131 Matilda Part 1

“What’s her name?” Stacy touched the front hood with her painted nails.

“I dunno. What d’ya mean?”

She murmured something under her breath and slid the soft tips of her fingers along the gleaming paint, which was the color of desert dust.




Stacy looked back up into my face. “All young guys have a name for their cars. I know that you must have one for her. She’s cute.”

I smiled. “I call her Matilda.”


“That’s a cool name. It sounds old fashioned. Is it a family name? Your grandmother?”


“No, my grandmother’s name was Adelaide. I call my little rocket ship ‘Matilda’ because it’s a name from a scary story I read back when I was eight.”




“Adelaide is a pretty name. You should have used that. Why call this little car a name that reminds you of a scary story?”

“I dunno. Prolly trying to reclaim something.”




“What was the scary story about?”




“You sure you want to hear? It’s pretty weird.”


“You’re pretty weird. I’m kidding! Yes, I’d like to hear this scary story of yours.”



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



“Well, it was about these sisters, and one is really pretty, and one is jealous. The pretty one is about to get married, but she dies in a farming accident. At the funeral, the jealous sister knows that the pretty one is being buried in some shoes that everyone always admired. So she steals them shoes off her dead sister’s body when no one is looking. Then they bury her sister.


“It was a dark and stormy night, and the rain falls so hard that it causes the freshly shoveled dirt on the grave to wash away. The front door to their house is directly below the cemetery that sits on the top of a hill that is soggy now. The jealous sister can hear her dead, beautiful sister calling to her all through the storm.

“I want my shoes back.”

“It friggin creeps her out, big time. Matilda’s coffin washes down the mudslide and her jealous sister opens the door to see what is making all the ruckus, and the coffin smashes into the front steps. Matilda’s body crashes into her, killing her.”



“Dayam Will, that’s pretty creepy.”

“Yeah, shit gave me nightmares. But that’s not all. I was haunted by that ghost story. One day later, me and Ralphie, who lived down the hill from me, well, we’d been playing digger in my front yard, with the Tonka Toys, and we dug up a bone. From then on, I could not sleep at night. I kept thinking that it was Matilda, and she was coming for me next.”




“You need help.”

“Huh. Guess I do.”



“So you named your car Matilda because of that creepy story?”

“Yup. Trying to reclaim my fear of the dark. You name things in order to have control over them.”



“Reclaim it from who?”

“From the dark.”




“Did it work?”








Huh.

“You know, I met a devil once. He has a place he hides. He’s like Anarchy or someshit.”


“Will, you need to take a breath from all this. You need a mental escape. Let’s go watch a movie like you said at Manchester Cinemas.”



“Mental Escape. I like that. But East Cinemas has a flick I was hoping to show you.”



“You’re gonna take me to Enemas? Oh my gawd?”

“Easy now. It’s just a comedy. Son Of Frankenstein. It’s awesome.”



“Wait, I have a better idea. Let’s see what Matilda can do against my car.”

“What’s her name?”



“I just call her a bitch when she doesn’t start.”

“That’s funny.”



“It’ll be funny when you eat my dust.”

“Me and Matilda will make you cry when you are covered in dust.”




Game was ON.


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

“Dear Matilda, I found you smoking and drinking, and I tore you apart in my bedroom. I rebuilt you back up with my own bare hands. You were my rocket ship. Lorelei became my captain to the moon, but you were the rocket.

Then I broke your heart.

You went on saving me when I was in panic mode until your last breath, beside that police station in Clovis.”

What is it about a man and his bitch? Why do they have such an effect on us?


There are some things in your life that will make a great difference, in the grand scheme of things. Even if, perhaps, there is no grand scheme.



Perhaps we are essentially all alone here on this tiny blue marble in the eternity of space, to be connected once again in the aftermath by the strings to each other that we once forged when we were alive.



Yeah, we lost the race against Stacy and her own bitch. And we all lost each other in the desert dust.



A biker would see to that.



Next time.




Sorry about that my friend.





LINKS



Testing for Multiple Universes. By Scientists. Me likey.

Saturday cartoon for ya. Made by tiny people on a beach.

