tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-99673212024-03-07T14:16:17.874-05:00StrangedazeAlways leaving one wolf alive so the sheep are never safe.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger3538125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-68641504601042631682019-11-28T14:35:00.001-05:002019-11-28T14:40:33.095-05:00The Gryphon Virus preview<br />
<h1 align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">THE GRYPHON VIRUS<o:p></o:p></span></h1>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Chris
Strange<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">(Excerpt)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
The limousine jolted forward as
if it hit from behind abruptly. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
Prescott punched a button and
lowered the privacy shield, “What’s going on!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
The driver reported gruffly,
“We have company!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
Sheppard and Prescott could now
see through the tinted windows, a white rental truck pull alongside them and
then veer into their vehicle, sending another shockwave of impact through the
interior. It knocked both men to the floor and Sheppard’s bag temporarily out
of reach. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
The limo scraped the guard
rail, separating them from the side of the road and a rocky culvert leading
down into the water. It sent up a shower of sparks as tires squealed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
The driver of the limo
compensated his driving, trying to remain on the road as he pressed his foot to
the floor. His dark, bald head pivoted from side to side as the car swerved and
surged forward, rocking its passengers with striking ferocity. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
The truck kept pace, coming up
alongside once again. This time the rental swung in hard, pounding the driver
side of the limo once more. Again the car skidded with tires howling into the
protective barrier and a dangerous drop into the water’s edge where graying
driftwood decorated the shore in a tangled mess of jagged pikes. The back tire
of the limo blew out and rumbled as it shredded into the rim, fluttering like a
black kite caught in a high wind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
The truck gained on them,
almost passing them, then rapidly veered with violent force into the front
door. The impact sent the driver’s skull slamming off the side window rendering
him unconscious. He slumped on the wheel with his arm caught between the
spindles and the vehicle pulled hard to the left, cutting across the oncoming
lane as the rental truck dropped back. The car sailed through the guard rail on
the opposite side of the road, down the culvert and head-on into the trees
where it stopped dead. Sheppard and Prescott were both thrust into the ceiling
of the back compartment and then the floor with a savage pounding. The force
crushed the front of the vehicle and sent a puff of steam hissing skyward as
the engine hugged a tree relieving it of its bark. Both men were propelled into
the seat before them as the airbags deployed in the front compartment.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
Sheppard wavered, punch drunk,
and struggled to pull himself up from the floor. His head swam, and his senses
faded in and out. He felt no pain, and around him, everything seemed vibrant
yet hazy. He could hear Prescott moaning as if he were at the end of some
cavernous hall. He could hear the slow ticking of the heated engine cooling. He
could feel wetness slithering down his forehead. He dabbed his fingers into it
and returned the reddish smear to his eyes. He rubbed his fingers together to
feel the oiliness of the texture as if his blood were a living entity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-align: justify;">
Sheppard
could see his bag in the corner and sluggishly pawed at it, flipping it
upright. He struggled to unzip it and dig into the compartments until he felt
the handle of the revolver, pulling it free of its hiding place. He extracted
the gun with as much urgency as he could muster, but the weapon fell to the
floor at his feet, dropping easily from the trembling weakness in his hands. He
could see sunlight streaming in from a busted window. It was blinding and
intense, but a circle of darkness swirled in around him, quickly closing off
his vision to a pinpoint of light. The last thing he remembered before he lost
consciousness was the indistinct outline of the rental truck parked by the road
with the engine idling and the shadow of a huge brute of a man trotting toward
them with what looked like a gun in his hand.</div>
<i>If you would like to read more of this novel, please <a href="http://www.lulu.com/shop/chris-strange/the-gryphon-virus/ebook/product-24333602.html" target="_blank">go here.</a></i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-2304897385602825972019-11-27T11:36:00.000-05:002019-11-27T11:39:44.460-05:00Handmade Heart PreviewExcerpt from Handmade Heart<br />
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<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">Wally
slowed the Honey Wagon down to a crawl as we approached the third dirt road. It
was a tight squeeze, but he managed to get all the wheels onto the path. On we
pressed with the occasional tree branch whipping the windshield, slapping the
side of the truck’s metal tank and scraping along the length of it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“I
got a bad feeling about this, Sparky.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Drive,
Wally. These are the directions they gave me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">Doc
let out an audible sigh.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">Wally
turned on the headlights to cut through the encroaching gloom. There was a
sharp turn up ahead where the road became increasingly narrow, and the foliage
seemed to smoother us on all sides at once in a dense green carpet of shadow. I
could see in the rearview mirror as the branches snapped back, conspiring with
the darkness to swallow the road behind us. Wally turned on the wipers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“What
do you hope to accomplish by doing that, Wally?” Doc said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Keep
the trees out of my way.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“You’re
kidding, right?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“They
are only big-leaf small trees.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">Doc’s
words dripped sarcasm. “Thank heavens they aren’t the small-leaf big trees, or
we’d be in real trouble, Mr. Woodsman—”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“This
can’t be right, Sparky—”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“I
assure you, Wally, this is the—Stop the truck now!” I shouted.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">Wally
twisted the Honey Wagon around the bend and then put his foot down hard on the
brake. The truck screeched to a halt. He shifted into neutral and lifted the
emergency brake. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Where
did the road go?” Doc asked nervously. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“There,
you happy, Sparky? There’s no more road anyways,” Wally said. “At least nothing
we could drive.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“I
don’t know. The directions were very specific. They say the studio should be
about a couple of hundred yards beyond the turn. I’m sure that’s what I
remembered?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Well,
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">obviously</i> it’s not.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“How
do you know, Doc.? We can’t see far ahead especially in the dusk—”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Are
you sure this is the right way?” Wally asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“I’m
sure,” I said as I counted on my fingers, “Third dirt road on the left, after
the turn off the highway, two miles from the junction. Guys, according to the
directions, this is the correct place.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“But
without the map, we don’t know for sure, do we—?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Oh,
this is just great. Sparky got us lost.” Wally moaned. “What elks can go
wrong?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Well,
they said it was secluded?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Secluded
is one thing, Sparky. Having to hack our way through the underbrush with
machetes is quite another. Aw, this is lovely,” Doc said. He turned to Wally,
“Just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fucking</i> lovely.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Well,
maybe they haven’t had time to cut it back—”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Oh
right, and the grounds-keeper Jason Voorhees doesn’t do that until Wednesday,”
Doc spouted. “What do we do now?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“I
think I can speak for everyone by saying we can’t drive any further,” I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“You
think?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re not helping, Doc. I say we walk. It
can’t be far.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“It
better be close, it’s getting late, and I’m hungry.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You</i>, Doc?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“It’s
constantly standing next to Wally. He gets you thinking about food on a
subconscious level.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">I
also started to feel the grumbling of a cavernous stomach. I hadn’t eaten since
well before Doc had arrived at my place. I hadn’t thought of it until Barlow
reminded me of his hunger pangs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">Wally
shut off the engine, and we all tunnelled out, pushing various tree branches
out of our way. The air around us was cooling but maintained the languid aroma
of sun-baked vegetation. Wally started to inch toward the bags and guitars to
