157 Baptism Aftermath

Thank you YES, for setting a fire under my chair and getting me to maintain this back-up blog for the willies tales. I owe you a brewskie.


Number 10 would be a good place to start.



You can click on any number on the right to read that post. No need to download the whole month's load.

I like Blogger's “newest post" button at the bottom, to help along the way, anyway.



Katheena heard the sirens wailing across the desertscape, and she looked up at the pink moon. It looked like it was drowning in rain clouds. It gasped for help.

She looked over to where Stacy lied on the grass by the landscaper structure, and the busted up Celica sitting nearby.

She wanted to wait for us to come.

She really did.


However, she was quite aware that if she waited too long, it would serve no one well. She might end up serving time.


Can you blame her?


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

Sean slid down the fuel tank and disappeared around the side. I looked at Tellesco and Joey, and they shrugged at me.


We jumped down and followed him. The side door to the garage was open. A light flicked on inside. Beyond the open doorway, twenty lovely cars of various makes and models gleamed like they had been washed and waxed everyday for ten months without ever having left the garage. These were the sorts of vehicles that collectors regard as pieces of art. Masterpieces.


Hoses covered each tail pipe. Evidently, these cars might not see the light of day all that often, but someone ignited them frequently and let them warm up. The hoses must have been hooked up to a vacuum pump to collect their noxious fumes and eject them to the outside. Each car held a key in its ignition.

Sean started them all up.

He went over to the wall and pulled down on the giant power switch near the oil storage. The vacuum fan roared to life.


Then he came back and flicked the light off. He pressed a button near the light switch, and the middle bay door crept up and open.

He came out and smiled at us.

What the fuck was he doing?


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




The Kinks. I Gotta Move.





Katheena stood there, and she watched the cars exit the driveway. She crossed her arms over her pert breasts and pressed her fingers to the side of her face. She gently chewed the inside of her cheek.

The sirens grew louder, closer, more threatening.

She paced.

Then she heard a loud crashing noise and saw water come bursting out from up high.


What the Fuck?



She looked again at Stacy, who was bleeding from her nose and beginning to moan.


Water flooded the driveway and ran over Stacy's legs on the rise to the structure.


Katheena ran over to her car Orion and she opened the door and jumped in. She had tears in her eyes.


Fear, and fear.


She had to get away.


Here, this is Mettle. You make a decision to do something that may make others regard you with disdain, anger, or even hatred for your betrayal of them. But you do it because it is actually correct to do it.


Mettle can be a bitch, baby.



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


Sean put his arms around me and Joey’s shoulders. He looked us right in the eyes, back and forth. “You guys wanna take a ride?” He smirked, and then he laughed. “Might as well save a few of them.”


Hah?


From the light of the pink moon, he flicked another switch. A pump came on. He went to a hose with its nozzle chambered in a holster, and he pulled it up and out. “You guys, get in those cars over there, the ones in the middle line. NOW!”

We jumped, and we followed his orders.


He pulled the trigger and set the trigger hold to remain open. Gasoline poured out onto the floor. He slowly walked over towards the rear of the garage, and there he gently laid it down. The hose followed him from overhead, on a suspended swizzle. Each car could be fueled where it sat. Then he got in the car at the head of the middle line. With five aisles of cars to choose from, he had chosen the middle one. Like a middle finger.

Out of twenty cars, we saved four. He drove the first one out, and we followed him.



He stopped, ran back, and then the middle garage bay door began to close.


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

As we drove forward, folks were clearing rugs and chairs and shit from the tops of their automobiles, and we passed them. I looked to the side structure on the other end, and saw the rear end of a white Celica sitting there.


Stacy’s car was near Orion? Hah? As we got closer, I saw that Orion was no longer there.

Then I saw how fucked up the white Celica was.


I laughed. Holy shit. Katheena was a badass.


Folks turned around and saw the glow of light coming from the garage bay windows. Sean had lit up a rag and tossed it by the side door. The vacuum pulled the exhaust from the cars to the outside, and the cars pulled fresh air in with their hungry carburetors and injection systems. Air that came from the open side door.

