TDC WEAW 112 ......G o o d B y e

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...







There are certain things which must remain hidden from the light of day and discovered anew, when the day grows dark, after angels fall to Earth…


Bryan greeted us with proper hand shakes all around. He would not be able to talk without pain for a while due to his busted up jaw being wired shut, but you know, eyes will speak more clearly than the tongue has hope for eloquence.

Katheena did not bring Ivan. Joey did not bring Nolei. Sean did not bring Minacca. And me? I would have brought Lorelei. It was all her fault, everything.

And nothing.

There was nothing left.

“Bryan, you be good in there. Don’t go fucking up the place. No tearing off arms and beating them with the wet ends.” Sean laughed and coughed.

Bryan nodded and his eyes crinkled. He pointed at Sean’s chest.

Sean understood. “I know, serves me right for fucking you up Figging.”


Joey had no laughs in him. “Big Man, be cool. You know we gonna be coming to see you every chance we get. Load you up with funds for chocolate bars and condoms.”


Bryan swung at Joey’s arm and connected. Joey winced, and managed a smile. “I know you won’t let anyone get too friendly with you in there.”

Katheena grabbed him and hugged him. “I’ll make sure you get well fed and have everything you need.”

Bryan snuckled a gurgly chuckle through his nose and Sean and I laughed at her.

Katheena rolled her eyes. “You fuckers. You know what I mean.”


I held my hand up and Bryan grabbed it. I didn’t have any words. Fucker took the fall for us all. Bastard. Get off the cross, we need the wood.


Big Bryan was led off and we stood there, watching him go.

Hell, it was only for a few months. Everything would be all right.


Of course it would.

----------------------------


In a couple days, Joey, Katheena and I walked with Ivan and Nolei and their exchanged families to their boarding gate.

This was before security check points were invented, mind you.

Folks could walk right up to the gate back then, before the world got crazy. Well, of course, it was already crazy. It always had been that way.

But our young nation was like a baby back then. Innocent of the fact that one day, our open door policy of welcoming the downtrodden and oppressed from other parts of the world into our home, under the light from the torch held high by that lovely New York harbor chick, would come back to bite us in the ass.

Fuck those bastards to Hell who did this.

-----------------------------------------

Of course, Joey and Katheena had already made their private, intimate goodbyes to their German friends, but it did not make anything easier for them.

I had never seen Joey look so distraught, like the fraught face of a young man looking back up at his own face in a small mirror that had lines of white across it.

Watching how Katheena was with Ivan, I could not help but feel anger at Ivan. And still, jealousy.

Knowing what I had learned about her from Tommy Hewitt did not make anything easier. I mean, I understood her fickleness now, but emotions do not follow logic.

Fuck.

I turned on my heel and left all of them.

Fucking Ivan had stolen Katheena from me and dumped Lorelei for her in one deft motion.

I had neither now.

I blamed him for Lorelei’s sadness and her actions, and our own actions, and everything that followed because of it all.

But…



…I would never wish that anyone would fall to the bottom of the sea, never to be seen again.



Unless it is those assholes who blew out the torch of welcome and openness.


Fuck them.



--------------------------------


I called in to work. For some reason, it didn’t seem right to enjoy the music of a young lovely lady on this day.

It was a taste that was becoming stale to me.



Of course, you know that tomorrow would be another day. And I would continue on in my own debauchery, which was a form of escape.

I was going to escape CaliFuckno for good. And while I bade my time and fine-tuned my little car, and saved up enough cash to take my little sisters back home,


…Well…


…I would partake of some of that good old fashioned Mental Escape while I was there.



I would practice on the violin.


This practice would soon lead to me blowing the engine of my little Celica, in a race with a tig bittied chick who also worked at Fucky Chucky’s. She had a boyfriend with a motorcycle, if you recall.





LINKS



Fuck the lies of the beautiful trash out there. Let's see some real real real.


Crank it up.







Now for your links...




Way back when I slept on my dirty clothes for a bed in Fuckno, (each day’s clothing would make for a plusher bed on the tile upon cement floor, until wash day when it got hard and cold again…) I listened to a certain radio show each night on NPR. It was a show that had been broadcast a couple years earlier in Britland. It was about Arthur Dent.

Well now, those radio voice actors will be going on tour. Amen.




Speaking of space and probability drives, let’s consider this:




We have the Large Hadron Collider peering into other universes and bringing matter back from those into our own, and soon we will have the final laser beam to finish constructing of four that together will blast the amount of energy our whole planet produces, which will rip apart the fabric of space and time so we explore deeper, next year.



What may happen? Our tiny planet could become a nebula, a place where new stars are born. Very cool. Here are some pretty pics of nebulae.



Career opportunities for this year’s college grads. Well, soon it won’t mater, huh





How to spend a paltry $26,666 a month. Madison Moore wrote this on Splicetoday.


Antidote.

Saturday funnies for ya. Nice lit ref on this one.



Trinity Orchestra plays with Daft Punk. Huh.






Life like Robots. Ya know.





God Help You.

God Help Us All.


---willies out.
















OK, one more for ya.

Ladies and Gentlemen, your new fucking president?

nsfw






















































































You may have your insane young devil who causes carnage, but there would always be Lorelei for a young punk in Fuckno, Califorgetmenot.

You see, according to German folklore, a beautiful young chick was chust so sad over her cheating boyfriend that she threw herself to the bottom of the river Rhine and drowned herself. Her ghost lured others to their own doom as well.

The Pogues. Lorelei.

.

111 ... secrets...

This was written and published on 4/23/11.


Shit is going to get fucking ugly.

Sorry about that.

Yes, there are certain things which must remain hidden from the dark of night, and discovered anew, when the day grows bright.

Fat Jerry entered the wine tomb with his shopping bags. Tellesco had brought in the makings of a huge breakfast feast, enough for thirty, and left the bags on the marble top island across from the cock-punch dining room table.

If you weren’t careful, that table could fuck you up, in more ways than one. Smack you in the balls, or shoot you up to the stars, or even bust your arms and ribs, if you were not careful.

Fat Jerry stopped. He’d heard a glass clink.

He looked around, and he began to smile.

It was a smile that had many sharp teeth.