unhook them.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Wally,
not yet—”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Yeah,
let the Bellhop get them,” Doc said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“I
mean, we should make sure we’re in the right place first, right guys?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">Wally
squeezed his way back, and we all convened in a small triangle on the over-grown
dirt road ahead. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“If
these are the wrong directions, we shouldn’t take any chances,” I said. “We
have to find the studio before we go hauling the instruments with us. I suggest
that we put all the stuff in the cab and lock it for now. We can always come
back when we confirm our position. It’s getting dark quickly. Do you have a
flashlight in the truck?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“There’s
one in the toolbox, but if we’re that close—”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Just
in case Wally. Get it.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“I
agree with Sparky. I’m beginning to think someone doesn’t want us to get
through this weekend.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Maybe
it’s the ghost of Wires Whitmire?” Wally said and added at scary </span><i>woooo</i><span style="background: white;"> to the end of his statement.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Don’t
be stupid. Even if there was such an entity, why would Wires want to obstruct
our way? He’s responsible for us being here in the first place.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">However,
Wally’s words had made me shiver. I’d seen Wires in my dreams of late. It was
always the same. He was standing near a doorway, blocking it perhaps? His mouth
was moving as if he was trying to tell me or warn me about something, but I couldn’t
hear any words. Then he’d put his smouldering cigarette in his mouth and draw
the smoke deep into his lungs before blowing it out in a huge gust that
enveloped him. When I ran to him, waving my arms frantically to clear the
cloud, he was gone, and so was the doorway.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">We
worked together, stowing the rest of our belongings on the front seat and
gathered what we needed before starting, hopefully, toward the studio.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">Wally
seemed concerned. “I should put on the four-way flashers before we leave.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Good
idea, Wally. You don’t want on-coming traffic to slam into us, or be ass-ended
by a deer,” Doc said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“This
is a work truck; I need to think about safety first.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“I
thought with you it was hunger first, safety second? Maybe you’d like time to forage
for berries in case we’re gone longer than ten minutes? Get your ass over here
and let’s get going!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">We
could only walk in single-file as the tree branches badgered us from both sides;
it left almost no trail to follow. I took the lead stabbing through the growing
darkness with the flashlight, while Doc followed up the rear.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“This
nighttime trek seems too familiar,” Doc said. “As I recall, it wasn’t all shits
and giggles last time either. We’re getting too old to be wandering around in
the middle of nowhere like Winkin’, Blinkin’, and Nod.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Look
ahead, Doc, there’s a fork in the trail. It can’t be far now.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“I
can’t see <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">anything</i> with Wally in
front of me. It’s like following a huge yellow transport truck with wide load
written across the back of it—”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“What
are you tryin’ to say, Doc—?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“I
think it was self-explanatory with the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">wide
load</i> comment, Wally.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">We
reached the fork. On closer inspection, there were three possible ways to
choose from as we inched forward.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Oh,
great! What now, fearless leader?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“That
way . . . To the right,” I said with conviction. After a few minutes, there was
another divide in the trail.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“This
has to be the wrong way, Sparky,” Doc said emphatically.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Which
way now?” Wally asked. The weakness of his voice told me he was also losing
hope.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
“<span style="background: white;">To
the right,” I said again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Sparky,
if we keep making rights, we’ll end up back at the Honey Wagon,” Wally said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Ok,
Wally, let’s take the left path and forge on—”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Did
you know that if you put a tiny amount of liquor on a scorpion, it will go mad
and sting itself to death—?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Doc,
please.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">After
a few minutes more, the path divided again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“We’re
going to have to leave bread crumbs to find our way back,” Doc said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Oh
. . . my back!” Wally bellyached, “It’s like a frickin’ maze in here. Shit, I
hope we get to the cheese soon. I’m getting hungry too.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">Doc
slapped his neck. “So are the mosquitoes—”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“How
many insects did you say for each person, Doc?” I said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“If
I had my fishin’ gear we could catch dinner—”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Je</i>-sus Wally, the last stream I saw was
an hour ago when we were on the highway. Just exactly where were you planning
on fishing? Shit!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Well,
it is Ernie’s Bay. Logic dictates there would be a body of water around here
somewheres—”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Why
am I even talking to you? You have no fishing pole other than the rod and
tackle box between your legs, and you probably haven’t seen them in years. What
would you use for bait, mosquitoes? You know what? If we have to resort to
cannibalism, you’re the first to go.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Me!
Why not Sparky? He wanted to walk. Now we’re lost. Don’t blame <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me</i>, Doc. All this walking isn’t good for
someone in my condition—”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Why,
Wally? Cause you might lose some weight? Cause your water might break—?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“That’s
enough!” Wally yelled.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">I
pleaded, “Guys! Stop it. Christ, Grub was right. All this band ever did was
bicker. We have to stick together on this—”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“I
say we go back to the truck. We can’t keep wandering around here all night—”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Yeah,
Sparky, for a change, I agree with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wally</i>?
It’s obvious; this is the wrong way. We need to get help.”</span></div>
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<span style="background: white;">As
reluctant as I was to turn around, I had to agree with their logic. “Ok, let’s
head back . . . Wait! Look!” </span></div>
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<span style="background: white;">Through
the trees, down the path, there was a twinkling light. With renewed vigour, we
pressed on like the journey of the Magi following the star to the Manger. The
underbrush began to clear and soon, we found ourselves on the edge of a field
looking up to a hilltop on which stood a dark structure.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“The
studio, see I told you. There it is.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Thank
blubbering Jesus H. Christopher,” Doc said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">The
path wound up a hillside through the thick matted grass on the far recess of a
meadow. Atop, there stood a dilapidated house and a barn in not much better condition.
A winding road of gravel veered off in the other direction toward a distant
tree line. It appeared to be holding onto a balloon of an orange moon as the
glow of the setting sun faded and was snuffed out.</span></div>
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<span style="background: white;">“That’s
not the studio. Or at least I hope it isn’t. You said it was state of the art.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“It
is . . .” I said, but now I wasn’t so sure and tried to reassure myself.
“Alexander told me it was.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Well,
that place shouldn’t even be in the State,” Doc said</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“It’s
giving me the creeps. I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Sparky.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“You
keep saying that. Stop it and stop all the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ghost
of Wires</i> crap, Wally.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Let’s
go back to the truck and wait it out until morning. Maybe it’ll look better in
the daylight—?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“But
the lights are on Wally, someone’s home. If that’s not the studio, we can at
least find out where we are and where the studio is. Get some food. Maybe even
sleep here tonight—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
“What happened to, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">we’re men; we don’t ask for directions</i>?”