History of Internet Browser Usage. Are you really still using Windows Explorer? Dude?




Open your eyes.




Maybe you will see something else?

You could discover some interesting facts.





OK, sorry about that. I offer you a funny site with a man bouquet of bacon. Bacon will always be awesome.




I wish some of these Urban Legends were true. That’d be cool. Or not.




We could make us some money if we were smart enough to have done these things.




Just remember to compile our experiences in the most efficient manner possible.





Otherwise, you may FAIL.




God Help You.

God Help Us All.


---willies out.














OK, one more for ya. Old school, like from the 50’s. But new.



The Generationals. When They Fight.

.

130

I put the following tune into the intartubes 20 days ago for this part of the tale.

TDC WEAW ESCAPE

You can attempt to escape a bad situation, one wrought with personal danger, or from explosive doom for those in the immediate vicinity, or even from your situation, whatever that may hold for you.

But you can’t escape from yourself.

Mental vacations such as this here do not apply.


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


I needed to escape Fuckno with my little sisters, and my mom, if she would come along. We would bail on that huge desert city and head back to our Rez: our birthplace and our homeland.

There, everything would be made right. Our river, which is named after us, would cleanse the sins of the past.

As I amassed money for our travel and our relocation, I would partake of sin just one more time.

After that, everything would change. It would change in a big way.

It would all be good, wouldn’t it?


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


Stacy drove a white Celica made out of plastic on the bumpers, and her engine was meant for high RPMs. Some ladies are built for speed, and some are built for pleasure. Occasionally, they are built for both. Lucky for you if you happen to encounter one of these magnificent creations.

Or not.


Yes, I was a cheap bastard, sitting down to dine in our place of employment for a free meal as our first date.

One could compile a month’s worth of weekly free meals at Fucky Chucky’s to use in a single meal, but a month’s worth was the maximum. I had compiled only two week’s worth before our date, simply because I quite like the food there.

Everyone did.

But that was enough to show her an excellent time there. I would have to spend only a few bucks out of my pocket for the movie at East Cinemas afterwards, and then we would have dessert. It was a local joke to call that place Enemas, due to the steady run of Hollywood B-films that they always showed.

We didn’t even make it there. Here we go.


+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+======


“Those prime rib patties look lovely Stacy. No buns?”

“They are very tasty Will. I don’t have anything to do with the buns. Want a taste?”



They were indeed quite tender, yet a bit spongy. “Uh, why didn’t you get the buns too?”

“You should know, Will, that I stay away from them. I’m trying to keep my shape. Someday, someone should write a book about carbs.”



I got my engine blown that night, and perhaps it was due to my rocket ship’s carburetor, which had no governor. Stacey’s engine ran with them new-fangled fuel injectors, and she had a wider margin for error than I did, in driving fast and hard.


My own meal was comprised of Black Angus beef, simply because Kobi beef hadn’t been invented at that time. I would have ordered that if it had been possible.


The Japanese cattlemen feed those cows the best of organic hay and grass; they allow these beasts to grow up to slaughter-weight without any stress at all, and they hand massage the muscles of them beasts daily to ensure proper muscle growth.

Kobi should be tasted at least once in your life. I’d come hunt you down if you were to pour steak sauce upon your plate. Salt and pepper my friend: that is all you need for a good cut and a proper cooking method for any high quality beef. Butter and perhaps that horseradish stuff is allowable, but damn, dude, why the fuck do that?



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



She wiped her mouth with her cloth napkin after each bite. That always got to me, every time a lady did that. Some chicks just maw and juices everywhere and some scrape their teeth on the fork with their lips wide open so as to not ruin their lipstick.

Then there are those simply forgo worries about make-up during the meal and go for it, but they are not pigs. They wipe away facial juices and that is enough for the next taste, when they are in public.

At home? Put on the rubber apron and gloves, and have at it.

LINKS









Here are some good ways to enjoy your summer, before we start shoveling snow again.




Hopefully, the weather will be good.

Some opt for the tourist thing, others opt for the beach thing. It depends on your desires, having kids along, and the desire to do no work at all when you escape. Here’s the Californication thing.




