125

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There was no Death version III. There will never be. You will see.

Start this chapter here.

Minacca watched Sean at the burger topping bar and she smiled. That must have been nice; having someone to look after you, or mother you. They made an attractive couple.


Out of the corner of my eye I saw servers bringing drinks and deserts and such to tables, and every now and then, a face would look over to me and Minacca. I could almost hear their interior monologues.


“Who is that girl?”

“He banging some new chick I guess.”

“Now he gonna fuck somebody else up.”


Of course, you know that I was being paranoid. Minacca saw something in the restaurant dining area, with the female workers, and she had a sense of things, of what them ladies spoke to each other. Women in a work place do not gossip, do they?


I knew that males did, but that was mostly graphic descriptions of sexuality.


“Of.”


“At.”


“In."


"...a chick.”





Not “About, Why, and What Else?”


I would find out that women had considerations other than the size of melons and the taste of the lovely vulva nectar.


Mmmmmmm.



There was something about Stacy, and Minacca spotted that shit right off. Sean was only focused on Stacy’s menu, of course. As much as Sean was the most intelligent member of our crew, he had his eyes focused only on food this day. He had lost quite a bit of weight eating only hostibal food that wasn’t all that tasty. He was looking quite trim.



When he began school again at Bullshit High, his large frame would afford him the opportunity to heal per doctor’s orders by lifting weights and running. Eventually, he would participate in Varsity Football. He would become physically fucking huge.



With Minacca, he had finally met someone who could match his insight and mental acuity. She would help him control his many appetites, up to a point. When we began to dabble in illicit materials, there was no hope for poor Minacca. It became his passion, and ultimately, his downfall.


That was too bad. Minacca was a treasure.

“Willie Boy, you work at the best place ever. Swear to God, I will be your best customer.” Sean sat down with his platter. He had done something I’d not seen much when bussing the tables. He’s taken extra plates back piled high with various toppings in order to try out different combinations at his table.


Some people made side salads, as Minacca did, alongside her petite kid’s burger.

When I bussed tables and would occasionally come across different plates piled with greedy toppings, they were always left behind. Such a waste.



Sean’s platter of plates would be left empty on this day.

And he would be sick later from over-stretching his shrunken stomach from the lengthy hostibal stay.

Minacca could eat, don’t get me wrong. Tall and curvy, she had a solid caloric intake allowance, but she chose to eat lots of raw vegetables and such.


“Sean,” she said, “How is it?”

Sean’s eyes rolled back in his head in ecstasy and he chust kept right on mauwing. No time for chitchat.




She smiled and bit into her burger. She was not about to lecture him about chowing hard at this moment, when he was in pure bliss. She was not a bitch.


He had these sorts of things on his many plates:

Hand cut steak fries with the skin left on, smothered underneath beef gravy and melted cheese sauce, known as “Putine” up north where them Canadiacs forage in the
bushes for they grub.

The obligatory lettuce, tomatoes, sliced dill pickles and red onions sat in another plate.

Another one held sliced, pickled jalapeno peppers, green hot sauce, red salsa, and tiny, spicy tamales. Yup, authentic, corn-husk-steamed tamalitas.

There was a heart-attack plate upon which sat slices of bacon, butter-grilled onions and shrooms, more melted cheese sauce in a little plastic cup, crumbled, red oil-dripping chorizo sausage, and a gawdamned fried egg.


Dude would be shitting fire manana.


He piled each bite with a different combination beforehand. Man was a friggin genius, I kid you not.


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



We staggered out to the front to pay our bill, with Sean continuously going, “Oof… Oof…”

Stacy was about to get off. Well, I mean, she was about to clock out. “How was your meal?”

Sean could not talk; he simply smiled between Oofs.



Minacca said, “The meal was quite delicious. The service was good, too. I think we’ll be back.”

“That’s very nice. Thank you for coming. How about you, sir?”



I raised my eyebrows. “Hah? Oh, uh, Stacy. They know I work here. These are my friends. I had some good meat. You should try it yourself.”



Minacca stole a glance at me and then she introduced herself and Sean to Stacy.

While everyone was shaking hands and that stuff, I only had eyes on melons.




Yeah, still a bastard. But that would change, with Stacy. Or because of her.

Ya know.



Remember, we killed Matilda together. And then I got chased by an angry biker with a big wrench.



There are tools made for destruction instead of for repair.


But when destruction happens, then one may breathe clean air.





Huh.





LINKS




Amazing Fact Generator. Hit Me Again.




Game for you. One More Level.



OK, fuck that shit. Let’s explore the world a little, shall we? I will bring you back home, true that.


Here we go. Grab your towel and your imbation.


Now, before we travel to explore the world, here are some ideas to help us on our path.





Wherever we may go, there may be a free couch? Who the fuck is Kato Calin anyways?







Your idea of a good journey might depend upon your perspective. Heaven or Hell?






Along our way, we may end up in the Green Isles. Irish men there will help us learn proper Pub etiquette. You should know this stuff.