“Let’s see, I’ll take this one, and this one, and this one here looks nice. This is French for Friendly Fires. Mmmmm. Paris.”

He swung around on his heel and closed the door behind him.

-----------------------------------

Soft juxtaposition of what is to follow.

The long, stately ranch up in the north and west of Fuckno burned with an intensity no firefighter there had ever before witnessed at all.

They figured that the home was configured with aged fig tree wood, and once that caught fire, the conflagration consumed the contents, and left nothing but dust, melted wine bottles, and the bones of Tommy Hewitt..

The gases from the combustion of the interior rose to amazing heights along with the furious heat, but you should know that not all gases are light. Some are heavy, even while they are hot, and they descend.

They can descend into a hidden cache of wine dug out of the desert hard pan, and they can kill with amazing speed.

The roof caved in, and with the sudden onrush of oxygen, a long tongue of flame roared down the hallways that were constructed like a maze. The hallways were now a hell hole.

The flames of this tongue devoured the carpeting and began to lick the walls. Temperatures rose to the heat of the Sun. Fission took place. Ions exploded.

Inside a secret compartment, an open book of hidden but not forgotten photographs began to curl up at the edges.

In these photos, the face of a small boy engaged in curious poses, and …activities… began to darken from the heat. The secret lair that held such ugliness became an oven, a crematorium.

The face of young, troubled Tellesco disappeared from the face of the planet, never to be seen again.

Amen.


But,


It would not end there.

---------------------------------------

Fat Jerry got away. He went in the other direction from us all…

He always did. He always would.

Purple mohawk, chrome shin guards, white Xs on his birdshot-face, and, of course, his leather. Always mind your leather.


Fat Jerry loaded up his hearse with treasures. He got in his vehicle, and he drove off as the whole world ignited. He went in the opposite direction from Joey and Nolei in Joey’s maroon granny car.

A young man hid in the wine cellar, a place where a certain young boy would often seek refuge. And yet, a place to hide can become a place of the worst of nightmares. Both of these two were caught in a hell of their own, each.

Both; until the end of their time.

--------------------------------------

Devils have their secret places. They propagate their hell unto others. If you are lucky, you can find an angel, and perhaps a savior.

Tommy found neither. But Tellesco found both. Sean, and oddly enough, Jerry.

When you first read here years ago about the way that Tellesco fawned over Sean, didn’t you think that it was some sort of crush or something? Well, now you might understand that Sean became a sort of substitute father figure to Tellesco, because Sean was quite a powerful personality.

At the time, I simply thought that Sean was using Tellesco for his wealth, his easy access to a swimming pool, a Jeep, and Figging.

I would turn out to be wrong. Sean had become friends with someone who had gone through some of the same fuckishness that he had, who told him what his own father had done to him, and Sean said “Fuck You” to that ugly shit. I guess, looking back, that this was why Sean didn’t give a damn about any of the things Tellesco’s parents held dear. One thing that they did not hold dear was their only son.


I had a lot of things wrong about all of my previous judgement, my prejudice.

Ya think?

------------------------------

Tellesco had found a savior. He had also found an angel. A Fallen One.

------------------------------


Fat Jerry knew his vehicle. This is quite important when you are fleeing carnage that you have caused. You need to know what your vehicle is capable of doing for you.

Let’s say that you have come to a party with the intention of making a busload of money from the selling of your illegal wares, and then you end up busting up a heavy dining room table upon some large men. And then, you pick those dudes up and chuck them through a sliding glass door, busting the glass with the first one.

Why stop there? Why not go out and fuck them up further, while they are down, to the tunes of a punk band you have invited to the party yourself?

Well, what’s a young devil to do next?

How about stealing some expensive old wine, and then, hey, just for the fuck of it, why not blow the place up?

Along your plan, you may discover a lamb for the slaughter.

You may decide to make a human sacrifice for your insane intentions. You may use some wine cork screws to prevent a cellar door (made of fig-tree iron-wood) from opening.

These are evil things.

You may drive away with a smile that has a hundred fangs.

Where do you go next?

You may head to your own secret refuge. Your secret cache.



This is what fat Jerry did.





LINKS



Jerry died on Earth Day. No, not the Fat Jerry in the tale above. Jerry Lawson, who invented video game cartridges. May he be respectfully inserted into the Heaven Console. (Sorry about that Jerry, you were awesome.)




In honor of him, a Saturday toon for ya.


What do you see when you look back? Here are some rear view mirror pics.



Have some ice cream along the way. Interesting flavors.



Looking back to 1998, what made internet sites great? These things.





Cracked’s six creepy urban legends that happen to be true. Me likey.





List of films that fuck with your head.





March news stories that will leave you surprised.



The internets and their use of browsers.



Macs vs PCs. Who’s really winning or whining?





God Help You.

God Help Us All.


---willies out.













.

110

This part was written and published on April 17th, 2011.

The Violinist Part Three.




We each have memories of things we look back upon and wish we could change.


When it is something you yourself have done, then the regret is sharper.


The worst thing is when you knew, while you were doing it, that it was wrong.


Then, there is no excuse.




I took Nolei to the free clinic.

Well, Joey had fucked up my day. Ya think? All day long I had nothing else in my head but what he was planning to do, and what he expected me to execute for him in the final moment.



Now, I don’t know about your thoughts concerning abortion, and I didn’t know my own back then, at that point. It surprised me that Joey took it so hard, and was unable to do this hisseff. What didn’t surprise me was that Joey was only thinking of hisseff.



“Not my problem,” was his favorite statement, as you recall.


This was indeed his “problem,” and he was taking the coward’s way out of it. Too messy to consider all of the ramifications of being a long-distance daddy.



They way I figured it, he was a daddy no matter what course of action he took. And this one would just make him a longer-distance daddy.



Instead of Germany, he now had the distance of Heaven between him and his progeny.



Perhaps Hell figured in there somehow, as well.


I will not judge you if you have ever been in this position, for another, or for yourself.




I can only judge myself.



But I only had myself to gauge this fucking quandary.



Who was I gonna ask, Katheena? Nope. She had her own issues to figure out, and since she hadn’t got a grip on them yet, I did not trust her for solid advise.