Here’s a nice booty shot, for those of you men who pretend to be looking at the waves behind your shades on the beach. God help you.



Here are places that look different depending on the weather. WARNING: SNOW.





Now don’t anyone get sick before traveling. Being ill on a vacation would suck.





In another direction, willies’ style.



Jeffery Dahmer’s effect lives on. The kid who escaped him, naked and confused in the streets, has been homeless all these years, and then he… well, check it out.




Another winner, Kevin Chang, voted “most Likely To Kill Everyone.”





Now, you will see how the Internets will kill you. Or, at least, why you should practice private browsing. Or you should simply be a lamb for the slaughter?




Now, tomorrow, the excellent TDC forum member smcasey will be interviewing another subject, with her sharp wit and instinctive intuition. Chick is wicked smart. Don’t piss her off in the forums, matey.




God Help You.

God Help Us All.


---willies out.












OK, One more for ya. The safest place to view pron in the whole internets. Cranberry Zero’s I Heart Chaos version of NSFW.




Amen, CBZ






.

129

I slept and I dreamt.

In my dream, I awoke next to a girl who spooned me. That is the best thing in the world my friend. Soft arms and legs all over you, in free abandon, sheets twisted and strewn about, with a heat between you two that can never be felt again until the next time it happens.


If you are fortunate, it happens every day.

If you are lucky, then it has happened at least once to you.


In my dream, I got up quietly and gently without rousing her, and went into the kitchen to grind coffee beans and roast slices of bacon on a baking sheet in the oven, whipping up eggs to scramble them into foam.

I never wanted to wake up, ever again. But I wanted to see those green eyes, the color of the ocean at it’s deepest and most clear, just one more time.


“Lorelei.”


I woke up.




Damn.


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




At Fucky Chuckies, you were allowed a single free meal each week if you worked there. Now, I know that some of you who have worked at places like Dunkin Donuts or Friendlies probably got tired of the foods they sold there due to shrinkage.

In the Food Service Industry, this is the term used to described attrition, which means, “Stealing.” Hey, we are humans, we are hungry, the food smells so good, and shit happens.

It’s standard practice to acknowledge this. No, it is not a ticket to be a greedy pig, nor an excuse for embezzlement. It’s just that, well, shit happens.


Fucky Chuckies sought to circumvent this by offering a free meal to it’s employees once a week for two reasons, which are these:

1. It would stop folks from stealing food, and the free food was tracked, accounted for, and such a profit loss was safe for audits and then reports to stakeholders..
2. It built employee loyalty.


They did it right. Pretty damn smart, if you ask me.

Of course, they put a dollar limit on the meal, lest employees order twenty one-pound burgers for take-out.

Or a couple cakes.

That was fine by us. We just ordered the prime rib patties.


This was how I had a date with the counter girl with the huge boobies. Did I mention that I was a cheap bastard? Fuck it, I had better plans for my cash money savings. I was headed back East in a little bit.

“Hey Will, you sure know how to treat a lady to a nice place.”

“Well, at least we know what to expect.”


Stacy looked even better out of her work uniform. I mean, in her civvies. Out of her clothing would come a little bit later that night.


She said, “There are rumors about you, ya know.”

I said, “Don’t believe them.”



But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. I haven’t told you about Joey’s talk with me before this, once he cornered me.

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


JOEY TALK


Before that date with Stacy, Joey caught me outside my home, on my way to work.


“Weeeee-ill! You been avoiding me and Katheeee-na. I know, we kinda cornered you at her tea ceremony at her place. I apologize for that.”

“Joey, it don’t matter if it don’t matter.”



"Weeeee-ill. Don’t be like that. I know that I still got Nolei, someday, but we are here for you.”



I thought about that. He didn’t know that Nolei was pregnant with his offspring. Nolei had made me promise not to tell him until she did.

So, I was an asshole to him, to our friendship, to myself, for keeping such a secret.


You recall all this, don’t you? Please keep up. It gets even weirder.

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

“Yeah, Joey, that Minacca is kind of a bitch.”

“You mean Sean’s lady? Huh. How about that.”