Doc said scoldingly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“There’s
a lot of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">maybe</i> in your statement,
Sparky,” Wally said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">Doc
protested, “I’m <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> sleeping in that
place even if they roll out the red carpet—”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Anyone
see the Texas Chainsaw Massacre—?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="background: white;">“Wally,
please!—Do you really want to keep walking, guys—or go back to the truck
hungry, sit there and smell shit all night? Do you know how long it will take
to back the Honey Wagon up the dirt road in the dark? And then where will we
be? Any town within a hundred miles of this place will be asleep by then and
closed up tighter than a virgin convict’s asshole. Let’s at least check it out.
We’ve come this far. We can’t turn back now.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: white;"><i>If you would like to read more of this novel, please <a href="http://www.lulu.com/shop/http://www.lulu.com/shop/chris-strange/handmade-heart/ebook/product-24333380.html" target="_blank">go here</a>.</i></span></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-82595251589159532762019-04-03T10:29:00.000-04:002019-04-03T18:25:42.628-04:00Hijacking Heaven preview<h2>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Chapter I<o:p></o:p></span></h2>
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“Today Robert Forder
must die.”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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The threat did not come
without hesitation, nor was it a statement expecting an answer. No one heard
it, but a forty-two-year-old Graham Sheppard spoke the words anyway as if to
summon the courage—perhaps provoke the genie from the gun, in a piston of lead
sure to cut short the life of anyone forced to take it.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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Sheppard’s head still
hung as if in meditation—wrestling with all thought, testing the precarious
see-saw between madness and sanity. He sat on the edge of the bed in his
t-shirt and underwear with his bare feet clutching the shitty, blue, motel
carpet. The smell of burnt dust still emanated in the air, drifting in from the
heat of the overturned table lamp. It now sent a horizontal beam into the
dimness illuminating a desk and chest of drawers as it sent ominous shadows
cascading up the walls to the ceiling. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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A sheath of dark hair
hung in front of Sheppard’s deep-set eyes and rested on the narrow of his nose.
His elbows swung outward on his knees like a giant V and his hands trapped the
smooth handle of the gun. He had done
most of his travelling by night, and his skin had gone pale, taking on an
almost luminous quality; except for the greying stubble of beard on his face,
there would be no colour at all. <o:p></o:p><br />
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The covers lay in
mountainous heaps around him—a fortress of sleep disturbed. Only hours ago they
had been flat and smooth like the calmness of a lake in the depths of midnight
as he’d set his travel bag upon it. But, the storms had come to douse the world
of dreams; the nightmares yet again, the searchlight fingers, the fiery
penetrating eyes in an endless river of sweat and the sudden jolt to full
alertness. It was a continuous struggle causing Sheppard to climb up through
the silence of sleep (however restless), into a violent, repetitive gasp for
breath. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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“How has it come to
this?” he said solemnly into the emptiness, but Sheppard already knew the
answer. With everything his counterpart Forder had done right, he’d made one
critical and now fatal mistake—he had called her, and in the moment of his
weakness, he had brought on this final wrath—<i>this ultimate ruin</i>.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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“The house of cards
you’ve created will tumble in on itself. There’s no escaping death this time old
friend.”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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The heavy drapes still
blocked out the morning in a scrim of impenetrable darkness; not that it
would’ve mattered, for today was like so many other days lately—overcast and
brooding, casting a pall in a sombre reflection of tempestuous moods,
depression, fatigue, despair and the truth; the truth of what Forder knew . . .
<i>Could he be allowed to live with the
knowledge any longer?</i> <o:p></o:p><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
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Robert Forder knew
something was going to happen—<i>something
big</i>—chaos on a global scale forged in the furnace of a New World Order. He
knew everything. He knew those behind it and how far they were willing to push
the envelope to see their plans come to fruition. To them, the planet had
become an ill-tended garden overrun with pests and choked by weeds in need of
resolution; oh yes—they would succeed where wars, famine and disease had failed,
and cull the population. The Silent Ones, those at the top of the pyramid would
make damn sure their envisioned Eden; their heavenly nirvana would find
reclamation.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Whatever they had in
mind, to be sure, it was coming, and it would start in the sleepy little town
of Coram, Montana: population three-hundred and thirty-seven. It would affect
those in the surrounding area as well, all the way to Kalispell and spread its
dirty infected fingers well into Glacier National Park, reaching, God only
knows how many tourists. Forder knew it. He knew their dirty hidden secrets;
the experiments swept into tidy piles under the rug, the ever watchful eyes and
who they focused on, and he knew if everything went according to plan, few (if
any), would live.<o:p></o:p><br />
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How strange that word
seemed to Sheppard now, <i>live</i>, if you
could call it that? Just four simple letters that contained the essence of what
we all strive for, but could quickly morph into “vile,” or “evil.” <o:p></o:p><br />
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<i>Only if to live again,</i> he thought.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Sheppard had not lived
for some time now; not since Dr. Robert Forder, a renowned scientist with a
B.A, from Sonoma State in environmental studies, graduated with honours and
started to crank those wheels in motion long ago. It was a path that would
eventually lead to his disappearance.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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The good doctor had cut
his teeth with various agencies studying the effects of climate change, and a
virtual stew of environmental hazards. The work had been extensive and
exhausting, but not without accolades.
The list of awards and recognition for his work was celebrated and had
been dished out from the EPA to the fucking White House. Unfortunately, his
motivation and pursuit of truth had caused him to delve too deeply in places.