My other brothers of different mothers were dealing with their own shit, as you know.



So what was I to do?



Well, I went to talk to the one person in the whole world whose thoughts I could depend on. It’s always been this way. It’s still this way.




You must know who that was, and is.



I will tell you next week.



This part has been the hardest effort of these tales so far, in my attempt to write for you about the de-evolution of a young man into the heady state of Punkology.


But I won’t leave you hanging.



Check this out.


On the way to the free clinic, I talked Nolei out of it.




The thing is,




I never told Joey.




No one has.













I hope he doesn’t read this.






LINKS




Time lapse of our galaxy, the Milky Way, for your Sunday morning coffee.







Perhaps you are having something other than coffee when you read the TDC. Well, guess what. Diligent scientists have been working around the clock for decades to finally bring to your neighborhood convenience store this: Beer that stays fresh forever. Yay.





Maybe you are having a ciggy?







Here’s the whole Foot Loose movie redone scene by scene by college kids. Fucking Funny.





User generated content at nerve.com with “15 scary movies you were too young to see.”





CatCam under Fluffy’s neck. WhiteyFilms.



Know your lingerie Footballers. Here’s Lindsey V.




Weird Korean Commercials.




Short Sunday morning read: Is Hell Dead? From Time Magazine.


God Help You.

God Help Us All.


---willies out.










OK, one more for ya.


The Winter 2014 Olympics town is currently under construction in Sochi, Krasnodar Krai, Russia. Here is a photoblog about this. Just juxtaposition of this immense, new city being built among the rubble of starvation with gubment money is something else to see.








.

109

This was written and published on April 16th, 2011.

The Violinist, Part Two.






Sometimes you can be amazed by your friends. They can surprise you with their stupidity, or their meanness, or when you learn that they steal shit from stores, or work, or even from the womb of people whom you both consider to be a friend.



But other times, they can surprise you when they come through for you. Especially when you least expect it.


Two of ours did this, this week. smcasey and Kentucky.


Yup.

At that gourmet burger joint up in Clovis called Fucky Chucky’s, I was having my own feast at the female condiment bar. So many different choices, so many possible combinations. But you know what I was doing, don’t you. Of course you do, even if I didn’t at the time.




Well, of course, I was heading back home. Working to earn cash money for the safe exodus of my two sisters, I wanted to protect them from the awfulness of Califuckeverythingletsbail. I wanted to take them back to the safety of Maine, the best place on the face of our tiny but mighty planet.




But this here is what I was talking about above: I was escaping Lorelei, her ghost, her effect on me. And I was finally over Katheena, after finally seeing her for what she was.




Tommy Hewitt opened my eyes up to that. Katheena could not be blamed for who she was, nor for what she did to me. She was a gorgeous force of nature, her own Identity, and she also happened to love men as she did women. Once I found this out from Tommy, well, the she way she’d dumped me didn’t matter so much.




I was hoping to watch this shit happen to Ivan at some point. You recall, he and Lorelei were a happy teenage couple back in Germany, before they crossed the ocean and the USA on the same crafts and landed in Fuckno. He ditched Lorelei as soon as he saw Katheena. Fucker.



She did the same thing to me. Bitch.


---------------------------------------



Nolei had come across the ocean on the same craft as Lorelei and her asshole boyfriend. Now she and my best bud Joey were going to have a baby. Joey was all fucked up over this shitiation, because she was due to head back to Germany as well.



---------------------------------------



“Will. We need to talk.”


Damn. I wished that phrase was illegal to say. Put it on the Terrurist Watch List, and send those words to a foreign land to be water boarded.



“Uh, what do you have to tell me now, Katheena?”


“Aw, don’t look so bummed! I wanted to say I just wish you weren’t so sad.”




Huh. That sounded familiar, somehow. “Thanks, Katheena, that means something.”



Then she surprised me. She said, “Lorelei was fucking cool. The way she was all screaming out shit while she was being arrested in the front of the Quad and we were all hiding out, putting on work clothes up in that sweat shop on the second floor of the drama building.”


Drama. Yup, lots of drama.



“You thought she was cool?”


“Will, of course she was. She could have really been something huge someday. Fuck it, she already was something. I just wanted you to know that I liked her. And I’m sorry for what happened.”



Wow. Talk about getting to the meat of the matter.




I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.



----------------------------------



“Weeee-ill.”



“Hey Joey. You wanna go eat at Taco Hell? I can’t get enough of those Gawdamn Burrito Supremes.”


“No, man. Come over here so we can dialogue a bit.”



Fuck.



That there is another set of words which indicate bad things to follow. The Department of Interrupting Evil Phrases Involving Garbage (D.I.E. P.I.G) should be formed and meetings begun immediately.




So we went and sat at the benches in front of the dead Bougainvillea, near the front of the Quad, where Lorelei had given her oral discourse a thousand years ago.



“OK, Joey. What’s up man?”

“I need you to drive Nolei to the clinic for her appointment tomorrow. I can’t do it.”


“Oh, is that all? Sure, no problem.”



Joey glanced at me, and then he looked off across the Quad, a true thousand-yard stare. What the hell? Why didn’t anyone just come out and tell you what they were really saying? Why all the hidden dialogue, all the long pauses, all the drama?

OK, now there should be another Department constructed, one called the---


...Wait, what?





Oh.






Joey looked down at his hands, clasped together loosely now, but he had been wringing them. They were white.







“Joe.”




He did not look up.





“Joe.”





He looked back over the Quad. His jaw was clenched.






“Joe.”







Oh, no.









------------------------------------


LINKS.



Some of our TDC Tribe helped out in the forums as well. Spunky14U was correct when he praised the front page contributors.

Now here's a look at these others of our family.

Here are their contributions.

Sirchief showed us a headline that caught his eye.

Entropy Happens responded with: “That cellist must be pretty talented! Can almost visualize it."





These dudes “orchestrated.” Certain strings can, indeed, be played, if you know how to do it.

Nice.



But then,


Entropy Happens was bummed.



Fast Cast keeps bringing this up. We are all slackers on this. True. Something needed to be said about that creepy shit.

So the TDC folks said it:

Chico: “mothers milk leads to heroin.”