“Yup. Kinda a know-it-all. Like she knows all about me.”

“Weeeee-ill. Sean don’t cotton to that shit. I know he likes them rich folks, but he don’t hang with dummies.”



“Fuck them both. Sean almost killed us.”

“Huh. That’s true. Dude’s fearless.”


"Joey, you don’t even know what that means. But you’re right. He is dangerous. He’s all into his own thing. No respect for anyone. I saw him puke up food and eat more again once his belly was empty.”



“For real?”

“Yup. For real.”



“I didn’t know about all that. But Katheeeee-na, she---“

“Fuck Katheena. I’m done with her.”



“Why you say that? We three have history dude! We----“

“Joey, she don’t have her shit together. She’s like a wild animal. She is so hot, but she doesn’t even know her own true worth. She’s dangerous, too.”



The Little Lion Man was silent. Imagine that. Joey didn’t have shit to say. I couldn’t believe it. I figure that he needed to process this new data and analyse it.


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


Stacy would have liked Joey. He would have loved her. They could have made a great pair. A really huge pair. The kind of pair that bulges out from over a skimpy black dress, low-cut and high water.

I would need a glass of water as well. Or a gallon or two. For my radiator.


Remember when I blew my engine and had to travel back to safety with an angry biker dude chasing me on his Harley?



After I fucked his chick in the rear seat of my rocket ship?


And then he came home and found us?


Fuck.



We will probably need to re-illustrate this.



That's cool.




Even if it wasn't.







LINKS




Jim Meskimen shows how you do impressions the right way. Shakespeare’s Richard III.





In the opposite direction, what happens if you show your true lack of talent?


Rebecca Black WITHOUT Autotune. Huh.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RTNquPzvbWY







How about those orgs like Amway, or ACN, or other Ponzi Schemes that draw in those who want to have a better life? How do they work?

Here’s how.





(Need more links. Don't use all the following tunes.)



Frank Turner. Peggy Snag The Blues. Better Days Will Come?




Edward and the Magnetic Zero. 40 Day Dream.





Andrew Bird. Imitosis.




Bond. Sahara. Silky Instrumental.




In-Grid. Tu Es Foutu. Smooth, jumpy.





Gotan Project. Differente. Silky tango.









.

128 Mansion Blues: PIG

.

Mansion Blues: Pig

The following will be gross. Go down to the "+++++++" below to pass by this part if you have a queasy stomach. No harsh on you my friend.








When you have been away from eating copious amounts of fat laden foods, perhaps in a vision quest, or maybe from a hostibal stay, your insides will revolt against such intrusion.

You need to take it easy, and not be a pig.


Your guts do not like sudden changes, ever. Surgery, fasting, diet changes and such are to be done incrementally, and not all at once.


You will pay.


Big time.


Sean lied on the floor with his pants around his ankles, from pooping, and then spinning around to vomit into the toilet.


When such an occurrence occurs, your bowels will release from both ends.

Yes, there was a line of shit spray on one side of the toilet and vomit on the other.



Indeed, food particles of a size and shape that indicated gulped bites without much chewing were in array on both sides, dripping down the lovely Italian mosaic fresco, which means “Masonic artistry.”


Sean had exploded from both ends, and it looked to be the same coloration and textures. His body had revolted from the sudden onslaught on heavy, rich food, in large amounts, and simply pushed it all out.


The red salsa made it look like a murder scene.




I saw actual whole slices of jalapenos stuck to the walls on both sides of the stall area.



Sean needed an ambulance, in case he had hurt himself on the inside. But as Minacca and I went to his side, slipping in the mess, he said, “I beed to blow a burbig chuck outta by bose.”


He blew a snot rocket, and yes indeed, a slice of jalapeno hit the waste basket.


That must have burned like a muthafucka.


His eyes were red, his nose was dripping red salsa, and he climbed over and got into the bathtub. He was wallowed in his own filth, along with all the food he had eaten and wasted.


Pig.


Minacca was losing it. “Sean! We need to get you to the hospital!”


Sean looked up at her and said, “Just ribse me off. I’b cool. Eberytig’s fibe.”


