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.
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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.
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“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.
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“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.
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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?
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