Fasty responded with, “For a 6 year old boy, mother's milk is more likely to lead to heroine. In fact, chances are he already wants the Wonder Woman costume for Halloween.”

Kentucky said,” What is that broad thinkin! She shouldn't be barin it to a 6 year old, much let him suck on it! She'll turn his ass into a bloody pervert!” He speaks from personal experience.

greeny103202 knows the truth, “To each his/her own but it isn`t for me or my child.”

And the capper was from thatismytruck: “I still breast feed.”

AMEN.


Now get a load of this, from our own Florida Bobcat. Don't be afraid now, his bite is worse than his growl. It rocks at 0:18. He's talking about some Maineiac. Don't know who that is...

Bobby, he rocks..







Cool, protective putty. Serious shit. No impact for big impact.









How to lucid dream. That means you can control your dreams, while you sleep. Fly.




Or, fly with help? Pic of a babe from this site. Huh.






Just don't crash. Click this image below to make it bigger. The pic, not your dream.

Fly off in a Ferrari F40. Don’t forget your key. The tiniest key in the world for one.





Or not fly, but crash. “We like yoyos.” Ryan responds to a drunk voicemail from a chick.






My own favorite dream, a nightmare. 10 best haunted houses. Everyday is Halloween, my friend.




Hopefully, at such a house you can BBQ. Maybe on the front lawn sculpture?



So guess what's dying now? Social media is dying. Tweets, MyFace, MyMeal, etc.




What's next? You should get one. Wearable computers for our USA warriors in the war field. With an iPhone brain. Hah?








God Help You.

God Help us All.


---willies out.







OK, One More For ya.





8 Anti Sex Slavery posters, inspired by Ashton Kutcher. He inspires? What?










.

108 The Secret Of The Violin Position

This part was published on 4/10/11.






When I went back to work, I found that Essy and Jonah did not show up for work there ever again. Later, each time I would come across Essy in the future of my work in the food service industry in Fuckno, (which means: fast food jobs) I never got the chance to ever come across her again. Nor in her.

But there were other ladies in this new gourmet burger restaurant franchise, and one in particular held a sudden liking to me, because of the rumors.


Her name was Glinda, like a good witch, and we discovered the violin position. She bewitched me. You know that her folks must have thought it was a good joke to name her that, and of course, she never tired of hearing references to The Wizard of OZ.

Yeah, right.


She came up to me on the patron floor to instruct me to put three tables together for a large group, and then she slid a tiny piece of paper into one of the low front pockets on my dark blue apron. Her hand brushed my penis accidentally.

I looked at her as she walked away, and noticed that she had dyed brass hair, really big hair. This chick was quite fond of hair spray and the sort of "teasing" method used to pump up the volume.

Of her hair.

And of men and boys around her.

She was a tease.

She was also the telephone reservationist, among other jobs she held at that place. She was a bit of a tart, you see. She was not reserved at all.


Yup, Califuckmenow bright blue eyes, startling blue eye shadow, fire-truck-engine red lips, and full, curvy hips. She walked away like a duck, with pigeon toes. Her butt was amazing to follow with your eyes, and begged to be grabbed, hands full of fleshy delight.

This would be interesting.



+++++++++++++++++++++

You simply must play this song while reading what I have to tell you about the Violinist.

Glinda had put her phone number into the front right pocket of my bussing apron, and I checked it out in the galley. She got off early from work each night, because reservations are usually not made at the end of the evening. Eventually, her job became downsized, because there was always a line at the front door, and folks would get pissed at others cutting through the line to have instant access to this new, "hot" gourmet burger joint.

But while she was there, she had a reservation for me, and this was at her apartment.

She had a big brass bed, which was the style back then. It was the 80's, my friend.

Amen.


Everything in her apartment was black, like the rug, the coffee table, and her skin color. Her skin was as smooth as melted chocolate. There were also a lot of brass stripes: in the rug, in the coffee table, and in my head.


Her walls were pink.


It began with a deep kiss, and it ended with explosions.







++++++++++++++++++++++

I lied down on top of her between her wide open thighs. That moment is one of the best in your life, ya think? A whole new world awaits you, and the best thing you can do is to savor the first entry, and then you just might go along for the glide.

But---

She put her thigh down, the one to my right, and she pulled me to lie down across it, and I did, propping myself up on my right elbow.

Hah?

I must have raised my eyebrows, because she said, "Shhh. Follow me."

I did. Wouldn't you? She was now the Conductor. Cool.


Well, she then used her other leg to pull my left leg up on top of it, the one she was using to do this.

Umm, Ok?


With her hands, Glinda pushed my right leg down underneath her thigh.

Great. Now my right knee was under her knee, and my left knee was on the top of her hip.


But check this out:

She glided me into her loveliness.

In this way, I could use her thigh between my legs to control her as I wished, and pump into her as I wanted.

I could even keep her from having too much of me enter her, and therefore tease her, hungry for more, and squirming, writhing, in her hunger.

The best thing of all was to tease her in this way: Rub the little man in the boat with the tip of my oar, and "lick" her inner labia with it until my right thigh under her honey oven got wet.


Well, an interesting thing occurred.

As I entered her secret world from a bit above, the shaft of the only member of my club glided over her clitoris. The left side of my shaft played her strings like a violin.

A woman can be played like a violin, evidently.


She was the Violin, and I was the Violinist.

Gawdamn son.


I learned something new.

++++++++++++++++++++




LINKS



Good morning. Open your eyes for some coffee. How about chicks with Steve Buscemi eyes?




Breakfast coffee for you, from some badass Canucks in Afghanistainmyshorts.. Swearing loudly.





Breakfast simply must include eggs. Here are some interesting recipes for those wonderful oval orbs that come out of chicken asses. Yum.




Speaking of deviled eggs, how identical are identical twins? Huh.




Speaking of devils, here are ei8ht grisly archeological discoveries, to give you the willies.




Speaking of hot things from hell, how about a grilled cheese jalapeno sammich? Yumm..




How to understand how our human brain works. Pretty cool.
http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif



Interesting facts about other organs in your noggin: ears, teefs and tongue.



Shexxy dancing, but this is safe for work. Sorry.