It had triggered some sensitive nerves. He had exposed some vicious enemies and
then the anonymous calls and warnings had started.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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<i>“Regrettable things can happen to inquisitive people Dr. Forder,
remember that. It would be a shame to
lose something you cherish. Perhaps a new direction in your line of work would
better suit you?”<o:p></o:p></i><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
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So Forder had died, <i>for the first time</i>, before someone else
embedded a bullet in his brain and did the job for him. He had neatly folded his clothes near the
water’s edge and walked naked into the Pacific Ocean leaving everything
behind—the career, the house, the dog, the Volvo and her. Helen had been the
love of his life, but for love and her safety, he had to let her go. Did he
even remember what she looked like?—<i>Beautiful,
intelligent, strong, all of the above?</i> Yes, but featureless now as if
erased from memory by sheer will to forget the pain of her existence.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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The body of Dr. Robert
Forder remained missing. Even as the word of a prominent scientist taking his
own life had eroded into yesterday’s news and the public interest had once
again moved onto the price of gold and oil, social unrest, and foreign
conflicts, there were those who suspected he had survived. Sheppard new beyond
the shadow of a doubt the man still walked on mortal coil. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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<i>It’s why this is so fucked up. It’s why I am here and why it’s
come down to this.<o:p></o:p></i><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
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A warm sensation,
strange yet settling, now radiated from the gun as if trying to calm, or
reassure Sheppard everything would be OK. <o:p></o:p><br />
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<i>One moment of strength Shep, of self-control, commitment and it
will all be over. Forder doesn’t possess all the puzzle pieces yet, and you can
prevent him from pulling at those threads before he does. Don’t let him plead
for his life. No barter, no give and take. Kill Forder for good. End it for real this time.</i>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
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Yes, today Robert
Forder must die.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Graham Sheppard
understood one thing; he was doing the man a favour. Better his death comes
swiftly from Sheppard’s gun then the torturously slow and painful end <i>they</i> would inflict. He knew how the
Silent Ones operated; what they were capable of to protect their skin and their
envisioned reality. The only question: when the time came, would Sheppard have
the guts to pull the trigger?<o:p></o:p><br />
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He couldn’t remember
how long it had been since Robert Forder ceased to exist that critical first
time and then morphed into the man he now called Graham Sheppard. It seemed
like years instead of a few months, but when you’re always looking over your
shoulder time has a way of playing tricks on you—of stretching the tick of the
clock to an exaggerated ribbon of time, and it now seemed like endless coils of
it had flowed down that river. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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This man was no longer
Dr. Robert Forder the buttoned-down, three-piece suit-type with the manicured
fingernails and the clean-shaven face, sitting on the edge of the bed in a
musty motel room at forty bucks a night. This man was now, Graham Sheppard, a
fugitive running from a deadly game of hide-and-seek. <i>Ready or not, here they come.</i><o:p></o:p><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
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After all, he had given
it a good run to elude those who suspected he still lived—<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Hadn’t he? <o:p></o:p></i><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
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The used car Graham
Sheppard had paid cash for had been driven to the parking lot a few miles down
the beach as instructed. The extra clothes and necessities had all been
carefully concealed in a watertight bag in a labyrinth of rock by a cave near
the water’s edge. His new identity had been waiting under the spare tire with
the gun and the second set of car keys next to enough cash to begin again.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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All that remained was
to get the fuck out of Dodge, make a clean getaway and try to forget—<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>But the knowledge</i>—<i>the truth? <o:p></o:p></i><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
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It wouldn’t let him
rest, not even as Graham Sheppard, and then the dreams had started—the
nightmares of an apocalypse too grotesque to imagine as the Silent Ones moved
forward with their plans. It was then, Sheppard had resigned himself to the
mission of heading north to try and warn the people of Coram, <i>but would anyone believe him?</i> All his
work, all his proof, was most certainly gone now, scattered to the winds,
ground through shredders, burned beyond recognition to pools of ash. They’d
make sure of it. The Silent Ones would add it to the pyres of other relevant
research and studies now being destroyed, or classified by manipulated
government agencies across the globe.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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<i>And now, there’s no fucking time!<o:p></o:p></i><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
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Perhaps it wouldn’t
have come to this but for—<i>my mistake</i>—<i>my weakness</i>—<i>Helen.</i> <o:p></o:p><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
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He had called to hear
her voice again, however sad and sombre, but they had been there. He sensed
them through the phone line as a bloodhound detects the trail of the fox. They
had been there listening as Helen answered and unable to stop himself he’d
uttered the words, “I’m Sorry.” <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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After the ensuing shock
and silence she had responded in that voice, soft and sweet like velvet honey,
“Robert . . . is that you?” and in a sudden retrieval of sheer will, he had
hung up before her siren song could lure him from the shadows and back to her
warm embrace.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<i>“I’m just glad you’re alive,” </i>She’d say, her eyes far
from judging and speculative.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Now, the Silent Ones no
longer suspected he lived—<i>they knew</i>.
They would find him, and his end would be none too pleasant. They would add him
to a roll-call of other prominent scientists and microbiologists who had gone
missing or met with unfortunate, tragic ends. It was only a matter of time
before they traced the call to a pay phone at a <i>Stop N’ Go</i> outside of Butte, Montana and no need for rocket science
to connect the dots to Coram. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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<i>I’m sleepwalking on a high-wire with no goddamn net.<o:p></o:p></i><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
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Sheppard had driven
through the unseasonably cold night along I90 to Missoula then the back way,
along highway 200 to route 83 and up past Condon. He had worn a face respirator
since Flathead Lake until he’d checked in to the motel south of Columbia Falls while
<i>Bob Marley’s</i>, <i>Every Little Thing is Going to be Alright</i>, had assured him from the
car speakers on some local radio station. There he had sequestered himself in
this dingy room after picking up the keys from the front office. Sheppard had
kept a bandana up to his mouth and feigned a contagious cough to keep from