The fumes from the large puddle of gasoline under them all also got pulled away from the burning cloth.


Until the puddle reached the burning rag, that is.



How did Sean know to do this?

Evidently, he was pretty smart. He was also kinda evil with his use of his intelligence.


Damn.


I should not have been party to such ugliness. I began to disdain Sean. He used leadership, but in the wrong way. He abused it. He abused my trust.


Or did he? What had happened in the top floors? Would you care to see, in the continuation?


Perhaps you will, in the next chapter.

But, let’s continue here, shall we?




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







The garage exploded.

Glass and wood flew out at the cars getting cleaned off and covered them anew. Folks got splinters and cuts. Some were hit by flying boards.


Those vehicles blazed inside there, and tires caught fire. All of their engines kept running, until the belts and wires melted from the intense heat.


And that was when their gas tanks boiled their contents into steam, and the other explosions began.


By this time, we had reached Garland Avenue, and Sean took us to the desert up north, in the opposite direction of the approaching emergency vehicles. You see, when your home is not indicated on any map, it is hard for folks to find you.

Even folks who may coming to your rescue.


It was at this moment when the rain came down. Perhaps the shock wave from all the explosions busted the pregnant bellies of them rain clouds.


The thing was, such a downpour did little to hamper or dampen the fiery hellhole of the parking garage.


Yet we had saved four.


Yeah, that made it all better.


Such a waste.


Damn.



God Help You.


God Help Us All.




---willies out.







OK, One More For Ya.



On my way down to a meeting with fellow air quality scientists at RTP, there was this bartender who works at a certain Legal Sea Foods sort of place in the Philadelphia hub of USAIR. His name is Scott Fields, and here is his video capture of a very funny guy, Reggie Watts, using a sampler live and onstage.

I wouldn't ever give away too many identifiable statistics in an online post without someone's permission. He signed the napkin. God Help You, good buddy!






Radiohead is awesome, and so is this video. "Sorry Thom Yorke."






Thanks Scott. Keep my Fat Tire brewskies cold, young bud.


Shout out to Sir Randy Ashley. I have never laughed so hard at a fucked up phone message.


Evar.




hehehehehe







.

153 THE GLINTY, AND THE METTLE OF KATHEENA

(Thank you Yes …Let’s work together.)





My friends were half red. They had been sprayed on one side by the fire alarm marker paint as they ran after me out of Minacca’s mansion in escape mode. The cloud of spray did not get into their eyes, thank goodness.



We were in dire need of goodness. Not much was to be found there in that mansion that night, you know.



Please press play as you read along. Let’s head back to the off-skirts of Fuckno in the mid eighties of the last century, and let’s go get Sean. Cool with you?



Get your head set.



Absynthe Minded. My Heroics. Dotta says that this is to be put here. Thank you Jaz for this bluesy funk.




You good? Let's go baby.




Of course, as the comedown crept over us and made our heads look for a pillow, those two looked to me for leadership. Such a poor form of leadership. Never do such a thing. Only darkness follows.







Yup, I used my ID card and told Katheena to hold it level. She had too much of the tremble to hold it steady.


Joey saw that and took the ID card from her, and he held it up like cement, like desert hard pan.


I opened the paper envelope and used the straw to dig in and then make three piles.



I held the straw for each of them, and then for myself.



Snuck, snuck, snuck. It was Fucked instant energy, from the eighties.



The straw was red from my finger tips. Perhaps it was from being sprayed by the fire alarm as I pulled it down?



No. Sorry about that.




I had made my fingers bleed by scratching up onto the tarred tiles of the roof where we sat now, with the golden light from the windows of the lovely mansion shining down, with its flashing emergency lights.



My two friends became my blood brother and sister, inhaling my blood on the straw. Gross, I know.



Blood relatives, in the worst ceremony ever; I never intended such a thing.


The worst way, because of the white, evil desert dust we three pink bastards inhaled on the roof of the rich pigs. Red and white, never the twain shall meet.



Fuck.



What is important here is the consideration of what it meant for a person to travel from a river culture tribe that has existed for ten thousand years in our own river valley, (named after us, as well as the ocean bay into which it runs, also named after us), and then I'd been deposited like river silt into a desert arroyo, in the Sans Joking River Valley.