Last one for you. Beat Poem by Tim Minchin. Storm, in a short movie. Good day buds.







God Help You.

God Help Us All.


---willies out.










OK, one more for ya. Richie is going across the sea. Be safe.

Play nice with the dolphins, big guy.








.

107

This part was published on 4/9/11





Essy never came back to work. Neither did Jonah. Bartenders with black eyes and busted lips don't get tips.

The following song is excellent, and essential to the tale I am telling you. Please, Transplants, put up an official video of this song so we can give you proper props.

--------------------------------

“Himmy. You fucker.”

"Que pasa Jefe?!"


"You told Jonah the Bartender, didn't you."

“Me lo siento, mi hermano! Hahaha! I’m sorry! But you did not say it was a secret!”


“Why would I need to say that? Dude. You fucked everything up!”

“No, No. You fucked her. She's a co-worker, man. You shit where you eat. You then sang like a leetle bird at the top of his lungs! You are the one who fucked everything up for yourself. Pinche cabron.”


"Shut up, bitch."

----------------------------

"Weeee-ill. Duuuude."

"Fuck Joey, never seen you so bummed man. Come on inside. Everyone's gone off to bed, so be quiet. Becoming a daddy not treating you so good?"


"Don't remind me Weeee-ill. Ughhhhhhh."

"You guys sure about it? I mean, sure it's gonna happen?"


"Yup. You know me. Went out and bought ten of those kits they sell. Then had the free clinic do it as well, when her appointment came up. All signs point to Poppa Joe."

"Ffffffuuuuuuuuuck."



"Ughhhhhhhhhhhh."

"Well, Joe, maybe you'll get to visit them in Germany."



"Man, I don't want her to take my baby over there!"

"She could apply for a visa or someshit."



"What she need with a credit card? Anyways, she ain't even told her parents yet."

"Have you told yours?"



"Fuck that! I haven't even told myself yet..."

"Oh. Huh."


-------------------------------


Good evening, this is Trish Tocker for KFUK-TV, and we have some really tubular developments in the Fig Tree Massacre. The fire marshal has determined that the cause of the fire was indeed allegedly intentional, and that the burned body allegedly stuck to the burnt decking with an allegedly really big knife may have been allegedly trying to stop the arsonist.

I guess we have a hero, ladies and gentlemen. Memorial services for young Martin Lander will be held next Sunday at noon allegedly at the United Methodist Church up in Clovis, where the rich farmers allegedly live.

Evidently, from me walking around the site behind the taped off area, the force of the explosion was so great that it allegedly blew a Jeep onto a fig tree. I'd show you a picture of it, but a cute police escort showed up and took my film from me and then guided me back to my car.

Police are remaining quiet about the space robot with the laser beam and purple mohawk and white X's of hate on his face.

Back to you in the studio!


-------------------------------

"Hello? This is Will. May I speak to Katheena?"

"Certainly. Hold on for a sec. Katheena! Phone! How are you doing Will?"


"Not bad, sir. Thanks."

"That's nice. Here she is."


"Hey Katheena. How're you and Ivan doing?"

"Hi Will. As well as can be expected. How's your head?"


"It was the best ever, but now it's gone."

"Um, what?"


"Oh, I mean that the cut on the top of my head is healing well."

"Good to hear. Yup, the German kids are going back next week. It was kinda uncertain at one point because of the plane crash. Hell, they wanted to ship these kids back home on different boats because the parents didn't trust the air crafts anymore. Still, those Germans don't want to send them all back on the same plane now. At least Ivan and I have had the extra time together why they work it out."


"Cool for you. Gonna miss him a lot, I guess, huh."

"That's really sweet of you, Will. Me too."


"Hah? No! I was talking about you!"

"Oh. Hehehe. Sorry. I thought you had finally warmed up to Ivan."


"I'd like to warm him up in a fire."

"What's that?"


"I mean, I hope he has a safe flight. Ya know."

"Me too, Will. Me Too."


-------------------------



In this Aftermath, you should know something, and here I will tell you. It's a bit of a secret.

In revealing this secret, it is also the precursor to the next part of the tale.

This is about the Violin and the Violinist.

God Help You.


Glinda helped me forget about a certain girl who had rocked my own little world and who had captained me to the Moon. Glinda was a glider. She knew about gliding.

This is not about hand gliding. This about the theory of superstrings. This is about playing strings in a way that can make music like you’ve never heard nor felt before.

A woman can be played like a violin, you see.




You will see. Tomorrow.


++++++++++++++++++++++






LINKS



World’s most powerful rocket.




Creepy chick Boxxy, in a blonde wig. Huh.








Robocop killerbot Ed 209 vs. Rocky.







6 Best conjoined twins in history. Vlogbros.







The next time.









Mummy face cloud.





The Outside Joke site. Hmmm…






Here’s UGO, a site with a lot of flashy ads and shit. TV Celebrity Cameos that are short, sweet, and unexpected, like your lady says about your penis.

Sorry about that.




This site has none of that shit. But simply all about cat fights at Denny’s. Hey, who doesn’t like a good Grand Slam on the way back home from the pubs and bars?





Cool site. Cult movie maker wants movie pirates to help him out. Interesting idea. Free content, because it’s from the fans?






God Help You.

God Help Us All.


---willies out.














OK, One more for ya. NSFW because of the links and ads.























Or, a song in the opposite direction, for my own leetle birds, my ladies in my house. Whatever you do, enjoy yourself, and see you tomorrow.

.

106

This was written on 4/3/11.





There is a chemical called oxytocin that figures in this chapter. It’s a maternal hormone that is involved with attachment. Two instances of when it affects female human behavior most often are these:

1. Childbirth. Oxytocin forces a woman to become a mother to her newborn.

2. Sex. It forces a woman to become attached to her lovemaker.

Men’s bodies do not do this, most likely because it is our nature to spread our seed far and wide, like Johnny Appleseed. We do not have a biologic function to become attached to a newborn as a woman does. Our biologic function is to propagate our genes with as much variance as possible.

Of course, this is in no way intended to excuse adultery. We are not simply animals anymore, although we may act like it at times.

Women, on the other hand, are more obligated to care for the progeny that they have incubated in their wombs for nine months or so and which take a good ten years to raise before they may be able to fend for themselves.