She looked at me, and I shrugged. “He looks perfectly fine to me.”


Her eyes said, “Fuck You.”




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






Minacca got a Neti Pot ready and brought it to him. She showed him how to rinse out his nose. Why is it that rich people know about such worldly shit? It’s stuff the rest of us only find out by accident.


To her credit, Minacca did not ask the staff to clean up Sean’s mess. She did it herself. Dayam girl, I think you loved that man.


Check this shit out, here:


Minacca used her phone to call down to the servants' quarters to tell them that she was entertaining guests, and not to worry.


It was like living in a fucking hotel. Except, the maintenance room on the third floor did not have a lock on the door. She came back from it with a mop, bucket, cleaning accoutrement, and rubber gloves.


She cleaned her own bathroom, God Help Her.


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




Sean’s eyes were bloodshot, and his nose glowed fire engine red, complete with water dripping out of it. He stuffed cotton balls up into his nostrils. He wore her father’s plaid golf shorts that went below his knees and some old Birkenstock sandals from the hippie days, found on the bottom row at the rear of the shoes section in her father’s closet.



Minacca followed him down the rear stairwell and I followed suit. The stairwell opened to a hallway that led to several servants’ quarters on one end, and a large galley on the other. It looked like a kitchen built for a restaurant, probably due to the popular dinner parties that Minacca’s folks always held.


None of the rest of we mere poor folks ever new about such wondrous delicacies that were cooked and tasted in the offskirts of Fuckno as those rich bastards enjoyed.



Here is when Sean began a dance with a demon that would haunt him to the day he died. His belly was empty, and he was hungry, all over again.


Imagine that; enjoying food and then puking it back up in order to enjoy more. He would do this at my house, he would do it everywhere, once he got into smokaang. He would also learn that he could maintain his trim weight, even after he got physically huge from weight lifting, and then began to dump steroids into his body.



This would not end well for him. Binge and Purge is a devastating syndrome that knows no difference between gender in welcoming its newcomers into its deathly grip.


Damn.

Sean carried loads of food out of the walk-in fridge. Minacca sat across from me at the breakfast table in the familial section of the kitchen, which opened up to a communal entertainment area beyond. She was frowning at me.


I sipped my RC Cola and looked around at all the shit everywhere that spoke of money. I felt her eyes piercing my face, drilling into my skull. Fuck it. “What you got to say, Minacca?”


I turned back to her and her mouth opened. But she was quiet. She didn’t know what to say, I figured. I was wrong. She had plenty to say. She just didn’t know where to begin.


Yeah, Minacca was smart. But she wasn’t going to save the world with a few well chosen words, or even a stomach full of them. She wasn’t going to fix what she saw as broken, because nothing was indeed broken. It was more like a slow descent into chaos, a sort of entropy that was happening.



“Will. I wish I knew you before you lost your way.”



I thought about that. She and I had met just after Lorelei and I parted ways. She was there that night when we had gone figgin, when we had crashed. She was there when Sean’s mom verbally attacked me and called my mom names. And she was there when I learned about what had happened to Lorelei. It kinda seemed like Minacca was a harbinger of doom or someshit. Omen lady. Crow.



“Minacca, you have brought me nothing but misery.”



Well, that was sorta mean. She had been there all those awful times, but so had I. So had Sean. We three were an odd recipe, really.



Minacca’s kind intentions and any good will towards me that might have been left over, well, it then dissipated. No anger in her eyes. Only impassive disgust.


She stood up, and so did I. She did not reach out to slap my face in sudden, reactive anger, nor did she say anything. She didn’t have to.



Sean was in the walk-in. I followed Minacca through the entertainment area and down a long, walnut-paneled hallway with several closed doors in the high walls, past a larger hall, like a sort of ballroom from what I could see through high double doors.


I had no desire to check out her curvy hips and buttocks anymore, but I did anyway.



We entered into the foyer that could fit my duplex inside. She stopped at the end of the curved, gilded rail of the grand staircase and watched me as I kept walking, over the marble tiles toward the immense entry doors.