Except, one thing.



The ocean is our savior. All rivers lead to it. The ocean washes away the sins of the past, the now, and the future.



Even if you end at the bottom of the ocean, never to be seen again, would you be seen again?



We three punks did not know that we were now related, but it mattered, and you will see, as we go along.




+++++++++++++++++++++++++=




It was not raining down in the desert right then, not yet. The blur of watercolor folks below indicated what was about to happen.



Shit was about to get drenched, inside and out, like a tidal wave that would cover the whole earth, there in that Sans Joking River Valley.



Here we go, my friend.



We were young, we were full of fucked up energy that would not last another twenty minutes, and we jumped off the low, sloping, rear edge of the garage into the long, soft hay growing off to the right of the fuel tanks, and we rolled.



Nope, wouldn’t try that these days. Now go get me my walker and make me a nice pot of tea spiked with absinthe.



We dusted off and looked at each other under the light of the fraught-faced moon high above.



She was pissed. We were as well.



“Katheena, you good?”


“Yes, I am good.”





“You good Joey?”


“Nope. I’m bad. I’m fucking evil.”



I laughed. “Let’s go.”






Around the corner of the garage, I swear to gawd I saw the lovely front hood of Stacy, the bitch with the biker boyfriend. She was headed to her white Celica.


Hah?



I turned around to mention this to my two buds, but they grabbed my leather with scared faces. Katheena shushed what I was about to say.


She said, “Look!”



Amid the blur of watercolor folks streaming about, a dark figure slowly walked back to the servant entrance and disappeared inside.



Huh?


What the ---?





THE GLINTY












Katheena said, “What the fuck is up with that creepy guy?”



Joey said, “Time to bail. Not my problem.”




I looked back at them and pulled them close, and I glared into their eyes. My jaw was clenching from the desert dust. “No. We have to get Sean. I think he’s still up inside that mansion, up high. We need to go look for him. Fuck that old dude.”



I felt their arms tense up under their leather.



It was too easy to escape, chust run off, fuck it all, have a nice bath with candles and read the latest edition of Vogue or someshit.


Uh, nope.


You never leave a friend behind.





Even if Sean had done this to us.





He had been disappeared from us for a while, but in such a situation, he would never bail on us.



Even if he and Katheena had never met.




Next weekend, we will see the aftermath.
















Just kidding. Come on, you know me by now.












Joey said, “Awwwww. Fuck. I knew you’d say that.”


Katheena shrugged. “OK. You are calling the shots, Will. Let’s go get him.”





Way off in the distance, we heard sirens. They sing their mournful song to lure men on the ocean to bring them to the shoals, to crash in their ships.


Katheena’s eyes grew wide. “Wait, Will! It’s raining inside! We will be drenched!”


Joey smiled. “Gonna ruin your pretty makeup?”



Katheena punched Joey in the arm. “No, you fucker! That shit Will has in his pocket will be soaked. We will need the last bit of it if I am going to drive us out of this hellhole!”



I looked down at her beautiful eyes. “You want to carry it and wait in your car for us?”



Now this was a crux, a sort of turning point, a testament.



This was where the Mettle of Katheena would be tested.



You see, neither me nor Joey would ever doubt the loyalty of Katheena again. But, as you well know by now, I had been fucked over by her in the Lorelei chapters.



What would you have done?


I nodded. “OK, Katheena. But you need to go around behind this place to get to your car way over there, on the other end. Too many people saw you. You kind of stick out.”



She giggled, and it was the sound of, well, you know by now. “We all do. Joey and I are all painted in red! Just hurry the fuck up.”



Joey looked at me, and I nodded. All would be good.


Of course it would.












She snuck off and we waited for an opening in the crowd. Of course, we watched her creep off, all bent over in her short black dress.




In the clear air of the dry desert night, which would soon be raining down with angry daggers, we found an opening in the blur when the last of the rich pigs emptied out of the huge mansion.



Over in the parking lot, headlights glared at assholes in front of them who lost their sense of reason and direction, and there were folks in purple robes and white aprons searching throughout, for we punk bastards. Limousines lined the exodus, amidst stupid people frittering about like ants.




