Swallowing really isn't that bad at all. In fact, if you get the technique down, you hardly taste it. You can let his cum hit the back of your throat, totally bypassing your tongue...and voila! He's happy and you don't make any funny faces at the taste of it. Hell, think of what he does do you. - Lily, Pennsylvania

I know that it's a great idea to have ice cream afterwards. Not only does it get the taste out of your mouth, but if you're not used to sucking very hard the coldness sooths your throat. - Connie, Louisiana

Suck'em fast and swallow quicker. - Michelle, Chicago

Hold your breath just before he goes off...then swallow hard. - Anonymous, Canada
I love to taste the payoff of my attentions, but some are much better than others. I've noticed that the flavor is much less tasteable when the release is deeper in the throat area, at very least to the back of the tongue, which has no taste buds. The throbbing is the best warning, and is a delicious sensation, if you can swallow at least the head, or more. I prefer more....but the first shot on the tongue is absolutely the best, then down the throat, you get the flavor and the throbbing to enjoy! - Anonymous, Georgia

I have often found eating a cinnamon candy or chewing cinnamon gum not only masks the flavor but also gives the man a "HOT" blowjob. I know mine will reach for a pack of Big Red when he's ready. - Sammi, Ohio

As if the recession isn't bad enough


Are you upset about six more weeks of winter?

You can do something about it.

Whack a groundhog you'll feel better.

It's either that or whack yourself, but either way you're going to feel better.

Monday, February 02, 2009

Cardinal sin

If you are wondering why Arizona lost in Sunday's Super Bowl showdown. I believe it's because they didn't have the Log-proof suit.

On second thought, maybe if wouldn't have made a difference.........

Money for nothing

Every year companies spend millions on Super Bowl advertising and every year the commercials seem to get less entertaining. Although I would rat this year's group ahead of last year's crop.

Check it out for yourself if you want.

Black humour for a blue Monday

A family are driving behind a garbage truck when a dildo flies out and thumps against the windscreen. Embarrassed, and to spare her young daughter's innocence, the mother turns around and says, "Don't worry; that was an insect." To which, her daughter replies, "I'm surprised it could get off the ground with a cock like that."

Sunday, February 01, 2009

Hijacking Heaven- Chapter IV

Richard Bradley sat on the front porch engrossed in the Daily Messenger, Whitefish’s newspaper. The Daily M. was the only paper in the area other than the weekly newsletters from Glacier National Park and a quarterly periodical from Martin City listing coming events. But as far as the Martin City news was concerned, you could get the same information from eating at the Chinese restaurant and reading their Area Events place mat.

Bradley intermittently sipped on a steaming mug and pulled a drag from a rolled cigarette while the last of the rain drops fell into a bucket next to his seat. Really should fix the roof one of these days.

He was a rugged man with chiseled features and a thick jaw that looked like it had been broken sometime ago. His hands were rough from years working for the railway running out of Whitefish and his knees were a few slivers of cartilage away from needing to be replaced. Richard Bradley thought, but couldn`t remember a day where something on his body didn`t hurt. Too much living hard on the front end of my life, I guess? But now he had the cushy job he’d always wanted. The railway had bumped him up to head of a new security task force division six months ago when they started to bring in boxcars of equipment bound for Glacier Park. Environmental testing they’d said. "We have to protect our natural resources." From there he’d been placed as a go-between in damage control and crisis management. Nothing to do but report to a few higher ups and file paper work once a week. Outside of the odd camper lost in the wilderness and a rowdy tourist, or two, things were pretty quiet in this neck of the woods. Most importantly, it gave Richard Bradley more time to tend to his young son.

It wasn’t easy raising the boy alone and the past few years had been difficult. Rabbit had developed an attitude problem and was forever getting into mischief. There had been those who had called it ADD and recommended Ritalin for the boy like it was as common as dropping a quarter into a gumball machine, but Richard Bradley had refused. He had wanted to deal with the situation on his own terms, despite others heightened interest of keeping his boy on the straight and narrow. He’d enrolled Rabbit in sports to try to channel his energy and aggression. It had worked and his son had found his talent. He was one fast little kid. Now with more time to spend with Rabbit, he felt confident the worst was behind them.

Richard coughed and rolled a ball of phlegm from his throat before taking another sip of coffee. He spat the wad between two slats in the veranda rail as if he’d done it a million times. He looked at the weather forecast on the front page of the Daily M. Rain, rain, nothing but rain. I don’t mind so much having to work when it’s wet, but do they have to spoil everyone’s weekends too?

Jeffery and Rabbit rushed by him as the screen door snapped back with a bang.

“Jesus Christ!” Richard Bradley barked. “Elephants have more manners.”

The boys were all apologies. “Sorry Mister Bradley.” “Sorry Dad.”

“Where you two off to in such a hurry anyway?”

“Down to the creek, skip some stones,” the boys said in rehearsed unison as they grabbed their bikes.

Rabbit’s father looked at him slyly. “Don’t get into anymore trouble Rabbit.”

“No Sir. Scout’s honour.”

“Rabbit?....”

