123 Death Part II

DEATH OF MATILDA PART II

There was no way in hell that I would ever engage with a chick again. I needed to concentrate on getting the Fuck out of FuckNo, which left No.


Sadly, the only member of my club would fuck me up again, at the restaurant, you know.


Sometimes, you can not rise above shit until you can’t get any lower and there is no other direction left for you to go.


It was about to get much lower.




A find from my son Gabriel. "I’ve Got A Cat." By Stephane Pompougnac

Stacy trained at her station, practicing handling money and taking orders. She would have gotten great tips as a table server, or waitress, as they were called back then. Her amazing rack caught everyone’s eyes: men, women and children alike.


Mine too.


She was Jispanish: part Japanese, part Hispanish. I did not know how she got those prodigious boobs, but I would find out that they were the real deals.


Everyone paid their dues at the cashier station if they wanted to go on to serving. This was for two reasons, which are these:


1. You have to learn the value of good customer interaction, also known as “People Skills,” and the easiest time to learn this is during a simple transaction.


2. When you become a server, you are on the low end of the deal. The customer looks to you to deliver to their expectations. Your wages, unlike that of the cashier who gets paid by the hour, are dependent upon how well you deliver the goods. By the time you graduate from cashier to server, you will have heard from the dining guests everything that can make a meal go wrong.



I wanted to interact with her. It was a form of mental escape. OK, no. It was yet another form of sexual escape. Ya know. Sexcapade.

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


“Hi, and welcome to Fucky Chucky’s! You are our guest here. What can I do to make your dining experience the absolute best?”


“Hi there, uh, Stacy. Nice name tag. Yes, I would like to have what is underneath it plus the biggest pile of fries with cheese sauce all over them.”




“Excuse me? “

“I said I would like to have the one pounder. Plus fries.”



“OK, so that would be two half-pound patties?”

“I’d guess that they weigh about five pounds apiece…”



“Umm, what?”

“I’m sorry Stacy. My name’s Will. I’m just coming in to work today. How are you? Was that too weird?”




“Oh my God! You got me! That was totally messed up! Hahaha!”

"I apologize. I had you at a disadvantage there, You being on the clock and all."



She just smiled.



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



And so it went on, flirting in the awkward way that teenagers do, or did back then. Perhaps teens these days have improved upon the age-old flirting methodology, but one would suspect not.



I had some plans for her. I’d learned quite a lot about the female form lately, and had a good idea about the various nooks and crannies and bumps they held and what their purposes were.


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



Sean greeted me with a smile and a whispery chuckle. He sat there in the wheel chair, sunlight making his eyes squint; his hollow, pale face drinking in the warmth.



“Sean. Didn’t you get outside at all? Out here, you look like you haven’t seen any sun at all!”

“No, Will. The antibiotic they had me on made it bad for me to get too much sun. Hey, there’s my lady!”




Minacca strolled up the sidewalk in a short, light summer dress, her brown hair on fire with red highlights. Minacca was actually a red head I guess. Deep, dark, down and dirty red hair. Dayam. She bent over and kissed him, and I stole a peek at her milky perkies as she did so. Pink aureoles. Cute.



Sean crept up out of the wheel chair and motioned for me to bring it back to the front doors of the hostibal. He stalked over to my Celica and then slid into it. Minacca kissed him again, and then turned around to face me as I returned.



“How have you been, Will?”

“Hi Minacca. I’ve been better. But so has Sean, huh.”



“That’s for sure. Have you spoken to Joey lately? How’s he and Nolei?”

“Oh, Nolei went back to Germany. So did that asshole Ivan.”



Minacca studied me for a moment, then she nodded. “I guess that’s for the best, isn’t it? Or would you have something other than that for him?”



Man. She was one smart chick. Sean wanted to eat some non-hostibal food, something really good and tasty. He wanted lots of fat in it too. The best burger joint in town had opened up while he lied there healing, unable to go out into the sunshine.



He’d heard about Fucky Chucky’s, seen the adverts on the telly, and knew that he would need reservations to get in. Unless, of course, he knew someone who worked there. So that is where we went.



He was about to get an eyeful or two of Stacy. So would Minacca. And she was, indeed, one smart chick.





Next time, my friend.



LINKS



Max Winston’s short. I Live In The Woods.

I Live in the Woods! from Max Winston on Vimeo.

Need to get back home out of the woods. 1,200 miles away. And, you’re a dog. Hah?





Antidote: Sunday cartoon. Chaotic Neutral.