breathing the air, away from fear and suspicion. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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Everything else had
been meticulous and careful—pay cash, take the plates off the car, remove a
light bulb from the fixture above his door, break it into shards of eggshell
outside his room, chair to the door handle, lock everything and sleep (however
restless), with the gun on the mantle of his chest.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Sheppard traced his
eyes to the night table where he’d fingered through the Bible in search of a
few passages of comfort. Never one for religion over science, he now concluded,
with mortality dangerously swinging in the balance between his hands, no harm
in crossing the <i>T’</i>s and dotting the <i>I’</i>s. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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Perhaps ignorance was
indeed bliss, and those in great danger would be better off not knowing what
was going to happen? <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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Sheppard could cheat it
now and take the coward’s way out. Gun under the chin; <i>pull the trigger</i>, <i>game over</i>—<i>OK, in the mouth, sure not to miss; precise,
instantaneous</i> . . . <i>Finite</i>. Then
when they found him, they could make up any story they wanted—<i>but Helen?</i> <o:p></o:p><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
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Three months ago Robert
Forder had died; today so would his alter ego Graham Sheppard.<o:p></o:p></div>
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For a few minutes
longer, he brooded over the barrel of the weapon. His muscles coiled like the
spring of a clock wound to the point of breaking, but his nerves were calm and
his will resolved in differential purity. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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Slowly he raised the
gun with robotic accuracy and placed it between his teeth. The barrel cold in
the mouth, almost the metallic taste like blood—<i>how soon it would taste like blood for real</i>—f<i>inger on the trigger ready to rock and roll</i>—One more final
explosion; a searing hot sensation in the brain and then the vast barren
wasteland of nothingness. The pain would be gone, the paranoia, the running,
the memories of her. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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<i>I’m sorry, Helen.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4.0pt;">
Sheppard’s finger
cocked the trigger—in the distance, a siren sounded and made him pause.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>If you would like to read more of this novel please <a href="http://www.lulu.com/shop/chris-strange/hijacking-heaven/ebook/product-24046668.html" target="_blank">go here.</a></i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-2117068984574128572019-04-02T11:06:00.000-04:002019-04-03T11:07:37.035-04:00The Limits of Respectability Preview<div class="MsoNormal">
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Usually, in the depths of midnight, the truck is silent, but it was the first night of a new tour, and we were not only awake; we were also animated. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We yakked about everything, from our potential stops on the way to what we liked sexually, to our favourite music, but mostly about sex like it was some new fad we all had to have—parachute pants or those clumsy bricks called cell phones. After all, we were young, dumb, and full of cum—horny males, driven more by our testosterone than the truck carrying us. We were dying for a piece of what we went into music for in the first place—the subtle folds of sweet, pink, fleshy orchid-like genitalia, or <i>Chub-stock</i>, as we called it back then.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wires had a constant halo of smoke, wreathed about his head as he drove—the glowing embers moving silently, yet with forest-fire stealth, along the white paper of another cigarette rendering it to ash. His eyes gazed forward, blinking his nervous blink. For the most part, he was mute. The only words I heard him speak we’re, “we were almost on empty” and would have to “stop at the next gas station.” That was forty clicks and two cigarettes ago.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Space was sitting in the shotgun seat because it was where he parked his ass when he wasn’t sleeping. Magic sat with his knees pulled up to his chest. His back to the engine casing for warmth, he faced Wally, Thumper, Barlow and I, on makeshift mattresses atop the ton of equipment. From where we lay he seemed nothing more than a dark shadow with glowing white teeth, floating on the edge of reality; a Cheshire Cat of nightmares, there to slay us all.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember Magic began the conversation, “I like women’s legs, long, smooth, nicely tanned,” he said. “I look for the three of diamonds baby. That’s when you can tell if a woman has what I want.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Space retorted, “What the hell do you mean—three of diamonds?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“If you look at a woman from behind when she is standing with her legs together—”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What chick have you ever known who keeps her legs together, Magic?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“—Let me finish Space . . .” Magic huffed in frustration then continued, “If you look at where her legs meet, you can see the three of diamonds, one at the ankles, one at the knees, one at the luscious ass.” Magic cupped his hands as if he was holding the world’s plumpest derriere.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Bullshit. Give me a full set of tits.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned on the pedestal of my arm, propping up my face with my hand as I entered the fray, “Real or fake, Space?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Real, <i>puh</i>-lease—I don’t want any flotation devices to choke on. I need something I can get my mouth around and knead, while I lie there and let the bitch work—”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sounds like you, you lazy bastard,” Magic said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Knead?” I questioned, “Are you making a pizza?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“—and nipples, oh God, give me nipples I can hang my bandana on.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I want a woman who can feed me.” I’d thought Wally was sleeping, but apparently not, as his blond mullet appeared above the covers. His face was shrouded in shadow, but that hair? It roared its dull, primal whisper, like the wind in a field of wheat under a full moon at harvest time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Just like you Wally, always thinking of food over women.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everyone laughed, even Wires who had perked up and was now listening intently to the free-for-all.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I want a woman just like my wife, with a good personality.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The mirth changed to groans with Thumper’s comment.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Magic moaned, “Get the fuck out-a-here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No really—”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Shut your mouth rookie, only the Man-whores may speak,” Space said. “You can tell it’s your first time out with us, Thumper. Shit, six weeks from now you’ll be singing a different tune, I guaran-damn-tee it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I love my wife, and I love my baby girl.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You love your dick too. We’ll see who you love more when the tour is over. You’ll be so erect if you don’t get any, we’ll all be calling you Tripod.” Space had everyone laughing again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Turning to Barlow, I said, “What about you Doc?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Give me a big set of piss-flaps,” he said. He hinged his elbows up, sliding the mantle of his hands under his chin. He wiggled his interlaced fingers to accentuate his statement. “Big lips—the bigger, the better; the kind you can pull over your head.” And like a magician’s big finish, he pulled his imaginary labia over his skull. <i>Ta-da!