“...I promise Dad. No trouble.”

“OK....and stay away from Mr. Vilgrain`s property, you hear me?”

The two boys hopped aboard their trail bikes and road lazily down the road, sailing through the some muddy puddles and sending a line of spray upward along the tires. When they were sure their presence was no longer of concern,they picked up their pace.

“Slow down Rabbit. Shit, can’t expect the entire world to keep up with you. What’s next, racing bikes?”

“Maybe you should pretend Old Man Vilgrain is chasing you?”

“That`s not funny Rabbit.”

Rabbit relaxed his pace and drifted along side of his friend. “Are you sure he left the Backhoe all the way out on the fringe?”

“Saw it on my way to your house. Hey, maybe if we’re lucky we’ll find an unfinished bottle in the grass.”

“I don’t know Jeffery. The thought of putting my mouth on something Vilgrain’s been sucking on, is kinda gross.”

“Where’s the adventurous Rabbit I know when it comes to Old Man Vilgrain?”

“Oh yeah Jeffery. And you’re suddenly so tough.”

“Where are you two going in such a hurry?” Amber Switly’s voice had caught them off guard like having their hand in the cookie jar, and with all the talk about Old Man Vilgrain they almost shit themselves as they skidded to a halt.

Jeffery was first to see her crouched by the tall grass next to her bike tying up one of her high-tops. Her long dark hair was parted into to equal portions ending at pigtails on either side. A rabbit’s foot hung on a chain from a loop on her jeans, rolled up halfway to her knees, as she slowly rose to her feet.

“Where we’re going is none of your business Amber.”

“Can I come?”

“No girls. Especially ones whose mother named them after a porn star.”

“Shut up fatty!”

“Let her come Jeffery.”

“No.”

“I could always go back to bed and you could go to Old Man Vilgrain’s yourself.”

“You’re going to Old Man Vilgrain’s? Ooooo...I want to come.” Amber’s blue eyes sparkled and her sweet face lit up with enthusiasm.

“Damn Rabbit...OK....but she has to apologize for calling me ‘fatty’.”

“He said I was a porn star first!”

“Amber.....”

Amber crossed her arms and cast a fiery gaze at Jeffery. After a moment of reflection she finally said, “I’m sorry I called you fatty.”

“Not much of an apology”-

-“Now you Jeffery.”

“What?”

“Apologize to Amber.”

“Why?...Oh alright!” Jeffery kicked the dirt as he straddled his bike and looked off into the distance. “I’m sorry I called you a dumb-ass porn star.”

“Dumb-ass? I’ll show you-”

-“Jeffery!”

“I’m sorry.....you know....the porn thing.”

Amber toyed with him, “I can’t hear you.”

Jeffery pointed a stern finger in her direction. “Look, don’t push it.”

Rabbit interjected, “Both of you knock it off. Come on Amber.”

“Shit, why don’t you two just get married?”

“As if,” Rabbit said and started to blush.

“Dude, she already has your foot hanging from her jeans. How long before she gets everything else?”

Amber ignored their banter. She hoofed the kickstand with her foot and threw her leg over the cross-bar to the adjacent pedal. “Just let me tell my Mom where I’m going and-”

“-You want to come or not?” Jeffery huffed. “Besides this is a secret mission.”

Amber eloquently swept her arm in the direction of the road. “OK, lead the way boys.”

“Look I’m only letting you come under protest. We get caught by Old Man Vilgrain and it’s every man for himself, got it?”

“Whatever!”

“That includes being abducted by aliens....”

“There aren’t any aliens stupid.”

“Don’t you see the lights coming from his house at night? Alien experiments. Cross my heart. Rabbit and I have seen them with our own eyes. We nearly got abducted ourselves. Why do you think his wife left him?”

“Really? Rabbit that true?”

“Look, if there’s any trouble with Old Man Vilgrain, we split up and meet at our safe house in the woods. Got it.”

Jeffery saluted. “Sir! Yes sir!”

“Come on we’re wasting time.” Rabbit said, and motioned for the three to move on.

After a few minutes of idle chit-chat followed by more name calling, the three kids stopped in their tracks. There just beyond a small hillock by the road the Holy Grail stood- a yellow Backhoe, motionless, its front loader at half mast and it’s rear digger coiled against the body of the machine like the tail of a scorpion. The tires were covered in mud from the excessive rain and a flattened trail led backward through the tall grass to the property of Old Man Vilgrain.

Jeffery shouted with glee, “See I told you! Is this cool, or what?”

The three threw down their bikes and ran to the meshed-in driver’s seat next to the huge rear wheels.

“Me first! Lift me up.”

“No way Amber! You were last to join the expedition. Wait your turn.”

She batted her long lashes at him. “Please Jeffery.”

“Fine, give me your foot.” Jeffery clasped his pudgy fingers together to give Amber a foot hold. When she put her foot in, he upended her backward onto the grass.

Amber screamed, “You ass!”

Jeffery smiled at her, saluted and then began to climb aboard the Backhoe with laboured puffing. He settled into the seat and gazed at Rabbit in awe, “Jesus, Rabbit, this is sweet! Vilgrain left the key in the ignition! Man, he must have been blotto to do that? I’m going to take it for a spin. Knock over some bushes too.”