25 places to check out. If you are still alive after the next round of the End Of The World thing in October.







Un-Museum site. It’s full of …stuff...





The Butterfly Circus. Huh. Cute. Got 20 minutes to watch? Hell, it’s Sunday. Why not?






Another Sunday comic page, if you are not going to church today. Or if you are the illustrious Jambo of TDC.






Maybe you need a clue if a chick is pissed at you? Please tell me you are not a dumbass and need this info.






Abu Dhabi, baby. In time lapse. You’re welcome.

ABU DHABI 2011 - time lapse film (Score by Vlad Persan) from Beno Saradzic on Vimeo.

Or this. Gif of some racing spreads.




Or, huge NSFW pic of a nice booty.



Heck, if we gonna go NSFW, let’s do it.





God Help You.


God Help Us All.


---willies out.

















One more for ya.


What are you listening to…… in Melbourne?














.

119 Little Lion Man

STOP

Your computer or mobile device is now loading up a whole bunch of chapters. This will slow it down. Please navigate over to the list of chapter numbers on the right, and click on 119, or whatever number chapter you wish to read.

It will load only that chapter. Life will be better.

The "previous" and "next" buttons at the bottom of each page are nice as well. Kinda wondered why next is on the left side, and right is on the other side. We read from left to right, don't we? Whatever.












“Even the smallest person can change the course of the future.” --- J. R. R. Tolkien.

BEFORE PILLOW TIME

When you are in Clovis, which is snuggled in the wealthy northeast offskirts of Fuckno, you have four options if you want to leave, which are these:


You can head west, and then drive along the northern part of Fuckno, through streets that lead to the pre-planned, gated communities of the isolated rich folks.

You can head north or east, and either way, you will be traveling toward the desert’s dusty dunes.

You can head south and by-pass most of Fuckno’s sordid filth and despair by skirting its dirty petticoat, ending up in the “Sunnyside” lower east section, where old money has always lived, perhaps always will. They do not gate themselves in. They invented the Neighborhood Watch Program. They will know your shit.

Or, you can remain in Clovis, and make a nice life for yourself serving the wealthy folks who have a good life style and they frown down upon Fuckno with accurate but not arrogant smugness.

They are correct.

I opted to head south. One day soon, my friend Joey, the Little Lion Man, would live there in Sunnyside. His mom was currently being courted by a good business man who owned a chimney-cleaning service, and once they married, she would work his books, while he amassed an empire of clients who needed to have their fireplaces cleaned each year, in the fucking desert.

Wait, fireplaces in the desert?

Who would need that?

Why, rich people who had the air conditioning running all the time, and they lit up their fireplaces to illustrate their wealth at their dinner parties and such.

They had money to burn, so to speak. The Reaganomics of the 80’s was trickling down to the chimney sweeps, in the dusty bowl of Fuckno, Califorthemuckymucks. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Never the two shall meet.


My intention was to avoid angry drivers by heading south, and then take a stab at the heart of Fuckno, where Joey lived in a small apartment with his sisters and mom, on Belmont Avenue.

During the past summer, he and me and Katheena, (when she was my lady), well, we would hang poolside with ice cold brewskies and bask in the golden warmth of the only thing that has ever held any meaning or significance for me in that high desert valley hell hole.

The Sun.


Like you, I am affected by the Sun. Grey clouds hanging overhead for more than two days in a row will make me ugly.

Well, more ugly than I am, that is.

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

Joey’s face smiled when he opened the door; me standing under his outside light.

“Weeee-ill. You look like you been to the---“

“Joseph, can I get a drink of water?”


You must always properly hydrate yourself in the desert. You can drown in the dust.

He pulled me in, patting my dusty back.


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


We sat poolside in lounge chairs, with glasses of Pepsi and ice, and he shook his head.

“Dude. Why did you do that to all their food?”

“I dunno, man. I don’t know what the fuck is going on with me.”

It was true, but Joey had a clue.


“I been missing Nolei. You missing Lorelei. No doubt.”


I stared at the green lights under the pool water, which refracted up and out on our faces with liquid black lines that wavered across.

“Fuck.” I sipped from my glass. I looked up into the night sky, and although the light pollution from the city occluded my view of the stars above, I searched for a jet stream, something to show me that the sky was full of people who would not crash, who would not be lost, who would go on with their lives in an eastern land where it snowed.

There was hope in the east. Sometimes, people will land on their feet.


Joey set his glass down and stood up. “Weeeee-ill. Let’s go see Katheena. She knows something about this.”