We must avoid traps.





We may need to construct our own mode of transportation. How about a Porsche?






Did you bring your portable, wearable computer? We may need it for maps and such.




We may need to learn how to fuck up everyone else in order to escape.






Thank you for following me along our path.




God Help You.

God Help Us All.


---willies out.













OK, one more for us both, to get us back home to TDC Land. Enjoy your Sunday my friend.




Try to blend, in NYC.








OK, sorry about that.


We return home. We are welcomed. Cool.








Shout out to our U.S. warriors in all corners of the globe. Thank you for protecting us all. Come home safe, you badass buds and kickass chicks.



Amen.

























.

124

You know, there is nothing like looking at an old place with a fresh pair of eyes.

Ok, the burger joint was still quite new; hell, it still had that new car smell, so to speak. But it was growing a bit stale for me.

Sean had never been there, and neither had Minacca. For him, it was due to his prolonged hostibal stay for a collapsed, punctured lung. For her, it was because she ate healthily. Minacca was not one of those healthy eaters who seem to feel the need to preach to everyone within hearing distance about their own life choices and pursuits.



She was quiet, unassuming and smart, but not without judgment. You simply did not know what she was thinking unless you asked her, or if she thought it might be dire for you to not take warning.



Minacca would do that for me, and you will see, in a short while.


I did not expect a savior, and one in the form of a female.


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




Sean’s eyes widened as we rumbled into the parking lot. He began to drool and scratch at the door to be let out. Well, OK, he simply said, “They really fixed up this place. Wasn’t it a Jack and Jean store before?”



It was true. Too many stores that sold acid-washed denim clothing had opened recently, and the old stalwart of the deep dark blue jeans had refused to partake of what they’d obviously felt was a simple fad.



They were wrong about acid-washed denim being a short-lived fad. It blew up for half a decade, along with the mullet hair style and parachute pants. And in closing up shop, they underestimated the longevity of the true blue denim; an American invention that most likely will endure to the end of time.


God bless Levi Jeans, just sayin.’





Sean struggled to get out of my little Celica. I ran around to assist him, and Minacca had a look on her face that revealed a bit of anxiousness, for being stuck in the rear seat. When she did emerge, her tanned, shapely legs were the first things to appear in the bright sunshine from the recess of my little rocket ship.

After Sean had slid into my car back at the hostibal, I'd let Minacca crawl into the rear behind my driver seat.

Ahem.



Now, if you think that I had eyes for my friend’s lady, well, you would be correct. But you also must know that eyes were all I had. It would never go beyond that with my friends’ ladies, for me. An eyeful is not a mouthful. A peek is not a poke.


True that baby.



We followed Sean up the red adobe-tiled steps, him wheezing, Minacca after him with her jiggly rear and long legs that ended down past her dainty ankles in high heels. I was studying the rosary beads in my hand as I followed them up the stairs.




Um, huh.




We walked into the brightly lit welcome area, with shiny, sealed amber tiles on the floor and deep-stained oak everywhere. Bright brass held everything in place.



I studied Sean’s face as he took it all in. It was something to see. His eyes glanced around at the vintage, local farm grape and orange crate decals that were framed and glassed in on every wall.




That kind of detail will always purchase buy-in and loyalty from the dining guests. I truly think that Fucky Chucky’s invented it, and since that time, twenty-five years ago, it has been copied everywhere else in the food service world.



I poked his shoulder to get him to look at the bakery shop where the huge burger buns and deserts were made. The smell of freshly baked bread enveloped his senses. He had a look of almost pure joy.


Dude would be gaining some weight on that day.




We stood in line to place our orders, and I snuck off to grab the hostess Shirlene who showed folks to their tables. I explained to her about Sean, and she nodded. I went back to Sean and Minacca, soon Shirlene appeared and went directly to one of the cashiers, whispered something in her ear, and then headed to Sean, and spoke in a loud voice.


“Sir, welcome here. Please, folks, allow this gentleman and his escorts to the head of the line. This is his dying wish.”


I couldn’t have scripted it any better. People frigging clapped with solemn, stolid faces.


Of course, our girl Stacy was open for business. She greeted Sean with a big smile, and I watched him check out her prodigious décolletage. No jealousy from me dude.



Of course, Sean ordered the three-half pound patties, medium rare. He ordered the platter of hand-made steak fries, and was told by Stacy about the cauldron of cheese sauce that awaited his debauchery. And then we were done ordering. The mile-long salad bar of burger toppings awaited. Sean stopped and explored it with adulterous eyes. He was going to rape that bar.


Soon enough, our order was delivered to our table, and we were told to go help ourselves to whatever we wanted.


Minacca held me back as Sean ambled up to the burger topping bar.




“I saw how she was watching you. What’s up with that?”

“Uh, who?”




“Stacy. Something is going on with you and her.”

“No, …well, not yet.”



Minacca judged me quietly for a moment, then she said, “Will. Something is going here.”

I looked back at Stacy, and then back to Minacca and shrugged. “Like what?.”