Joey and I crept over to the rear entrance and went in. Yes, it was raining down. I think that this place had a huge water tank up top, put in place for such a thing as a fire. It was doing its job quite well, down here on the first floor, even if there was indeed no fire.


A dark shape in middle of the empty hallway slipped off to the right.



Huh?


I hesitated, only for a moment, but it felt like forever.


No.



I would not falter, in the face of my fear. My skin crawled, and it was not from the cold water raining down on us.


I shivered from the inside out.



Joey followed me through the mist down the hallway. Piercing alarms rang in our ears, which had the effect of disorientation upon our navigation. Water got into my eyes, and I had to keep rubbing them to get a clear view. It was hard to breathe in this air. It felt like a wet rag over my face and nose, like I could drown. Someday, people would call it waterboarding. How fucked up is that?



He stopped. “Weeeeee-ill! We go up these stairs! Where you going?”



I went on ahead to where the dark figure had passed in the blur of this mist of suffocating spray. He ran after me and yanked at my leather, pulling me back. I turned to him and wiped my face. “I got an idea!”



Joey wiped his own eyes and pointed back at the up-stairs. I shook my head, and swung around on my heel.



I got to where the dark figure had disappeared, and found a panel in the wall that was slightly open. Light streamed through its crack, so I pulled it all the way open.



Joey, gobless him, he was still right at my side.



We went in and up.


The rain was gone.



“Joseph, pull that door closed. We hidden now. I don’t think those cook staff know about this shit. Don't ask me why.”


“What about those weird fucks in the robes?”



I looked down at him. “I have no idea.”



We headed up.




This stairwell was cramped and suffocating, but at least there was no rain. There were a few cobwebs, but the floors were not dusty. They looked like they were swept with a broom now and then.

The overhead light bulbs here and there were the filament style, with no frosting inside their glass. Very old.



Something thing tugged at my leather, in my head. I stopped, looked down, and Joey fan into me.



“OOF! …Weeee-ill! Don’t make me smack into your ass with my face! What the fuck?”




“Sorry, Joseph. Wait.”




The steps were dry.




Dry as desert dust.




There were no wet footprints from a dark shape heading up them from the rainy hallway below.




What the fuck?



What the fuck was I getting us into?




What the fuck was going on?






(I hate to do this to you...)




See you next time.




Here are your links.



Beautiful cloud pics for your Saturday Morning leisure while you have your coffee.





Evil Geniuses. They start little.




Good geniuses: Casein is the fiber found in milk, and now clothing can be made from it. Hah? Milk has fiber? Interesting….



Never enough “Perfect Tailgating” hints…





Check the Aurora Borealis from the ISS. Imagine this is your job: getting paid to fly high like those lucky folks.

Earth | Time Lapse View from Space, Fly Over | NASA, ISS from Michael König on Vimeo.

Pictorial study of the human face, always interesting. Fifty pics.







For your Saturday Morning viewing pleasure, 17 minutes of awesome. Behind the scenes making of the first Indiana Jones movie.

@jamieswb Raiding the Lost Ark: A Filmumentary - Part 1 from jambe davdar on Vimeo.

Speaking of interesting locales, here’s a volcano hotel in Chile.




Speaking of cool things, here’s one that isn’t. The Hipster.




Books hipsters would read. “You one knows about these!”






OK, enough of that crap. Let’s have us some fun.





Pics of Pencil Vs Camera. Very cool.






Check out this kid. Young dude can sing.






Here are some hotels folks in the TDC Forums will love.





The se7en most lethal moves in NFL history, each with video. (Press No Thanks, bottom right on the annoying but non-lethal pop-up. Trust, bro.) Then start the slideshow.





Here’s an old gem. Homeless man Mustard on the Opie and Anthony show. Creep.







Thank you for following me along this tale, my friend.




God Help You.

God Help Us All.


---willies out.









OK, Two More for your musical exploration.