Damn. Such a long-assed day already, and I was beaten down like a dog in the dirt. All dusty, tear-streaked face and all.

“No. Not tonight. I need to get me some pillow time.”

Joey shrugged. “OK, man. But tomorrow. We will go check her out tomorrow.”


I didn’t know why it was so important for him to see that bitch right then.

But I would. You will too. Next time.

You have forgotten that Katheena and Lorelei talked with each other, as women often do. Even women who may have first been at odds.

I’ll never pretend to understand how their brains operate.


Nope.


But sometimes, I’m thankful that they do not think in the manner that I do.


Sometimes, they may have some answers.


Huh.


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

.

117

Well hey there my friend. Get all packed up for our ride. Don't forget your towel.

The streetlights lights flashed by at an amazing speed, blurry in the rain. Light can not deal with refraction very well, and I was refracted. It was not raining outside, you see.

What the Hell had happened in the desert?

Why the fuck did I say all those mean things and then done that to the food?

What was I running from?


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


Cars entered each intersection as I blasted through under the red lights, and they screeched to a halt, blaring their horns at me as lights bleared through the window screen in front of my wet face.

A fraught, red-lit face baring red-lit teeth leered back at me from the windshield mirror I leaned forward into with white knuckles gripping the steering wheel that held no air bag, no form of protection, no safe haven from harm...

...I was completely in escape mode.


In the back of my mind I knew that I was not treating my little Celica all that well, but at least she did not complain to me. She was True to me.


Even if I wasn’t true to her. She would die from my anger and my bravado, in a chapter to follow soon.

Neither of we travelers knew what the future held for us.


At that moment, she was all I needed. She did not let me down. It was two against one. She was always that way.

I had built her to be that way, if you recall.




You can escape from a bad situation in your rocket ship, unless it is you who is the bad situation.


You may not find a mental escape.


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

As the lights bleared in my eyes, a sole figure appeared before me, off in the distance.

A ghost, a memory, a lost soul in the desert of the Sans Joking River Valley…


In this dust bowl of Hell.

From a watery grave.


I swung to the left and my little bitch lost her footing. I had lost my footing earlier, but I chust didn’t know it yet.

More cars blatted their horns of various musical accompaniment as I headed to a crash, and I responded with a scream into the general direction of my skid.

This is what you must do when you are losing control.

You peer into the face of the deep chasm, and the chasm looks deep into you.

If you scream, it might save you.



It’s a sort of therapy, when you think that all is lost, and you will die.


I was out of control.


And I was an asshole, lest you forget.


I was a creep.

I didn’t give a fuck about Katheena anymore; that awesome, beautiful young lady who would eventually hold more than her weight in mettle, as you will see in a further chapter.


I’d lost control of the Swallower Shituation, and that could have been a true connection to physical happiness for quite a while, perhaps a lifetime? Who knows how long the physical aspect can hold together that which has not much else to contribute to anything at all?


I’d also lost control of playing a violin, when I didn’t have all that much play, and she held all of the strings. I was running from her.


Why?


I was truly out of control.

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

You see, there are exceptional moments in your life when you can look back, if you are fortunate to have survived, and you might see the fork in the road.


Which path would you take?

The road less traveled?


Or are you a tourist? Just looking for the next Mickey D in a land where they have invented and perfected the flavor of life?


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


My Celica swung around and around while I dug hard on the brake pedal.

It’s all you can do when you are out of control. You panic.


Do Not Panic.


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



Lorelei was the One.


I should never had let her slip my grasp.


All of the memories and ghosts of the past may never leave you to rest in peace.


You may find yourself wondering how you could have done things better, how you could have changed things, if you could go back in time, at an escape velocity of 88 MPH, if only you knew how to construct such a device.

But there exists nothing like that at all.



So what does a young punk do?



A young punk will face his demons.


A young punk will consider Punkology.





This is the point where we begin to see it all come together.







Tomorrow.






Thank you for following me along this sordid path all this time, my faithful friend. There is Redemption at the end of this long, true tale, in a way that you can not imagine.



You will see.



Promise.






LINKS


Hug a freedom warrior, if you could, for what they do.



Someday, I will rock you, like a Daft Punk Cover, on guitar, baby.





Simple ideas that make sense.






Pyromaniac skillz?



RCjet




Makes me hungry.



More food here.



Don’t be an asshole, Anon. There is good that you can do, /b/




Like, make some good artwork for a record album?





Or, why not a private spaceship?



Think about Dark Matter. Hmmmm…






Also, for we nerds, Gandalf talks about filming The Hobbit.