“I wouldn’t do that Jeffery.” Rabbit had that feeling again. The one he always got before something bad happened. It was a tingling in his finger tips, the one that had saved him countless times before from imminent danger except for the fridge incident. This time it was stronger than ever. But why? We’re nowhere near Vigrain’s house. However, Rabbit couldn’t shake the feeling. “Jeffery come down. Please.”

Jeffery turned the key. The engine of the Backhoe roared to life.

Amber had collected herself after her unexpected fall and brushed the dirt and mud off her butt. She looked up at Jeffery and shook her head in a negative fashion.

Jeffery was in heaven, “Rummmmm look at me. Grand Theft Auto! Outta my way mother-fucker!”

Amber protested. “Language!”

“Shut up Bukkake breath!”

“What’s Boo..cocky?”

Jeffery didn’t know. He’d just heard Old Man Vilgrain say it once during one of his tirades, so he just said,“Ask your Mother.”

“Rabbit, Tell him to stop it.”

“Jeffery, come down right now. I’m not kidding around.”

“All right. Ughh. What the....?” Jeffery shut the engine down. He peeled his hands off the wheel and looked at the palms. A dead calm descended. There didn’t even seem to be sounds of wildlife; birds; crickets; cicadas. Even the air seemed thick and heavy with no promise of a breeze. Once again dark clouds stood on the horizon awaiting their marching orders to move in and cover the fields with daylight darkness.

“What? Did Old Man Vilgrain puke on the wheel, or something?”

“No, I don’t think so......but it’s sticky......like gum, or sap.”

Rabbit noticed what Jeffery was talking about. He could see it now. It hadn’t been evident before camouflaged by the Backhoe’s yellow exterior, but on the black seat and steering wheel, there seemed to be a yellow powder, or dust.

“What is this stuff....bee pollen?” Jeffery said as if talking to himself. He brushed his hands together and wiped them on his jeans.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this Jeffery. What if Vilgrain knows we’re here?”

“That never bothered you before.”

“Well, it’s bothering me now. Come on. We shouldn’t be here. Let’s go. We can hang out in the tree house instead and shoot squirrels with my pellet rifle.”

Jeffery huffed and gazed ahead. “All right,” he said. “I’m bored anyway.”

“Do I at least get first crack with the riffle?” Amber said.

“I got a better idea,” Jeffery said as he thumped to the ground. “Instead of shooting squirrels, maybe we can play doctor instead.” He winked her.

“In your dreams, stupid head.”

“You mean, in yours, until you grow some tits.”

There was a sound as something hit the tall grass nearby. Startled the three kids hit the ground and remained motionless.

“What the hell was that Rabbit?”

“I don’t know?”

Amber began to whimper, “Old Man Vilgrain. He’s throwing things at us. Rabbit's right, he knows we’re here. We’re going to get abducted.”

Rabbit reassured her, “I don’t think so. I don’t hear any footsteps, or cursing. It’s usually one, or the other, sometimes both.”

Slowly the boys rose to their feet. “It came from over there, to the right of the Backhoe. Amber stay here and Jeffery and I will check it out.”

“Screw that. I’m coming with you.”

“Suit yourself.”

The three of them crept closer to the tall grass where they’d heard the disturbance.

“Argh!!” Jeffery yelled.

Amber screamed and Jeffery began to laugh.

“I hate you,” she said.

“You love it. You know it.”

Together they pushed aside the grasses to view the area of impact. There on the ground was a Canadian Goose. It was dead. As Rabbit looked at the bird he thought the day had just gotten a little duller and the grey had taken on a deeper bluish tinge. Yet, the clouds had not settled in, remaining at a distance. His head swam with the image of it and he felt ill.

“That was weird,” Amber said. “Whatcha suppose happened? Someone huntin’?”

“It wasn’t shot. It just looks dead. I don’t know.”

“Alien death ray?” Jeffery said.

“Stop it! You’re freaking me out.”

“Afraid you’ll pee your pants again Amber?”

“I didn’t pee my pants, Ass.”

“Right and I’m the president of the United States.” Jeffery stated proudly with a hand thumping his chest.

Rabbit picked up a shaft of dead wood that he’d found on the ground next to the Bobcat.

“What are you doing Rabbit?”

“Poking it with a stick.”

“Why?”

“Cause I don’t want to touch it Amber, OK?”

Rabbit nudged the dead bird lightly with the stick. It rocked slightly. He pushed a little harder and the stick sank into the bird’s chest like a hot knife through butter. An oozing yellow liquid began to emerge accompanied by an acrid, pungent odour.

Amber squealed, “Eww gross-out!”

“What did you do that for?”

“I didn’t touch it that hard Jeffery. It just went in.”

“Maybe it`s got that West Mile Virus?”

Rabbit’s fingers began to tingle again. “We should go.”

There was another thud a few yards away and then another. The three looked skyward and several more birds began to fall from above.

“Let’s get out of here!”

In blind panic they began to run.