Asa. (Pronounced Aysha) "Jailer." My Lady loves this. Thank you Lisa, for showing me a smooth crooner. I keep watching 2:35 – 3:20 over and over again. Chick knows her shit, dude. It’s blues, and not jazz here; Nigerian flavored, baby.







Clean version here.




Second one:


The Original Punkologist, Neil Young. First time for his classic, Old Man. And the story behind it, in the first five seconds.



























































nsfw













.

143 GATE

The Little Lion Man simply smiled and said, “Weeeeee-ill. You need help.”












I looked up into the fading colors of the darkening sky for a jet trail of an eastern-bound night flight that perhaps would not crash into the sea.





Poolside is always the best thing, and it is even better when you are with your best friends.





And yet, there is no substitution for the fresh, clean water of a river (named after your people) that runs from the holiest place on Earth, into a bay that is named after your people.




Into the ocean.







I got up out of the poolside-lounge chair because I was done lounging about, with this short but mighty lounge dancer.





Joey understood, good host that he was, and he followed me to the side gate. He stepped forward and unlocked it with his key. Katheena exited in front of me. Ladies first, hold the door open, be a gentleman. Always.





Joey held the iron gate open behind us with one hand and said, “Weeeee-ill. I cannot imagine what you are going through now. I wish I had been in that Jeep with you guys, so maybe I could understand better.”







I chust looked back at him and said, “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. No one deserves that shit we went through after it happened.”






Katheena opened her mouth to say something, but Joey interrupted her intentions. He said, “No. I should have been there. I should have followed you.”






Katheena looked up at me, waiting by my side.







They both were looking at me for some sort of answer, for some guidance, or even a fucking clue.






I had none of the above, so check the “D” on your multiple choice test answer sheet.




“Joseph, you might have been killed in that crash. Fuck it, we all should have died from that shit that night. Hell, some of us almost did. And there were some who did. I’m trying to figure it out. I don’t know much, but I have an idea.”






Little Lion Man said, “OK. Don’t forget this.”





He held out his other hand, palm down, and then he dropped the broken screw into my palm.





He said, “Ya know, I’d follow you to the ends of the Earth.”




I looked down at the tiniest piece of evidence of something that might possibly make a difference in such a world of fuck, and I felt like I had to tell him something.



Something, anything.




Nothing was not an option.




So I said, “I think you would. Perhaps you will.”





He had no words.





Sometimes, it speaks volumes when you don’t say anything at all.








I did not know to where this new path would lead, but I tell you something my friend:


I would not be alone in this quest any longer.




Perhaps you will follow me along as well?





The path will be ugly, but there is redemption at the end.














God Help You.



God Help Us All.



---willies out.













For you, from Dotta, here.














.

140 Mettle Begin

Katheena said, “What the hell are you talking about Will?”

I gulped. I was about to call her out.


When you have hit rock bottom, only then you are free.



What else do you have to lose?



You have to go All In and risk it all. It's simpler when there is little left.


But not like this:



“Tommy Hewitt said that you are a lesbian.”



Katheena charged at me. She did. She fucking charged at me as I sat there in the dust.



I moved to the right because I am right-handed, but it didn’t matter.


Her fists pummeled me, and I did not defend myself from her.


When she was tired from her spent adrenaline, she sat crying on my chest and stopped slapping at my face. I was thankful that she didn’t have her beer bottle in her hand from before.



I brushed the desert mud out of my eyes and stared up at her.


She said, “You do not have the right to say things like that to me.”




She was right. You have no right to pull someone out of the closet, and fuck you if you ever attempt such a thing.


There I was thinking only about me and my sudden need for The Truth and fuck all else.

Fuck everyone else and their own shit to deal with.


It was like I was expecting the rest of the world to suddenly catch up and be honest to me, even if they weren’t quite yet honest with themselves.

Shit did I have a lot to learn.



Katheena got up off me and walked down the side of the canal, into the fading sunset.



I rolled over onto my hands and knees and shook the desert dust off of my clothes and dug the salty mud from my eyes and then staggered up to go after her.



You know, I always seemed to be chasing after her. It’s like waking up from a really good dream, and you want to get back to sleep and try to get back into it, to continue it, to see what sort of ending such an excellent thing might take you.