And Essy became attached to me due to number 2. It was not her fault. It was Human Nature. That is why the following hurt her more than it did me. Gobless her.

Himmy had a big mouth. I realized I did as well. When I shouted over the Hobart machine that I was fucking the barmaid, I did not realize that the customers out front at the cash registers heard me. The music playing as background to their dining experience went silent between songs at that precise moment, which is further evidence that karma was out to fuck me.

This did not bode well. All of the workers out front heard as well. But you should know that due to the Hobart machine’s white noise and the fact that no one had even heard me shout before, no one could tell who had shouted that phrase.

Only one fact was evident, which was this: Someone was fucking the barmaid.

----------------------------------

Jonah was the new bartender, and he was quite good. A tall, gangly guy in his thirties, he had long blonde hair that he kept up in a pony tail. He was friendly to me as he was to everyone, also a quick thinker, and he had a good sense of humor. These three things are essential when you are serving alcohol and want to be paid well in tips.

I think that he was the only one in the place who had not heard me. An old television show called “Cheers” was playing loudly for those who were raising their own glasses out in the walnut and brass pub.


I had no intention of causing harm to that dude. Of course, the road to perdition is paved with the stones of good intentions.

And I was laying brick every chance I could get.

Now, knowing that the inevitable would happen, I was bound and determined to pump that well for every last drop before it happened.

And then I would get the fuck out.

That was my plan all along, as you recall. Fuck Fuckno.

Jonah worked the bar and I got off. After I left work early, that is, and went to Essy’s. It was one of the days when I began work an hour after school got out, and so I did not have to close up the kitchen. The bars in Califuckyourgirlfriend close at 2 AM, so I had plenty of time to first fuck the barmaid, and then tell her I that had fucked her. Over.


I greeted Essy with a rack of Stella Artois that I had pimped. She smiled because she was thirsty.

We were on the couch, and she told her own tale in her own tongue. Amazing story, always good, no matter how many times she shared it with me. Some oral traditions should never be changed, but they may get better each time they are shared, with twists and turns tweaked for the enjoyer.

It was just after she finished with the happy ending, and before she would take me to the bedroom for more fun when there was a knock at the door.

Both of our eyes got wide.

She threw my coat at me and led me to the bathroom, and then yelled out, in a surprisingly nonplussed voice, “Be right there!”

In the bathroom, she opened the window for me and ran back to put the green bottles of beer in the kitchen. Someone began to pound on the front door.

I did not know why windows figured so often in my life back then, but they did. I may have a clue now, looking back, examining things. I’ll tell you in a moment.

You should know that when there is a fistfight, the one who has the most anger is the one who will win.

When you find out that you will be fighting, that is when your own hormones kick in. Adrenaline can be your friend, if you use it correctly. Too often, those who prepare to fight will circle each other, taunting and cursing, while this drug is coursing through their veins, expending energy for both fighting, and in the case of circling, repressing the fight response.

Not good. When adrenaline courses through your veins, you do not have much time to make proper use of it.

You have to make up your mind that you will be fighting, and then you must fight. You see, adrenaline will expend, and then you will soon be left weak and trembly. That’s how it works.

The window was too small. I could not get out.

When I found out this small but important fact was when Essy let Jonah into her apartment. He began to shout at her. That made me feel bad for her, but it also made me hide in her bathtub, quietly sliding the glass shower doors back to closed. Closed for business, not open, thanks for coming and have a good day.

You know that I had to play this here. Sorry about that.

“Who are you fucking at the restaurant?” Jonah was pissed. I could hear him stalk to her bedroom and fling open the door. I envisioned him putting his dukes up, which is a phrase once used in reference to The Duke, John Wayne. Now go get me my slippers and make me a strong cup of tea as I rub BenGay on my sore joints.

Essy pulled him out of the bedroom when he found no one, and she said, “What are you talking about?”

Jonah was having none of it. “I found out that someone is fucking you!”

Essy had a hard time trying to keep her fear in check. “It’s no one! I mean, there is no one!”

Jonah came into the bathroom, flicked on the light, and he kicked the shower doors into popcorn glass when he saw my dark shape through them.

“YOU?!”

He grabbed me and dragged me out. Yup, shit was real.

“YOU! FUCK YOU!”

He swung at me, connected with my jaw, and it stunned me.

When you are in “fight or flight” mode, adrenaline is also combined with endorphins, which are another useful hormone cocktail. You won’t feel pain until later, after you have tried to save yourself.

He pulled me back up into his garlic breath and shouted into my face, “You do not have the right to take this from me! Who the fuck do you think you are?! Fuck you!”

He was still wearing his work clothes, as was I. Two Fucky Chucky employees discussing a co-worker.

I did not have the right to take this from him.

Hah?

Did not have the right?

To take?

Well, someone had been taken from me.

Someone who would never be seen by anyone ever again.

Someone who mattered to me more than some chick who swallowed quite well.

Fuck Jonah. He could sleep with the whales for all I cared.

The adrenaline coursed through my veins.

You know, the one with the most anger will win in a fight.

I found that he had hit a nerve.

I did not have anger.

I had rage.


Oh no, son.

“FUCK YOU!” I roared. I pushed up and away, and he went backward, slipping on the popcorn glass on the bathroom floor. He hit the back of his head on the sink counter on the way down.

Who was this bastard who let his special one slip off with some young punk who washed dishes and bussed tables? How dare he? He had no idea about things taken from him. He was a fucking douche bag with a blonde pony tail, and he thought he had the right to school me about loss?

Fuck him.

I grabbed him by the pony tail like a cave man and dragged him out to the living room so we could have a good chat.

I do not remember much of what words were said then, nor about Essy trying to pull us apart, nor what I did next, because I had blind rage.

I let go of his blonde pony tail and waited for him to stand up.

And then I swung at the poor dude with all of the rage I had for the loss of Lorelei, and I did not let up. I punched him right below the ribs where the diaphragm is located, and he lost his breath. He doubled over, and I kneed him in the face. Then he went to go to the floor, but I didn’t let him. I wrenched him back up and swung at his face over and over again, left, right, while he gasped for breath in a panicked way.