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



In my car, I flipped off her grotesque mansion, and said, “Fuck bitches.” I wouldn’t be back there ever again.

Fuck that place.


I didn’t even squeal my tires. Save my rubber for traveling back east. Leave this high desert shit hole behind, with it’s rich bastards who lived on the off-skirts of the city but did not engage with it.


They were fucking Pigs.



A Pig is greedy. A Pig will grab all the food and eat it, waste it, and then go back for more. A person who has power, or money, or political influence, or a combination of these tools, who will take it all for themselves and then say Fuck You to the rest of us is a Pig.





Fuck the Pig.







I would leave the smell of fertilizer, say goodbye to all the gawd-damned dust and the fucking rattlesnakes, scorpions, and vultures.


No more scary punk assholes, no more broken-hearted memories of what might have been but could never again be.



I’d be just fine. Of course I would.






LINKS



From my son Gabriel.

Haunted dolls. Yup, we just got done watching Insidious, which is exactly how you write a solid horror movie, and he said he was going into his apartment and saw this on the stairs to the attic.



Very funny, son.




Google+++ Circles you might need.



The Three Little Pigs, as read by Christopher Walken.





Zombo, the game. Kill zombies.


Funny cartoon for your Saturday. Something Of That Ilk. Explore.





Girls making faces. So he says. I think he likes their tongues.



Stay young, if you like. Here’s a Watchumentary, so to speak.





Dioramas. Remember when you were told to make some tiny scene shit as a kid? This dude just kept going. If I was a creepy old man, I’d place an emoticon like this:

:/

But I’m not THAT creepy.



If I was to choose someone to play my role in life onscreen, I’d choose someone more attractive.





Antidote:


Bipolar Billy.

Same three cartoon blocks, but different dialogue each time. Damn, dude, you might have painted yourself into a corner?




Cool Pics.






God Help You.


God Help Us All.






---willies out.





OK, One More For Ya.







Gamarjobats.



















.

127

“I found myself alone above a raging sea that stole the only girl I loved and drowned her deep inside of me.”


---Robert Smith

I’ve been telling this tale in reverse, and it’s coming full circle, to a point from where we will head off to the continuation of the ZID series.

Sean ambled up to the front doors of the mansion, and I closed his door. The door of my rocket ship.

As he went along, I went to help Minacca out of her excellent ride.


She smiled and took my hand as she rose up and out. She was a tall lady with wavy dark-red hair and long, tanned legs in a short skirt. And she was my buddy’s woman.


The front doors of the mansion were made out of the same material as the driveway gates that had opened to let Minacca in, along with we weary travelers; a carved sort of dark brown wood, like walnut or someshit. There was no butler, but the front alcove was as big as my own apartment. Can you imagine that? Someone’s front entrance being as large as the place in which you dwell?


Of course, Minacca was embarrassed because she knew that none of this was due to her. She was born into money.

Money of such a size is achieved in order to flaunt it. Yet, such a pursuit of money often indicates a certain hollowness.

Money is a tool, a lovely tool, but not an end unto itself. Life’s pleasures may derail some along the way, but for those with whom acquisition of money becomes an addiction, there is little pleasure in life, and no final place to set back and say, “There. I’ve done it. Now for some fun.”


That fun is usually left to the offspring who did not work to get it.

Except for Minacca. She would not crash and burn in a glorious fire. Neither would she dwindle away her heir’s allotment in a drugged out, drunken spiral that ended in a diminished, forgotten Westwood alleyway.

She would prove herself, and she would find her own mettle. She was one smart chick.


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


Sean needed a bathroom. Minacca made the mistake of allowing him the privacy of her own, on the further end of her bedroom, beyond the walk-in closet. This would end badly. It was also the birth of something else. You will see. You will see how Sean became introduced to yet another curse, one that would follow him to the end of his days.


Minacca sat down in one of the wing chairs facing the fireplace, to the right of where I sat. “Will.”


I looked at her dainty ankles, and my eyes ran up her long shins, with her shapely calves, stopping to savor the tiny patellas of her tanned knees, and then across her lap to her taut belly, and stopped again to explore the smallish points up high, under her low cut summer dress.