These were waters I had never before navigated. I have never tried to understand how them women’s brains work, and this was not the time for learning. But it would not end like this. I would not have it.


She kept her pace, slow and steady, and I felt like I was about to wake up. So I quickened my pace to stay dreaming. It would all make sense, I was sure of it.



She got further away from me, even though I was speeding up. She became a dot on the horizon, and I lost her in the sun.


Crows cawed off to the right in the pale pink and orange of the fading day.

I looked down off to the side and saw footprints in the desert dust. These were quite dainty. They led away from the cement water canal, that man-made river, and off to behind a cement-block wall.

Katheena looked up at me when I came around it.


“Get the fuck out.”


“No. I won’t.”




“Get out Will.”


“Nope. I’m not leaving.”




“Get The FUCK OUT OF HERE!”


I stood my ground.



She did not get up. She just glared at me. Her make-up was all fucked up.



I said, “I can’t leave you. It’s chust not possible. I have nothing else left here in this desert wasteland, no reason to stay. There’s only you. So if someone is going to get the fuck out, it’ll have to be you. I’m not leaving.”



All In.



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





It was different this time. It began with a kiss, and it did not end with mayhem. Beyond that, it was like coming home, if that makes any sense at all to you.


A connection, a sort of unspoken communication that can tell you things you had not considered before… well… this is what it seemed to be.


Lost in the desert, but finding a secret path not traveled by many before you might be what you had been seeking.


Perhaps there is a home that does not involve simple geographical change?




Huh.



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


She said we would make a perfect couple, but not in the way I had thought.


What the hell did this mean?



Fuck buddies? Booty Call? Ass on a rope?



Cheap?




No.



I think, looking back, she meant that we had some sort of connection which transcended such a thing as simple physical pleasure.




It meant something more than that stuff.




It involved both of us finding our Mettle.








With,



And because of,



each other.





Gawdamn, son.




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




A watery angel, a nanabush jokester, a golden crow lady, a little lion man, a wounded savior, an imprisoned truth seeker, a saved lost soul, and a well-hearsed devil. It was like a friggin Alice in Wonderland sort of story.



You were thinking Wizard of OZ, huh. That’s funny, but probably it is more apt. Good for you.


I laid my leather down in the dust, and I laid Katheena on top of it. Always mind your leather.


I had some new things to show her. But it went beyond that. Ya know.





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











Big Bryan could not greet me properly as he had wanted to, with a simple hand shake. He was restricted. His wired jaw prevented him from talking loudly through the phone as we sat across from each other with several panes of bullet-proof glass between us.



But he had learned how to speak quite clearly between his clenched teeth. Every phrase was spoken in a gritted grimace, like he was so pissed off that he could not open his mouth.



He sounded like Clint Gawdamn Eastwood. “Will. So good to see you my brother.”


I gulped. “Bryan, how they treating you?”



He looked around behind him and swung his face back. “Get. Me. Outta. Here.”


I sat back, eyes wide open. “Huh? Really?”




Then he laughed as loudly as he could from behind his prison of teeth. “I’m fucking with you!” He got spittle on the glass.


I sat forward. “Don’t do that!”




He laughed again.




When he settled down, he said, “Nah, I got me some bitches in here. It’s OK.”

My eyes went open-wide again. “You got bitches? You turning the other cheek dude?”




He chuckled again. “No, man. I mean that I’m running shit here, in my own little circle.” He saw the look of relief on my face and laughed again.




Fucker.



Then he said, “How’s Sean doing?”

I thought about this for a second. I did not know where to begin. “He’s healing.”



“Good. Uh, what else, Will? You look like you’re about to call the Kremlin for tickets to the DEFCON ONE show.”





“Hah? Oh, well, his girlfriend is a bitch. Actually, she’s a rich bitch.”

“Huh. Well, that figures. Dude likes money. But fuck all, who doesn’t, eh?”




I nodded. “She sure has plenty.”


“How plenty? We talking a new BMW every other year, or a new Mercedes when the ashtrays get full?”





“Bryan, we talking a new Benz to match the new purse.”

“Oh. Fucking wow, Will.”