</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What, you trying to get back into the womb, Doc?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You asked me what I like. I’m telling you. Piss flaps, with lots of pubes. We’re talking big hair too, like the women back in the seventies. That’s when women were women; no landing strip, no paedophilic, shaved clam, just bush far as the eye can see. Fields of curly, thick brambles—something you can floss with after you’re done.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Magic questioned, “Brambles? You’re going to make me sick—”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, and camel toe—you know, when women wear their jeans so tight they get that indent? That puffy sweet Venus mound parting the pussy down the middle like Mosses is ready to lead the Israelites through it.” He began to wiggle his fingers under his chin again. With his silhouetted features and big hair, he started to resemble a giant vagina waving at me from a break-water of rippling lips.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s enough, Doc. Shit. I’m sorry I asked.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So Sparky, what do you like?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Same as you guys, women and lots of them.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Space grumbled, “Cop-out! You’re not getting off that easy. Come on. It couldn’t be any worse than Doc Barlow’s fascination for kite-size vulvas.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They all had their eyes trained on me and were taunting me to give it up. “There must be something you like about chicks that we have, or haven’t said.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“OK! I’ll tell you if you all promise not to laugh.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Where do you think you are—the dinner table with your family?” Space said. “We can’t make a promise like that, Malveen. Come on, spit it out—?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I like feet.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was a brief moment of stunned silence while they all digested this information followed by guffaws. “You’re shitting us . . . <i>feet</i>?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s what I said . . . feet.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Tell us, Dr. Scholl. What’s so mesmerizing about feet?” Doc said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Women’s feet, not all feet,” I said. I noticed Wally had retracted his under the covers probably for fear I couldn’t contain myself and would be lunging at his toes. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Alright, woman’s feet. What’s the deal? Spill it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I just think they’re sexy. But feet that are nice and soft, with cute tapered toes, well managed. No hammer toes. No bunions. No deformities. I don’t want a woman who needs sidecars for her shoes because she’s spent most of her life shoving her poor feet into pumps.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Doc had become very interested, “So, what you’re telling me is, if a gorgeous woman, <i>with ugly feet</i>, walked up to you and said, ‘take me now Angel Drawers,’ you’d turn her down?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Exactly, I don’t care if she’s Miss frickin’ Universe, I can’t sleep with a woman who’s got nasty, splayed, banana-tree-climbing, feet.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This brought on a loud commotion from everyone in the vehicle, except Wires who focused on the road between puffs on his cigarette. Yet, I could tell he was keeping his ear involved in the proceedings.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The questions were coming fast and furious now. “What about toe polish?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“As long as it’s all one colour and not chipped.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are you an out of the shoe man, or an out of the shower man?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Out of the shower—although, I have sipped beer from the odd high heel,” I said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“When did you first know?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Some time ago when I was in high school . . . I think . . . I was in science class dissecting worms. The smell of formaldehyde was in the air. I looked down at Betty Sussman’s feet. She was wearing sandals, and I thought, man, she has really nice feet—massive pant-rock. I’ve never looked back.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Do you find it hard to concentrate around women with bare feet?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Let’s put it this way. I walk into a lot of walls in the summer.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Do you just like to look or do you actually suck on them?” Thumper asked half amused, half disgusted.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hey my friends, you have to give them some tongue play. There are twenty-eight erogenous zones on the foot.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Really—?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I shit you not. I’m still looking for the last two, But <i>t-wen-ty</i>-eight. If you know where the pressure points are, you can get a woman to do anything.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wally had slipped his hands under the covers and converged into a ball. I could tell he was pressing on his own feet, trying to find an elusive Pandora’s Box of pleasures.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<i>Je</i>-sus, Wally,” Doc Barlow moaned as he felt Wally’s knobby knees hit his ribs.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’d turn down the most gorgeous chick?” Space still couldn’t believe what I had said. “You’re a freak, Sparky—”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hey Space, if a woman walked into the bar with her breasts exposed and her ‘bandana nipples’ in your face, wouldn’t you be aroused—?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s a stupid question.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Feet are my breasts, Space, that’s all—”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Breasts for feet, that’s really strange,” Wally said, still with his toes in his hands, out of sight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I just think tits are a healthier obsession than feet—”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So because I don’t subscribe to your ideas I’m a freak? I happen to think physically, feet are the most sensuous and erotic part of a woman’s body and deserve the attention. Women will let you massage their feet before you get a whiff of anything else and from there the possibilities are endless.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This sparked a new round of controversy as everyone began to boost their own fetishes. “Legs you idiots—” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Big tits or give me death—” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Food . . . In fact, corn, mash potatoes, beef Wellington—” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I miss my wife—”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s only been six hours Thumper. Christ!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Ok tits and ass,” he said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Doc was wiggling his fingers under his chin again. “Big hairy piss-flaps,” he said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“—Ten succulent toes. You don’t know what you’re missing—”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Tits, tits, tits—”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Wonderful, beautiful, bountiful piss-flaps—”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Strawberry cheesecake, deep-fried chicken—”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even Wires had joined in and was now vocalizing his desires. “Moose,” he said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“—Stuffed pasta shells in a cream sauce—”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Huge, gigantic flaps—”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Long, slender—”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Orbs of—”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What did you say Wires?