I looked up her silky neck and across her delicious-looking lips, slightly pouty, and at her cute little nose, and then into her angry eyes.


Minacca was slowly shaking her head.

Oh.

Fuck.



Me.







(Please).





Minacca’s eyes said it all. But she was kind enough to translate for me.

“Will. Left to it’s own mentality, the penis will always fuck up your shit. You should be mindful of this fact.”



I gulped. “Uh, well, I was chust not thinking. Ya know.”


Minacca smiled. “Just watching out for you, as you have been watching out for me.”




Now I felt hot in the cheeks, the upper pair. “I apologize.”


Minacca stood up, and I did not check her out at all. “Then you are also watching out for Sean. Did you forget about him?”


This was starting to harsh my high, so to speak.


“You know what Minacca? Sean fucked us up. He was driving, and he was the only one wearing a seatbelt. He let the rest of us fly. And he also knows about Tellesco’s dad molesting him when he was a boy. That is some fucked up shit right there.”


Damn, talk about fucking up shit.

Minacca swung around and glared at me. “How dare you talk so flippantly about such a sensitive, horrible subject! What happened to Tellesco should not be a concern of yours. You throwing it out just because your feelings got hurt? Little Boy.”


“Go to Hell Minacca. It serves Sean right, that he was the one who got most hurt. It was his own damn fault for driving so crazy. He coulda killed us! Hopefully he learned his lesson. He should be in the ground now.”




Minacca came over and slapped my face. It stung and brought a tear to the eye above the welt, and she opened her mouth to tell me to get the fuck out of her home. I rose up to leave, and that was when we heard Sean in the bathroom.

It was the sound of retching. Minacca’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped.



I said, “Hehehe. Those jalapenos are gonna be a real treat coming back up. I hope none of it comes out his nose, that would really sting---“

Minacca interrupted me. “Will! He’s not to get ill! He is still healing on the inside!”



She ran to the bathroom door and used her fingernail to turn the lock back to open. I was right behind her, and we saw Sean on the floor, doubled up in pain.

It looked like a pig had been slaughtered and gutted all over the toilet.






LINKS



“While most Transportation Security Administration employees are busy groping people or taking naked pictures of them, the cops say one of those employees was putting fliers' electronics down his pants.” From Florida. Yup. Florida.



In more serious news, a banana attacked a gorilla in Cleveland.




Daddy and Mommy went “Uh Uh Uh.” Huh.

Antidote for that: Over Acting Bullets make dying look cool.

Here are 50 of the most sexual business names evah. Yes, there’s a place called the “Pink Taco.”





Time to get up, stretch a bit. Air out the swamp ass? What the hell is that?

Here are 6 Ways Google can take down, I mean, improve upon Facebook.




I may be an old punk writing horror stories now, but when I get to be just an old man, I’ll collect these sorts of things for my knick knack shelf. Now go make me a pot of tea ya young bastuhd.



Funny pages for you on a Saturday, check out the archive…




But here’s a page from the site about the bullshit proffered by Deepak Chopra. Pretty apt.




Antidote: 10 good, free things for Windows users. You TDC technerds probably already use most of these, huh. 7-Zip is news to me…


Thank you for partaking. Have a nice weekend. I'm in Bah Habah for Lobstah with buttah.




God Help You.

God Help Us All.


---willies out.









OK, one more for ya.


Sophie likes helium.

.

126...Minacca Ride

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Let's go for a ride, shall we?

Get your shit ready baby.

Drink, puff, whatever you want.

Sean made his way down the red-tiled steps on the exit side of the brass hand rail that ran up the middle of them outside in fresh air, smiling in the warmth of a late winter day’s fading sunlight.


Those who walked up these stairs on the other side noticed his smile and their pace quickened to get inside. They wanted to get their smile on like he wore.


Minacca held the door open for him to slink into the front seat, then she closed his door and went around to climb in back over the driver’s seat, in her short skirt.



I pushed the seat back and slid into the front seat, and then we jetted back to the hostibal. Minacca needed to get her car.


She pointed it out in the parking lot by the admissions entrance. “There she is,” Minacca said in a quiet apology.