Bryan settled back for a second, grimacing. Of course, that was his only look now. Even when he smiled he was grimacing. “Why she a bitch?”


Good ole Bryan. Always seeking the truth. So I said, “She called me out for being a whoredog.”




He chuckled again. “Was she right?”

I could only nod.


Fuck.




“So, how’s our girl Katheena doing?”

Man. This guy would not give up.




“She’s good.”


“How good?” He laughed, like he already new something.





But he did not know one thing.



He did not know that he was right.






Fuck fuck.











I suddenly wanted to go visit ole Glinty McFlintlock at his place out in the desert dunes.




Maybe it was time to start finding out for myself what in the hell was up with all that shit.







LINKS










The Truth About Katheena, from Tommy Hewitt. I had promised him that I would keep it secret, and I did. But a secret is not a secret to the one it is about.



What are you doing?!! Birds with mimic ability learn bad parenting skillz, yo.


Sorry about the following, which reminds me of all those times I got caught masturbating in the church apse when I was an altar boy…




How about something nice for your Saturday Morning viewing?

Here’s an interesting exploration about over edited action scenes in movies like the Transformers. This one is about the Dark Knight big chase scene. Damn fine.

In the Cut, Part I: Shots in the Dark (Knight) from Jim Emerson on Vimeo.

Antidote to brain, here’s brawn. Honest Abe got an arm and a foot Too bad about his bulletproof skillz yo.




Fix your videos with YouTube magic?





This is for DNR administrative assistant “Cookie” who thinks I have an addiction to tape. Seriously, the huge sample containers need to be secured well! She’ll never believe me…

Tape Generations from johan rijpma on Vimeo.

Your Superhero name is…?





Dandy Warhols. Dancey electro. Dotta song.












God Help You.


God Help Us All.





---willies out.















OK, one more for my lady. She is of the Crow Clan. It's an all night thing, baby.













.

13 B : : : Fat Jerry Loves To Break Bones

This is for Muy Largo. Luv ya babe.

I just hadn't met you yet.


Press play and read what follows while you hear it. You're gonna love this True Punk Fight Story End shit.


Read all of the stories that relate to this talehere.




Muy Largo punched me over Joey's shoulder, and he had the knife in his hand, blade down. The long, razor sharp blade cut Joey's leather, on his shoulder, and the tip of the blade cut some meat, next to bone, on Joey's shoulder. Joey would heal within a couple weeks, but his shoulder is still never the same.

Muy smacked me in my jaw with his left fist, with lightening speed, and my jaw was made of glass that night it seems, because I fell. Joey told me later that his instinct was to jab an elbow at Muy's arm after it swung past, which made the blade fly through the air on Muy's retraction of his arm back. Joey busted Muy's elbow.

I have no recollection of most of this, but the fact that I am telling you this, and that Joey is still alive, is proof enough that Joey probably have saved us from being sliced in the faces.

At this same moment, three amazing things occurred simultaneously. Two: Sean and Tellesco, who were chomping at the bit, had already gone off-sides, and were grabbing those Messican weasels closest to the front line with their huge arms, and smashing into the others closest to their quarterback; Muy.

The third thing that happened was that Bryan shot his little grannie's .22 into the air, and then pumped the second bullet into Muy's right shoulder, the opposite arm from his now busted left elbow. It was simply luck that this tiny bullet did not end up in Joey. This was all very close range.

You could smell the Jerry Curl or whatever the fuck it was that these Messicans used in their hair nets.


In this close combat that night, you could smell adrenaline and fear, sweat, personal body grooming products, and refried beans.

This moment was as dense and tightly packed as a year, but lasted for only a split second. The aftermath is still with me.


Sean and Tellesco, fully pumped up from Roid Rage, smashed the handsome, fully-dolled up Messicans that they embraced, head first into the pavement. These two football players were enjoying themselves, because the defensive backs they were attacking were not wearing body armor. Sean and Tellesco appeared to be working in unison, because they let these brown rag dolls drop after they knocked them out on the ground at the same time, and then they "attended to" those they had run into with them.