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“—Moose!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What kind of pussy is that—?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Maybe he means <i>moose knuckle</i>—? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“—that’s messed up.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wires shouted as he slammed on the breaks, “MOOSE!” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Directly ahead of us, the lines on the road were now dripping out of a moose—a gigantic, antlered beast had become alarmingly large in our line of sight. Wires twisted the steering wheel hard to the left as the truck fish-tailed in its skid. The road was slippery, and we could not find traction. The moose stood its ground in our game of chicken, gazing with dark eyes, <i>the devil’s eyes</i>, as we approached.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wires fought with the Ghost but had lost all control. We braced for impact as the truck skidded sideways toward our foe—slow motion; yelling muffled voices; the sickening thud of the collision; the sudden thrust of bodies toppling over one another to the passenger side of the truck. Then silence. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No moans. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No motor. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
No moose.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you would like to read more of this novel, please <a href="http://www.lulu.com/shop/chris-strange/the-limits-of-respectability/ebook/product-24035202.html" target="_blank">go here.</a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-85324590339018206072014-04-20T18:25:00.000-04:002014-04-20T18:25:29.716-04:00Happy Zombie Jesus Day<a href="http://www.worldwideinterweb.com/item/903-the-50-sketchiest-easter-bunny-photos-ever.html" target="_blank">The 50 sketchiest Easter Bunny photos ever taken.</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.ranker.com/list/funny-pics-kids-crying-with-the-easter-bunny/amber-hubert?format=BLOG" target="_blank">Pictures of kids crying with the Easter Bunny.</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.zombiejesusday.org/Home.aspx" target="_blank">Zombie Jesus Day.</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-22881854865832849942014-04-06T11:24:00.000-04:002014-04-06T11:24:12.022-04:00Only because of GOTIn case you haven't watched at all here is a recap to bring you up to speed.
Yeah, yeah....you're welcome.
<iframe src="http://www.collegehumor.com/e/6961470" width="425" height="340" frameborder="0" webkitAllowFullScreen allowFullScreen></iframe><div style="padding:5px 0; text-align:center; width:600px;"><p><a href="//www.collegehumor.com/videos/most-viewed/this-year">CollegeHumor's Favorite Funny Videos</a></p></div>
Oh....and here is some GOT <a href="http://www.uproxx.com/videos/2013/10/bad-lip-reading-game-thrones/">bad lip reading.</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-60656832374721513442014-03-02T14:43:00.000-05:002014-03-05T07:42:44.401-05:00Hi....it's me....I'm back....well for today anyway.<br />
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<br />
With the Oscars tonight I thought I'd at least post some Oscar shit for those who are interested in the telecast tonight.<br />
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If not...there's always Oscar Pistorius's trial which starts tomorrow...or perhaps the movie Blade Runner is on this week.<br />
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You see what I did there? The Ol' six degrees of Kevin Bacon thing.<br />
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Here are some links to get you through.<br />
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<a href="http://www.uproxx.com/filmdrunk/2014/02/official-filmdrunk-oscars-2014-drinking-game/" target="_blank">The Official Oscar 2014 drinking game.</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.seriouseats.com/2014/02/9-oscar-hot-dogs-inspired-by-2014-oscar-best-picture-nominees.html" target="_blank">Hotdogs inspired by the film nominations.</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.uproxx.com/filmdrunk/2014/01/just-time-oscars-5-second-films-hollywood/" target="_blank">5 second films the Oscar edition.</a><br />
<a href="http://www.uproxx.com/webculture/2014/01/wolf-of-wall-street-fcking-short-version/" target="_blank">The Wolf of Wall Street short version.</a><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-58651688104647908262014-01-04T11:00:00.001-05:002014-02-22T11:44:44.123-05:00I need a breakIt has become increasingly clear to me that I am going thorough the motions with several aspects of my life, this blog being one of them. I have slowly lost desire to continue in these areas and a change, or break is needed to recharge. Also since my heart has rarely been in it, I have watched the numbers dwindle and the numbers don't lie.<br />
<br />
So...until further notice I'm taking a break. Whether that means a few weeks, months, or permanent, remains to be seen.<br />
<br />
I thank anyone who has followed me here and come from time to time to witness the daily craziness.<br />
<br />
Until...whenever...I bid you a fond adieu.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-52641090642803439282014-01-03T12:16:00.000-05:002014-01-03T12:16:00.321-05:00All about the numbers<a href="http://www.worldwideinterweb.com/item/3367-the-30-greatest-job-titles-in-the-history-of-mankind.html" target="_blank">The 30 greatest job titles in the history of mankind.</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.cracked.com/article_20761_5-terrifying-festivals-you-wont-believe-are-legal.html" target="_blank">5 terrifying festivals you won't believe are real.</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.thepoke.co.uk/2013/12/05/breaking-bad-the-engagement-photos/" target="_blank">Several Breaking Bad engagement photos.</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-65450121914839000532014-01-02T12:09:00.000-05:002014-01-02T12:09:00.464-05:00New year, same old shite<a href="http://happyplace.someecards.com/27869/the-most-regrettable-tattoo-corrections-of-all-time" target="_blank">The most regrettable tattoo corrections of all time.</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.incrediblethings.com/entertainment/sex-position-coloring-book/" target="_blank">The sex position colouring book.</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://io9.com/a-map-of-the-weirdest-sex-laws-in-the-united-states-1485053434" target="_blank">The weirdest sex laws in the United States.</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-47594104991784555142014-01-01T09:06:00.000-05:002014-01-01T09:06:00.039-05:00And the sign says...WTF? #12<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe7gpC4EHABTD0aZzjZqvGmK6Bh8SHV4b5pX3ph4nL8lK3zBPNs5xaYmh2zVmKgtg6oNYq66rKmU_HXcHg3ViKzkzZ59KSEmhmLKn1mc9BFiI8ediHLVGYKIWmF85NmK11BSjgBg/s1600/signs-that-make-absolutely-no-sense.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe7gpC4EHABTD0aZzjZqvGmK6Bh8SHV4b5pX3ph4nL8lK3zBPNs5xaYmh2zVmKgtg6oNYq66rKmU_HXcHg3ViKzkzZ59KSEmhmLKn1mc9BFiI8ediHLVGYKIWmF85NmK11BSjgBg/s320/signs-that-make-absolutely-no-sense.jpg" width="270" /></a></div>
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Good thing you gave it up for New Years.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-32402940931565925322013-12-31T12:01:00.000-05:002013-12-31T12:01:00.286-05:00Year end recap by the numbers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihy1OrfA7dSIVN140VZXiFqt-mPGUt8DpwAgG74CbWNcYczB6gZpQ9Pa8nTgL0NSDbUdCT9pXLzTkLl2RBWcaPBhm9bT8IjTVfIerQp-fl_rZsYSwE3MmZbVkr_utGE2d8nPq0eQ/s1600/that-awkward-moment-cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihy1OrfA7dSIVN140VZXiFqt-mPGUt8DpwAgG74CbWNcYczB6gZpQ9Pa8nTgL0NSDbUdCT9pXLzTkLl2RBWcaPBhm9bT8IjTVfIerQp-fl_rZsYSwE3MmZbVkr_utGE2d8nPq0eQ/s320/that-awkward-moment-cat.jpg" width="252" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<a href="http://www.worldwideinterweb.com/item/6232-the-25-most-viral-photos-of-2013.html" target="_blank">25 of the most viral videos of 2013.</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.avclub.com/article/the-least-essential-albums-of-2013-106273" target="_blank">The least essential albums of 2013.</a><br />