Dude was fucked.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

I got home with bloody knuckles and popcorn glass in my hair, and a sore jaw from Jonah’s single hit.

I’ll take that cup of tea now, my friend. Sleepytime, which is where Jonah went.

I did not kick him when he went down. I am not an asshole.

Next weekend there will be the aftermath.




LINKS

For Essy. Nice jeans.



She may need goggles so nothing gets in her eyes. OK, these are pretty cool.



Or this car. Want. Press on it. Swallow.


Large pictures of funny shit.


Hidden McBain movie in The Simpsons, over many episodes. Funny or Die rocks, truly.

McBain: The Full Movie - watch more funny videos

Cool pics.




Plastic made from cow bones. Short, interesting read.



Speaking of making shit from other shit, how about pasting copyright material on a third party site? This does not bode well for youtube users who put music on their blogs. Dayam. 5 Years jail time. Oh noes!



Japan still needs help? Wha? They rock. So here’s another infographic. But it could help our truest allies.




Nice app for the new iPad. See through the clothing of others.








God Help You.

God Help Us All.


---willies out.





OK, one more for ya.



I think that windows figured quite a bit in my young life because they are portals for fresh air, for the outside, and for escape. I did a lot of escaping back then, until I faced my demons.

I hope that I offer you escape. Mental escape. Thanks for following me along this path of punk tales, my friend.
















.

105

This was written on 4/2/11.




I really should have closed my door. I really should have shut my mouth. Damn.



I have to confess, it was pretty hard. All the time. Sometimes, the fear of getting caught can make sex even better.

Until you get caught.

Then, not so good.

It had to be done. In the supply closet, yes, where the dry-goods of the restaurant were stored.


In our cars, where we did not have tinted windows, but there were places to park away from the parking lot lights overhead.

In her apartment, stealthy before her boyfriend would show up unannounced, but mostly predictable.

In my own place, before my mom and my sisters showed up, having gone shopping for more potato bags for clothing. We were dirt poor.


I kid you.

My ladies went to the movies now and then.


So where did it come down?


You’ll see. It was my own damn fault.


By the way, I’ve always used these story sectional lines because I am a math dude:

(Plus)

++++++++++++++++++++++++

(Minus)

----------------------------------------

(Equal)

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

It all adds up. This is not a zero-sum equation. It's all about redemption baby.





+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Joey wanted to set up a fund for the restoration of a once lovingly adorned home. He wanted to do this anonymously, so that Gilbert would not know. Joey didn’t want anymore man-crush from Gilbert, but Joey, as it turned out, did have a good heart.

He just didn’t want anyone to know.

Little Lion Man. Gobless him.


+++++++++++++++++++++


Katheena wanted to help too, but when you are the dotta of the owner of the best Thai food restaurant in a shit hole city such as Fuckno, people will know immediately.

So she had to think of another way to contribute. Gobless her.

-----------------------------------

Bryan was going off to jail, and he didn’t need to redeem himself. He was already taking a big fall for the rest of us. Gobless him.


-----------------------------------


Me? I didn’t give a fuck. Gilbert had fucked with Lorelei. Fuck him and his once-lovingly adorned home.

Even if it was bad karma for me. I was beginning to not care a fuck about anyone else. I wanted to get the fuck out of Fuckno. Fuck Fuckno.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

A fellow busboy bitched at me. His name was Jimmy, but he pronounced it “Himmy.”

Himmy had a question for me, as we stood by the Hobart dish washing machine, he on the right side with the giant overhead spray gun for the pre-rinse for the dirty dishes, me on the left side, to take out the fresh, sterilized dishes and silverware in the plastic wash trays, to stack them in the sterile room.

Essy and I did not have sex in that room. We weren’t animals. Well, at least not in there.

It was never so good as that time. Young, strong, healthy, fearless but with fear of getting caught, ten feet tall and invincible. I had met a girl who enjoyed swallowing and having her button hit all the time, anywhere, at the drop of a droplet, or a spray of twenty.

I think you can burn a lot of calories in suck a manner, and we did. I have never been so taut, or taught, as way back then. She was a great teacher about the mechanism of the woman. I explored every experiment she wanted to attempt, and for that I will always be grateful to her. Gobless Essy.

Yes, it was a good time, on a basic level.

Except for the damage Lorelei had caused to me inside. This would explode from me. There is only so much that one can hold in, you know. I think you know what I am talking about.

And that is the tale for another day, soon.

So there we were, Essy and me, caught in the act.

Next time. Tomorrow, if you like.


---------------------------------


Himmy asked me this: “Jefe, why do you disappear when you have tables to clean up? You make a lotta work for me and Heffery.”

I smirked as I slid up the door of the Hobart on my side and pulled out the hot, steaming rack. “Hah? What do you mean Jimmy?”

He pushed the freshly spray-blasted rack of dirty dishes into the Hobart and slid the door down and pressed the big red button. The machine did not start to wash. Himmy said, “Close your door man.”

I closed the door on my side and the machine started again.

Himmy shouted over the roar of the machine, “What are you doing? Where do you go?!”

I shouted back, “I’m fucking the barmaid!”

Yup, that was dumb.

Himmy grinned really big and he shot me with the giant spray gun. “Shut up man! She’s really hot! Hey, Heffery!”



I really should have closed my door. I really should have shut my mouth.




Oh.


Fuck.


Me.




LINKS


My friend TIMT suggested the following. Nice find, young man. Grab ahold of your chair. He said, “The frogs think the Tour de France is exciting. They are wrong.” I have to agree. You will too.



spunky14u found this site. As he says, “BronxZoosCobra Bronx Zoo's Cobra:
“Even while incarcerated my reach extends beyond my 20 inches. I have hijacked Ryan Seacrest's Twitter. See for yourself @RyanSeacrest”

Dude….



Shout out to my bud Florida Bobcat, who is a mean cat. He put this together for you. Dude even told me about Tommy Hewitt, a name you might recall.




Mighty smcasey made us consider this, and I quote, “So, read today about small amounts of radiation ending up in Massachusetts rainwater. Not toxic to humans, but that sure does suck.”