God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.





OK, One More For Ya.


Don’t be stooopid.

“I have black friends on my flag football team, send in the white women to fix that.”

WTF?

.

115 Meet The Violin Family

“Glinny! How’s my baby dotta?! How did your photo shoot go today? Who’s this?”

“Hey momma, this here is Will. He drove me to the shoot today. Will, this is my Momma. You can call her Mrs. Fender.”



“Well hi there Will, welcome to our home. Thank you for taking my little girl to her photo shoot.”

“Hello, Mrs. Fender. Thank you for letting me into your home.”



“Quite all right, Will. You can use the washroom on the left down the hall, if you’d like to wash up a bit.”

“OK, perhaps I should. Thank you.”



“Glinny, he looks like he went to the moon and came back all dusty.”

“Momma, he can still hear you.”


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


Yup. I was about to meet the rest of Glinda’s family.


I looked in their hallway restroom mirror and saw that my eyes were still red. We’d stopped at a desert gas station so I could rinse out my eyes in the restroom there, and wash the dust from my face.


I would have used bottled water, of course, but that hadn’t been invented yet. Well, except for Perrier, but that was in a green glass bottle, and it was bubbly.

Can you imagine paying money for something that comes out of a tap for free?

That would be crazy, huh?




The fraught face that stared back from the mirror had a ring of mud around it. Like a kid who is dark and dirty, but tries to make himself clean. His hair was dusty, and his mouth trembled. What the fuck had happened in the desert?

Now I had to go meet the parents of a girl I was realizing at that moment… well… she considered me to be her boyfriend.

Parents.

Crazy clown devils.

Black hearses,

And dust.

The dust of centuries, of erased memories, of ghosts from the forgotten Wild West.


It was chust so sad.


I washed up and although my clothes were still quite dusty, (even though I’d shaken off outside the gas station like a dog), I thought I looked presentable.

I would turn out to be wrong.

Check it out.

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

“Will, come meet my daddy. Hey Poppa!”

“Well hey there Sunshine! Who’s this dusty white boy you done brought here into my house? “


“Poppa, this is Will. Will, this here is Mr. Fender.”

“Will, huh? Did you make out your will? Don’t go sitting on the furniture before I take you out back and hose you down!”

“Uh, hi sir. Actually, I’m half Indian.”



“Oh, that right? Mujhadeen?”

“Uh, no sir. Eastern woodland tribe. River people.”



“You should have gone to the river before you came here boy! Gone looking for a bar of soap along the bottom, amongst the rocks. Hehehe. Come on out back where all the food is.”

“Thank you Mr. Fender.”



“Sunshine, he look like he been to the ---“

“Shhh, Poppa, he had the willies earlier.”


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


The huge crowd of Glinda’s family all stopped and looked at me when I came through the rear sliding glass door. I swear, the music stopped, the laughter stopped, someone dropped a spoon that clinkered around on the cement patio, and the crickets started chirping.


I gulped and smiled, and Glinda took me by the elbow to the buffet table.


A mile of potato salads of various competitions were strewn along beside Dutch ovens of slow roasted beef chuck, pork loins, and pans of barbequed ribs, as well as cob corn already buttered and salted up, crisp garden salads, sautéed garlic spinach with parmesan cheese freshly shredded, and home made mac and cheese with buttery crumbled Ritz crackers on top were the ones that called out to me from the ninety-nine others.

My tongue had an instant boner.


“Psst. Who brought the fuzz? Look like undercover narc or someshit.”

“Don’t let him near Aunt Matilda’s collard greens, they illegal!”

“Boy look like he been dug out a desert grave. Mind your brains!”

“Aww, he kinda cute, for a white boy. Be nice.”

“Hey! White Boy! You bring some mayo and baloney sandwiches witcha?”

“SHHH! Don’t be scaring him. He look white as a ghost already!”

“AH HAHAHAHA!”

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

I suddenly lost my appetite. But I didn’t have the sense to leave just then. No, it would go on, until finally I did get a clue.


This is not an indictment against any tribe whatsoever.

I am from a tribe. I am half white, although I can’t prove it.


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


I felt my rage rumble in my belly.

That’s where it begins every time, my friend.

I placed a tiny bit of each dish onto my plate as I trudged along, walking the gauntlet, like a doomed man on death row. It really is the best way to eat at a family buffet. Folks will notice if you do not at least try a tiny taste of their food that they have put their best effort into making for others to eat.

At the end of the table, my dish was piled quite high.