Back then, one did not often hear females calling their rides “she.” It was usually “it.”



Nowadays, there are as many female gear-heads as there are male. We have all come a long way, baby.


We were stopped near a puke-green rust bucket that frowned sadly at us with a busted grill. I felt bad for Minacca and her fucked up shit. Poor thing.



I helped Minacca crawl out from the rear recess of my car, she in her low-cut top. She clicked her key fob and the lights of a restored and updated ’68 Karmann Ghia convertible flashed, and the sentry system squawked loud and brief in hello.





























Hah?


It was white, in a pearly sort of refractive paint.

The white changed colors depending on your angle to it.






The rag top proceeded to roll down by itself. The engine purred awake.



Hah?


Minacca’s face flushed a bit, and she said, “Where do we go next?”


Sean, that fucker, he was smiling his biggest smile, watching my face. He turned back to his lady and said, “We going to your place, babe. I’m riding with my boy here.”



Minacca’s shoulders slumped. No, not in the manner that tall chicks often do in order to not stick out so much, but because of a sort of resignation. She was resigned to showing me her home. Probably she lived in a slum, and had spent all her hard earned money on her ride.



Yeah, that was it.



My Celica kept up with her quite easily in traffic, except that I noticed how she could change lanes and zoom around cars with tight suspension. Zip, Click, Bam.


Being a fully-poor half-Injun, I only dreamed of someday outfitting my own car with such excellent response. Perhaps I would. It looked like her car was fun to drive, more fun than my own.



Yeah, I was digging her ride, and I wasn’t even driving it. It was like looking through the key hole. Vicarious: Voyeur.

So we headed to the west side where old money lived. It seemed that old money was on the off skirts of Fuckno, from Sunnyside on the south east where Little Lion Man Joey would soon be moving, and also up in Clovis, beyond the top East side of Fuckno.


And where we were heading, up on the north western side where Tellesco’s stately ranch had once stood.



She probably lived in a shack out on the edge of a farm or something, and her folks were the servants and gardeners to a rich family.



Of course. That was how Sean operated. He liked to associate with poor folks, as he and his own fambly was.


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


Elm trees lined the tar driveway on both sides, and as we drove up the long lane, a small building in the distance grew larger. Windows twinkled in the light of streetlamps, and the building began to spread its wings.


The windows twinkled up higher and higher, until there were three levels of them, and then the front fountain came into view.



Beyond that, the front doors loomed high under the columns.



We circled around the huge fountain on the right side of it, and stopped in front of the mansion.




Yeah, Minacca probably lived in the cellar of the ---



----ok, shut the fuck up.





Minacca was a rich bitch.



Really rich.



Huh.







LINKS




For Minacca. That chick from three decades ago who knew how to improve a vehicle.




She was pretty cool, because she was smart.




Even if being rich can suck sometimes…




But, there's this:


Do you have game? Can you play, in the money arena thing?








We need to hold on to our own shit. We need to protect our little piece of the planet, true? Check out your tiny piece of our planet, the only one in existence anywhere in the whole creation of our Lord Jeebus?



Because, well, you know, there is only one planet like ours in our solar system, in our galaxy, of which there is only one, which we call the Milky Way, which is also a delicious candy bar. Our Lord created only one galaxy, right?








Back here on our home planet, we continuously look for ways to explore each others’ bodies, especially when we are not supposed to do such a thing.






And it comes down to our own little planets. Will Google overtake Facebook? How?




Just try to fuck up our little planet, would ya? If you do, don’t leave the lights on after we close the door.







God Help You.

God Help Us All.



---willies out.













OK, one more for ya. Banksy. Ya know.








I’m off to a weekend of debauchery at a pig roast. See you next time, my friend.

















A TDC Forum Member once shut down a board. He shut down Ze Frank’s board by being a troll. Now who, exactly has that luminous skill?

Before we go there, here’s a video that Ze Frank posted of a talk he gave on TED. If you don’t know TED, then you should know that it is comprised of the brightest and best of thinkers in the world.



And here’s the thread where our TDC member killed a forum.


















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