Those dudes were scrambling to get back up, while trying to find what in thee hell had happened to their pistols, which had skittered across the tar after their impact from the first two rag dolls that Sean and Tellesco used as battering rams.

God Bless Sean and Tellesco. It was they who saved us. And it was they who did not stop. Then the Messicans started to holler for help and scream in pain.

I got the fuck back up. I still do not recall this, and it was pretty cheap of me to do so, but it must have been the "Shit or Get Off The Pot" thing, or the "Fight or Flight," thing, but perhaps it was a side of me that I never knew that I had inside me. I wailed on the fallen big dude, hurt as he was.

This is a Bad Quality you might have inside yourself. It just might be that someday you may find yourself in such a moment, and,

Not. Give. A. Simple. Fuck.

I hope that you never find out. It's not pretty. You will feel remorse, you animal you.

I went after Muy. Remember, I do not recall this.

It was blind rage.

I cannot now be held accountable in a court of law.

The statute of limitations for something like or resembling egregious bodily harm, etc. has passed.

But, when you break a bone, it sounds like breaking a piece of chalk.

"CHKK."

When one of your bones gets broken, you will hear it. You won't feel a thing. There is the sudden on-rush of Endorphins to help you get out of such a situation, if you can. If not, you may feel the blessed release of fainting from the pain.

If you are lucky.

Now, you forgot about Fat Jerry, the Punk who had driven to this little tea party in his Hearse, haven't you?

It took a second longer for him to respond, but Fat Jerry,

Well...

He had no "Off Button."

He was the guy who died from contracting HIV later that year, back when it was only known as AIDS, from the English bitch known by a man's name, "Charles." You recall that, don't you?

Pay attention.






Do not read any further. Go have a cup of tea and take a candle-lit bath.



Or press play, and continue on.

Your choice.

It gets gross.



OK.

GO.

Fat Jerry ran forward and began to kick the Messicans who were knocked out. He broke their ribs with his Chrome-Toed Docs.

Sean and Tellesco grabbed those dudes scrambling for their pistols and picked them up in the air.

Little Joey fell, clutching his blood-spurting shoulder. Little Lion Man fell.

I ran at Muy. Evidently, I snatched his fingers and began to push them sideways. I broke his fingers at the joints, or else dislocated them, but I seemed to be intent on making him stop parrying with his knife, which he no longer held, or else maybe stop chopping coke for a while.

I am not proud of this animalistic behavior, on a person who was already in-cap-ass-itated.

Sean and Tellesco began to sweep the ground with their conquests, and then they threw these men at those low-riders cars.

This was when the crowd rushed in.

All sorts of people started to try to help pull the wounded away, and stop those football players, who were in full on rage, from trying to dent the hoods of the Low Rider cars with the bodies of them crooked Messicans.

Fat Jerry was slamming his boots into whatever he could find laying on the tar.

Then he began to snap femurs across his thigh. He actually took the time to prop up a dude's leg, and press down, hard, with both meaty fist-bags. Dude used his weight.

CHHK.

That was gross, according to Little Joey, who heard it all. It happened over and over again.

But Joey stopped everything. He had jumped into the Hearse, as the crowd came in around us, and he began to honk the horn, and he fucking drove forward, ramming into one of the low-rider cars.

He did not run over anyone.

He got out and shouted at us, "DONE! We get the fuck out of here!"

We all stopped, amid the screaming crowd, and heard the far off approach of sirens.

Sean and Tellesco ran toward the Green Beast, the Ford LTD, and Sean dropped the hammer on that bitch. Fat Jerry grabbed Bryan and they clambered into the back of the Hearse.

I was already in the Passenger side.

Don't look at me that way.



Next week, the Aftermath.


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


Here are a couple links for you.

I have to work the Bingo tomorrow, ya TDC Enjoyer.



Interesting take on Avatar, but from a cartoonist.

Baby Tiger. Cute.


This is for Hoot. Hell, it looks like him in the first pic.

Huey sings.

Mortgages? Dayam.

Robots? Me likey.



Catfish? For Tucky. Fucking huge, bud.

Now go enjoy the lovely weather, as I take a big ole hit off some second hand smoke at the Bingo Palace.

God Help Me.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.










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