Proud Texan drofsnedt responds:

The following American companies have stockpiled radiation free food substitutes:
Jack Daniels
Jim Beam
JW Weller
Bookers (Jim Beam Distilleries)
Rebel Yell



Don't drink anything from the west coast for obvious reasons. If you must drink wines make sure they are from Texas. The Llano wineries' red wines have been taking business from Napa valley for a decade now anyway. Most of the good micro breweries are in Oregon and Washington but their shelf life isn't long enough to be rad free anyway; moot point.
Vodka drinkers? The two best vodkas sold in America are Dripping Springs and Titos. Both produced near Austin, TX so they are safe for now.



Thank you buds.


God Help You.

God Help Us All.


---willies out.




One more for ya.

From Dotta. Hellogoodbye. When we first met.














See you tomorrow my friend.







.

104

This was written on 3/27/11.




I sure did look forward to work. Mostly because of what happened after work. While at work, we flirted secretly, grabbing each other’s various body parts, and even making out in the supply closet for a few moments. But we had to be discreet. I was walking around with a permanent hard on, cleaning up tables. My apron hid it, and I held my bus tray low low low.

We got out late, she after cleaning up the bar and closing out her cash register, and me after doing up the last of the dishes. Working there meant that I could sleep in late instead of having to get up hours before school in order to clean up bodily fluids and parts from the shitty biker bar. Instead, we’d clean up each other’s bodily fluids.

I’d come home late with surplus food and be the hero, all freshly showered to boot.

The steam from the Hobart helped keep me free of zits from the grease while at work. But I was showering off at Essy's place before we began our nightly ritual.

After that, I'd drive home wearing The Juices of Essy. That would be a cool name for a punk rock band.

We'd shower together, then she’d start me off with some of that oral tradition, and then she'd lead me into her bedroom.

The first time this happened I was amazed. I could last for a really long time after she did that initial performance. The couch acted as a release charge previous to the bedroom.

She’d gargle on me, then gargle with mouthwash, brush her teeth, and join me in her room, in her bed. Condoms galore.

Something interesting I learned as a young man way back then was this: Women have g-spots, and they are in different locations in each vagina. You just have to find them. They’re pretty cool, you know.

Hers was up deep, to my left, towards the top. I think that I was the right length and girth for her, because she would begin to tremble her legs and moan in a giggly way. That was unnerving the first time it happened. She told me that no one had ever “hit her” that way before. She wanted me to do that again and again. It was her favorite. It became my favorite too.

It was a shame when that came to an end. That was my fault. Dumbass.

---------------------------------

Joey came up to me in the hallway between classes and he looked fraught. “Weeee-ill. Nolei is jetting off in a coupla days.” It was remarkable; I’d never seen this guy sad before.

“She really hit you, huh?”

Joey’s left eyebrow raised. “Hah? Uh, yeah, she got to me. Shit.”

I patted him on the back and sighed. “Well, I hope you showed her a good time here in the states.”

He frowned up at me. “She thinks she’s pregnant.”

Oh.

I finally saw Katheena, and she was with Ivan of course, but that wouldn’t be for long. You know, it wouldn’t last long anyway, even if he was her next door neighbor for the next twenty years.

“Hey Katheena, haven’t seen you for a while, everything cool with you?”

She nodded, but looked a bit glum, for obvious reasons. Ivan was going back to Germany on the same craft as Nolei and the rest of the exchanged students. “I think we’re just thinking about Lorelei.”

Ivan spoke up. “Yah. Zat iss ze shitzen. I vant to tank you vor your untershtanting.”

I did not understand what the fuck he was saying. So I just shook his outstretched hand. It was like shaking hands with a hockey glove. “No worries.”

He smiled big and then picked me up in a bear hug and swung me around, then put me gently back down, placed a licorice treat in my mouth, and sung “Edelweiss” to me in dulcet tones while he patted my head.

Yeah, right.

Katheena said, “Did you know that he dated Lorelei?”

I just smiled blankly and said nothing. Yeah, he dumped her for you just after he first saw you. Fucker.

But it was all water over the aircraft, no worries.

-------------------------------

Gilbert had barely any memory of that fateful night of the fall of Tellesco’s house. He was blitzed, he went looking for Bryan, and he ended up all fucked up.
But he was Joey’s best friend now, even if Joey didn’t want it. Joey had saved his ass, as you may recall. Even Felissa had a soft spot for Joey. Fuckers.

Because I was Joey’s bud, Gilbert would hand me notes now and then to give to Joey. Here’s what one of them read:

“Dood. Anything U need, U just say da word. Buds 4 ever.”

Another:

“U seem sad 2day. Anything Ur bud Gilly can do 2 help U out?”

And even:

“U look sharp 2day. Tubular threads. Stay Awe Some. –Gilly”


Wow. Man crush.

-----------------------------------


According to Sean, Tellesco’s parents were in a state of mental paralysis. All of their treasures were gone. Now, rich folks have the best kinds of insurance, and all kinds of it.

But simple money cannot replace things which cannot be replaced. The effort to locate them in the first place, as difficult albeit enjoyable as that may be, leads to heartbreak when one does not get a chance to savor them before they are gone.

All they shit was gone, baby, gone.

Tommy Hewitt was the human sacrifice.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Essy took me aside that night at work. “Will. I have something to tell you.”

Oh no. I’d discovered that nothing good follows those words.

She said, “I have a boyfriend. And now he works here. So we have to be cool.”

Hah?

What?

How did I not know this?

What did this mean?

Hah?


***********************




LINKS





How Hoot gets to work. Suit and tie on board.


Big ass gun for avalanche, in Russia.





Cool landscape pics for Entropy Happens.



More here, for Spunky 1 for U.



Why we humans cannot walk in a straight line. It’s why we get off track and become lost.






Inception Humor, for Laz.

For Florida Bobcat, new photoshop tutorials, for free. Because it’s calling for ya. Like, how to make a superhero movie poster. Pretty cool.


For TIMT who likes the IE9 and the FF4 both, here’s some tweaks for FF4...




Blackjack card counting explained.


Cantilevered cliff home. Wow.





God Help You.

God Help Us All.




---willies out.









One more for ya, Wye Oak sings her song “Civilian.”





OK, last one. Reuters news feed.










.