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<a href="http://hypervocal.com/news/2013/best-local-news/" target="_blank">The best local news of 2013.</a><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 5pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 0cm 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt 252.0pt 288.0pt 324.0pt 360.0pt 396.0pt 432.0pt;">
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-10681990599084069772013-12-31T09:04:00.000-05:002013-12-31T09:04:00.270-05:00And the sign says...WTF? #11<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEQLzNCE1WYgYdDNkRSaDSmn9qyFp1xN5DEIae-Ql55kwfPw0E9FhzNqUfPZ6nHSxrGxaJKhI-uYFiCv7v2UtV3Sw7u_Ucb9e_tSiiBVK9EDKLhfa12yovIaZ915sDMRTs8o3smw/s1600/1c3ccb932ea7a0fddfa2f1bac4bf4dab_L.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEQLzNCE1WYgYdDNkRSaDSmn9qyFp1xN5DEIae-Ql55kwfPw0E9FhzNqUfPZ6nHSxrGxaJKhI-uYFiCv7v2UtV3Sw7u_Ucb9e_tSiiBVK9EDKLhfa12yovIaZ915sDMRTs8o3smw/s320/1c3ccb932ea7a0fddfa2f1bac4bf4dab_L.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-61610752446207081332013-12-31T08:37:00.000-05:002013-12-31T08:37:00.456-05:00The moment before disaster strikes #14<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpEvVKKEVE5ZZYkWFH0FExA_-mVZw7IX7fjVGidW99bEyMOxtTNfDum8E9Vbhc9XZnPyAoYE5Z1Bevv3t1iSD06pgNWbbGAXPHqH5S4Nl5U8PVDzmF9Ckdo0t2O2Dq1tJ6DMtTWQ/s1600/disaster-strikes-sports.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpEvVKKEVE5ZZYkWFH0FExA_-mVZw7IX7fjVGidW99bEyMOxtTNfDum8E9Vbhc9XZnPyAoYE5Z1Bevv3t1iSD06pgNWbbGAXPHqH5S4Nl5U8PVDzmF9Ckdo0t2O2Dq1tJ6DMtTWQ/s320/disaster-strikes-sports.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-30034352321220289762013-12-30T11:55:00.000-05:002013-12-30T11:55:00.722-05:00Year end recap: sexual edition<a href="http://deadspin.com/what-did-we-get-stuck-in-our-rectums-this-year-1486766986" target="_blank">What did we get stuck in our rectums this year?</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/12/16/year-in-bad-sex_n_4435125.html?1387217062" target="_blank">The year in bad sex.</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.uproxx.com/webculture/2013/12/penis-sizes-ranked-state/" target="_blank">Penis size ranked per state.</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-9004607348824669192013-12-30T09:03:00.000-05:002013-12-30T09:03:00.551-05:00And the sign says...WTF? #10<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivXz6yxvP2Obj4Euaph5rP3eb3wYIbQngRirCaLfPobzRjPrACxIdfl9vxW3B2MzXwoClokRi3iBl39Q2d8a7PWdcKaKA1OEAA6XKzU5YUxu9nwSy-XS5FAHVYWpF8NObu6s9LTQ/s1600/sign-that-makes-no-sense-photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivXz6yxvP2Obj4Euaph5rP3eb3wYIbQngRirCaLfPobzRjPrACxIdfl9vxW3B2MzXwoClokRi3iBl39Q2d8a7PWdcKaKA1OEAA6XKzU5YUxu9nwSy-XS5FAHVYWpF8NObu6s9LTQ/s400/sign-that-makes-no-sense-photo.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-63649094864378250552013-12-29T11:49:00.002-05:002013-12-29T11:53:04.257-05:00Sports Sunday<a href="http://www.mandatory.com/2013/12/13/nfl-quarterbacks-as-drag-queens/" target="_blank">NFL quarterbacks as drag queens.</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.uproxx.com/sports/2013/12/10-best-sports-nut-shots-2013/#page/1" target="_blank">The best sports nut-shots of 2013.</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.mandatory.com/2013/12/05/todays-nfl-quarterbacks-if-they-were-bald/" target="_blank">NFL quarterbacks if they were bald.</a><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-10638152108130939482013-12-29T11:46:00.001-05:002013-12-29T11:52:40.430-05:00Year end recap by the numbers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/Of2HU3LGdbo?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<a href="http://guyism.com/celebrities/50-sexiest-videos-2013.html" target="_blank">The 50 sexiest videos of 2013.</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.uproxx.com/videos/2013/12/50-best-viral-videos-2013/" target="_blank">The 50 best viral videos of 2013.</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.worldwideinterweb.com/item/6254-the-20-funniest-photos-of-2013.html" target="_blank">The 20 funniest photos of 2013.</a><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-33929508710768429902013-12-28T09:02:00.000-05:002013-12-28T09:02:00.386-05:00And the sign says...WTF? #9<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7kKwU40EVg0ijcDa8LKQDUK9wQZvDnAz3JBSpsFp1DSMti5EbCTGhcMihK2X47Tjg2hVVahCaPqTHZOJ7dihrleaQit8NoNcxuSITDXrgRfVFUC4GF2bMisxkRuoIRSNahw9dvg/s1600/this-sign-makes-no-sense.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7kKwU40EVg0ijcDa8LKQDUK9wQZvDnAz3JBSpsFp1DSMti5EbCTGhcMihK2X47Tjg2hVVahCaPqTHZOJ7dihrleaQit8NoNcxuSITDXrgRfVFUC4GF2bMisxkRuoIRSNahw9dvg/s320/this-sign-makes-no-sense.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-2459212700621397892013-12-27T08:36:00.000-05:002013-12-27T08:36:00.132-05:00The moment before disaster strikes #13<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRnrNuBDrDT1AydVIG2v4Yd6x13rHD8CbZyZexpu5LsFqJxb6VHptQj4zNdfj8fqpo5uuTHykz6Mb7tODLOT5s-MPXkK9p7kzd2g7BLfcQntnbki-1XNtyziWq6LwiVZX8JtoLlg/s1600/disaster-strikes-reddit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRnrNuBDrDT1AydVIG2v4Yd6x13rHD8CbZyZexpu5LsFqJxb6VHptQj4zNdfj8fqpo5uuTHykz6Mb7tODLOT5s-MPXkK9p7kzd2g7BLfcQntnbki-1XNtyziWq6LwiVZX8JtoLlg/s320/disaster-strikes-reddit.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-10395709056399494032013-12-26T09:00:00.000-05:002013-12-26T09:00:02.001-05:00And the sign says...WTF? #8<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoVasRoc5KlaTdgduTgOgeyKLWuB81Zz74Oxz0eX_b2R3eS6tdOtWQA-y6SWrlyz3EPuYGhwhqYDZ2gbL9lkNnWkFIIqv_szy5R6f5fGeZseaBUhJ8LIPDHcF89kIEZKKe8P8d_A/s1600/useless-sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoVasRoc5KlaTdgduTgOgeyKLWuB81Zz74Oxz0eX_b2R3eS6tdOtWQA-y6SWrlyz3EPuYGhwhqYDZ2gbL9lkNnWkFIIqv_szy5R6f5fGeZseaBUhJ8LIPDHcF89kIEZKKe8P8d_A/s320/useless-sign.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-29331338501268255172013-12-25T14:54:00.000-05:002013-12-26T14:55:57.004-05:00Santapocalypse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/1i9-jEm2hIw?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-5191145563926091192013-12-25T11:51:00.000-05:002013-12-29T11:52:29.756-05:00Xmas final posts<a href="http://filmdrunk.uproxx.com/2013/12/top-10-christmas-movies-definitive-ranking#page/1" target="_blank">Christmas movies definitive ranking.</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.ranker.com/list/celebrities-sitting-on-santas-lap/abbey-grantham" target="_blank">Celebrities on Santa's lap.</a><br />
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<a href="http://deadspin.com/the-best-version-of-every-important-christmas-song-1476324669" target="_blank">The best version of every important Christmas song.</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-15140010059940469732013-12-25T09:57:00.000-05:002013-12-27T09:57:42.528-05:00Is there anything he can't do?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/eaPRpX8L2X4?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9967321.post-18685714611352842972013-12-24T15:01:00.000-05:002013-12-26T15:01:18.040-05:00Yule tide of useless links?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPJJaU46V2uT3O3eN2TDlO39GUM5uSNz_tI9SwvUnf8H_bxdbaMkz-IEQ8pOFyFjYB8NKe9mWzjeZMrrjZlN1gZWC95YebGHUJCITQVoRNe_ZFkU6Xwra8IvtY-PMh2V0ZxBPDkQ/s1600/the-25-strangest-christmas-album-covers-of-all-time.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPJJaU46V2uT3O3eN2TDlO39GUM5uSNz_tI9SwvUnf8H_bxdbaMkz-IEQ8pOFyFjYB8NKe9mWzjeZMrrjZlN1gZWC95YebGHUJCITQVoRNe_ZFkU6Xwra8IvtY-PMh2V0ZxBPDkQ/s320/the-25-strangest-christmas-album-covers-of-all-time.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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</div>
<a href="http://www.uproxx.com/videos/2013/12/scientifically-accurate-santa-claus/" target="_blank">The scientifically accurate Santa.</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://labs.someecards.com/advent/16" target="_blank">Inappropriate tree decorations.</a><br />
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<a href="http://coed.com/2013/12/18/the-25-strangest-christmas-album-covers-of-all-time-photos/" target="_blank">The strangest Xmas album covers of all time.</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLhwcOWB9UpGEiMyq9L-rq6cjHRaN36dkp_QQkSJEcdCB8D4wLYtjjHGx4aTCZqFF8qVyo56rfwOFXXruEjmy8DDAt-w3YaLuB50G0p0hDk7ZuJnUu5NFwm1cN6Z0ALBFMpMekHA/s1600/thCAM9GKHI.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLhwcOWB9UpGEiMyq9L-rq6cjHRaN36dkp_QQkSJEcdCB8D4wLYtjjHGx4aTCZqFF8qVyo56rfwOFXXruEjmy8DDAt-w3YaLuB50G0p0hDk7ZuJnUu5NFwm1cN6Z0ALBFMpMekHA/s1600/thCAM9GKHI.jpg" /></a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0