“Lookit that boy. Don’t his momma feed him at all?”

“Homeboy looking to feed the whole graveyard when he get back home!”

“Michael, go help that boy carry his plate before he break his arm…”

“Hey, did he take TWO ribs? I mo beat his wasteful ass!”

“Chuckie, don’t be mean. He need one them ribs for the walk home. Heheheee”


I resisted the urge to chuck my dish at Chuckie, if I could locate him. When you have anger, sometimes you do not think clearly.

But,

This time, I learned how to quell my anger. This is not “pussying out.” This is proper use of common sense.

This is when and how I learned how to hold off and take it, and choose my battle.


You can call it what you want, but it might just save you a world of trouble.

Or not.

Eventually, you will meet your anger, and find that you have rage. Hopefully, you will not find out that you have blind rage.


If you do, please be sure to clean up after yourself.


It is bad manners to leave a mess behind.


Indeed.


That would be very bad. Ya think?




God Help You.



God Help Us All.




---willies out.









.

114

The air blew across our faces from the open windows: desert kisses from the hot, fresh air of the Sans Joking high desert river valley. Fuckno shat in the rearview mirror, and I was heading in the right direction. I was heading East, my friend.

Glinda, the good witch of the West, occupied herself with her make up. Or make down. She was about to get nekkid.

Not for me.

No, this was intended to be for the whole world.

I distracted her from her important work by drifting off the old, crumbly tar on our way to a desert location for her photo shoot. An old, abandoned shack awaited us.

She did not enjoy my little moon rocket, nor did she especially like my driving skills. I fumbled with the radio dial to get some good tunes.

She did not approve.


“Will. Don’t mess with the radio.”


Huh.

This did not bode well.

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



“Glinda, why you look so worried?”

“I never done this before.”




“Me neither. Probably never will. Naked pics?”

“No, they are called nude frontals. But only the top part.”



“Top Parts, you mean.”

“Did you say Pop Tarts?!”



“No! But, well, that might be nice…”

“Shut the hell up and keep your eyes on the dirt.”


“Oh, I am, baby. Hehehe”

“You’re not helping, Will.”


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


My little Celica skidded to a dusty stop in front of an old, forgotten structure out in the off-skirts of the Sans Joking high desert river valley that held the megalopolis of Fuckno, as well as Baker’s Field a half hour up north, and also a shitty hole southwest from there called “Los Banos,” which means “The Bathrooms” in Hispanish.

A big cloud of dust and flying dirt and rocks rained down all over every damned thing. Glinda choked and coughed, and I took my shades off.

When the dust settled, when I could finally see her sitting there across from me, she was glaring at me.

I got the fuck out of the car.



The shack had once been somebody’s home.

Now it looked to be the sort of place where someone might have planted bodies in the dry desert dust, never hoping for them to rise, to be sown, or seen, again.

No wonder Glinda wanted me to be there with her.


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


The photographer opened the door to the grey shack and and came out, and gleamed his wide, toothless smile. All gum, no rum. His eyeglasses held one and a half lenses, cracked down the middle on the right.

Nice.



Glinda pulled me close and whispered, “Don’t leave me alone with this guy. I wondered why he was so cheap when I phoned him from seeing his advertisement. Now I know.”

I nodded, “Maybe he takes awesome pictures.”



Yeah, who the fuck was I kidding?

“Well hey there you young whipper snapperth! My name’th Glinty McFlintlock, and you are about to have a magical exthperienth!”

Holy fuck.


I waved back at him and swung around to get Glinda’s shit out of the Celica. I tried to keep my hacking laugh to a minimum, but I couldn’t hide it all that well.

Glinda went and shook his hand, and they spoke about the shoot while I kept busy carrying her tools and clothing into the creaky place.

Inside the shack, Glinty had thumb-tacked white sheets all over some walls and grey ones up in between. I knew nothing about photography except that I knew what I liked when I saw it, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt for this end of the deal.

Glinty and Glinda kept chatting away, and he appeared to be a kindly older gent who simply had a bad run of luck with his dental and optometric orifices, that’s all.


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


I left them two and went snooping. Around back there sat a stable with tiny glass windows here and there. Horses need air, and lots of it, but there were no longer any push boards to open up as vents for air exchange. Those looked to have been replaced a hundred years ago with different boards and those tiny glass panes.

This necessitated further inquiry, ya think?

You know what you would have done. But first;

When does the statute of limitations end for breaking and entering?

What I mean is, how long can something remain untouched and apparently un-owned before you can break in and take a look-see?

Breaking the public trust, and entering privacy is never to be taken lightly, especially when you go ahead and do it anyway.



I wiped one of the dirty panes to get a look inside.

A tarp covered some massive beast that lay dormant for what looked to be a thousand years, judging by the dust.

A long work bench lined the opposite wall, tied in, and upon its surface there were tools of forgotten shapes and unknown origins, all nestled in quietly for a lengthy dust nap.


Well that was good enough for me.

I found a door at the rear of the stable, and saw that the threshold held desert sand hard packed from years of blowing and settling that piled up against the door’s kicker on the bottom.

Looking around behind me, I saw only the occasional Saguaro Cactus, a few boulders, and sage brush and tumbleweeds. The desert sun glared down from directly overhead. He looked unapproving.



The paddle lock rusted in a state of the forgotten and the unforgiving. I pulled on it, and the rusted screws that held in the swing plate broke. I pushed.

The stable exhaled stale breath from the last century.

The sleeping hulk beneath the crusty tarp beckoned.


I tiptoed in like it was a morgue and the dead slept lightly. The tools on the work bench were similar to those I’d used on my own little car, but these were not made out of case metal, all chromed out. No, they looked to be ready to crumble into dust, like the desert silt which now covered them.

The desert reclaims all material, to be desiccated, oxidized, and reduced to a former memory of itself. All atoms become freed in this way, free to roam the country side like the ghosts that they are, to cover the living for a long dirt nap.

I turned back and went to the near end of the cloth-covered behemoth.

The corner of the tarp came away in my hand as I lifted and pulled.


Shit.


Now I would have to make the decision to continue. Removing the tarp would leave whatever was underneath exposed permanently. It would crumble into dust, you know.

I could take a peek, maybe that would be best. Just lift up one little part to see what was underneath.

That actually seemed like the best way to go. Of course it did not occur to me to simply leave it alone and go back out to Glinda’s photoshoot. That was not an option. Curiosity might kill the cat, but maybe the cat dies with a smile on its face?


I grabbed more of the tarp and pulled gently up. It did not have much give. So I tugged a little harder.

The tarp responded with a relaxing sigh and fell away from the side of the car underneath. The whole side of this beast was exposed.


Fuck.


I looked around, expecting to see someone come charging in with a shot gun.

My heart raced as I stood there.


This was not from fear of doing something wrong, or bad.


This had to do with Evil.


The long, black, gleaming car was a hearse.

There was a hand-painted Circle A on the driver’s door.


Anarchy.


What the fuck?

I backed away and fell over something sitting on the floor of the dusty garage. The cloud of dust got in my eyes. I scrambled on my hands and knees toward the white rectangle of light that indicated the door.


The accusing sun blasted my eyes and I staggered from its blare, which screeched in my head like the angry feedback from the amp of an electric guitar played by a devil.

I needed to find Glinda, the good witch, and I needed to get the fuck out of Dodge with her.

Now.


The sensation of a million sharp fangs pierced my eyes as I stumbled about, shouting out to her.

The door to the old shack swung out, and Glinda grabbed me to help me up.

“Will?! What the hell you shouting about? Shoot, you look like you been to the moon and---”

“Glinda, we need to get the fuck outta here. NOW!”


“OK. We done here. Let me grab my shit. Your car is right over here. Get in, I’m driving. Don’t rub your eyes or you’ll fuck them up. Be right back.”

“OK, hurry!”


She did as she said she would, and we left the odd photographer dude there, scratching his head.

She wanted to know why I was so freaked out, and on the way back, I wanted to tell her.


But I couldn’t.


I didn’t have a fucking clue.


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

LINKS






Wake up. Time for some coffee. Here are some spurious “facts” about coffee. I don’t think that they are correct. You?



The following dentistry tools might have helped out ole toothless Glinty McFlintlock. Or, perhaps explain why he had no teefs?



Antidote: Cool Drawings.


The nightly drama that unfolds in your fridge. Melt Down. David Green et al.




Stare down by a chick who looks like a dude and a chick who has a skirt on. MMA.



Speaking of weird, suicide helps the funeral industry. Hah?






Auto Tune needs to be erased from our collective memory. This is the death knell.






God Help You.

God Help Us All.



---willies out.






OK,




One more for ya.



Scientist from Japan deconstructs a Furby robot, and then hacks it. Very cute.










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

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The "previous" and "next" buttons at the bottom of each page are nice as well. Kinda wondered why next is on the left side, and right is on the other side. We read from left to right, don't we? Whatever.










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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.

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