“Look around. Open your eyes, Will.”


I glanced around at the servers in the dining area and saw that some of the girls working there kept looking over at me. I had never noticed such looks before. I had been staring at my own shoes, working there. I was involved with only myself. …Until I took advantage of those young women, that is.

Each time.




Minacca smiled in a dry sort of way. “Those girls have their eye on you. Why? What have you been doing here? They look like they have seen a ghost.”




Now I was seeing that place with a new set of eyes.



Minacca’s eyes.







LINKS



Goodbye Columbo, God Rest Your Soul.








For your Saturday cartoon viewing pleasure, The Medic. It’s also a free forever game to play. Free. Forever. You’re welcome.







Speaking of healing, U.S. scientists can now grow back the lost limbs of our military amputees. Bring it on terrorists. Link has autoplay on an ad, but short and sfw.





On a similar note, here's a nice little Terminator 2 cartoon/ stop animation short.








On a dissimilar note, The Burglar.









Two racing motorcycles embrace and dance together.






I really need to go check my Facebook, it’s been a month… Sorry.









God Help You.

God Help Us All.


---willies out.
















OK, One More For Ya.




Slightly nsfw pics of Ewelina Olczak. Just look, don’t pronounce.









.

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?














.

122 Death Of Matilda Part I

The Death Of Matilda Part I

I needed to get the hell out of there. Fuck that shit.

My Celica awoke with a start, and she purred, ready for me to drive her hard with my stick shift.


Never did she complain to me, ever, to the end.

I had rebuilt her with a good heart.


I had rebuilt her, with a good heart.

Indeed, Fast Cast, a comma can make a difference.





I saw movement in my rear view mirror and looked up at it. Joey ran out as I squealed my rear tires in escape mode. Positraction in a fucking Toyota, baby. He waved his hands over his head, growing smaller and smaller as he chased after me down the street.


Dude would need a ride back home.


Fuck him.


Fuck Katheena.


Fuck Fuckno.

Katheena and also Joey kept calling, but my mother told them each time that I was not available to answer the phone. This was back when there was only one land line in each house, when personal computers and cell phones were not available to anyone but the very wealthy. “Texting” and “Instant Messaging” were not invented yet.


Can you imagine that shit?


I lied in bed, listening to HGTTG on NPR, and I couldn’t even pay attention to that awesome story.


I did not sleep much at all.


At work the next evening, there was another story happening, or not happening.


Glinda wanted to talk. I didn’t have anything to say. She kept following me around the restaurant and stepping in front of me.


I did not have the energy nor the mental faculty to engage in her shit. I mean, wasn’t it obvious? I simply had no emotional investment in her. It had been simple strings.


That was chust so sad for her, and it was also pretty fucked up of me.




Asshole.


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


That fucker Himmy sprayed his dishes as usual before sliding the rack into the Hobart, and I would come into the kitchen when they were done, to take them to the clean room to air dry in the heat in there.



Glinda was in there just before she left work when I carried in a fresh rack of clean dishes.


“Will. I’m quitting work here.”

“Huh. Sorry about that.” I turned to go back out.




“Hey! I Have something to tell you! Fucking stop avoiding me!”


I turned back around to face her. She was very pretty, and she did not deserve to be treated badly. I chust didn’t know what the hell I was doing. But at least I knew that. So I stopped and turned around and said, “I can’t give you any answers. I have nothing.”




“Will, I wanted to thank you for taking me out to my photoshoot, that’s all. My mom just called me at work here and said she had some good news.”


“Hah?”




“Glinty just drove over to my house and delivered the pictures he developed last night in his black room, and Momma says they look really good. Momma said that he did an awesome job. She says she thinks I can use these.”

“That’s pretty cool, Glinda.”




“Yeah. I need to focus on my career now. So I’m bailing here. No two week notice. I have better things to do with my time.”


“Oh. Good luck.”




“Thanks. I’ll need it.”


“You won’t need good luck. You have the looks.”




“That’s nice. I don’t know what the hell is going on with you, but I know that you are not the asshole you are pretending to be.”


“Huh.”





“OK. Well. Yeah. Fuck you too I guess.”



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
















There was this tig bittied chick who just started at the restaurant, and she was cute.


Dayam.


Here we go again.





Except for this:


She had a boyfriend who drove a Harley, and he carried a big wrench.





It would turn out to be a wrench that would tighten up some loose nuts.




It would make me kill my bitch.






Ain't that about a bitch?





LINKS




Nuts for balls. Baseball announcer goes nuts.





Dude probably lives in one of these weird apartments.





Too bad he didn’t live in a Hobbit house. This is pretty cool, for a miniature.





Probably has bees in his chimney.





He could use some education, like some lost, poor asshole in a desert could have.






Or, he could use more beer. Here are some pub signs from Britland.






He should chust stop it. Funny stop sign pics.





Dude don’t know what time it is. This could help: Cool finger ring watch. Finger ring. Not, fingering, you dirty minded bawstud.



Speaking of fingering, Tracy Morgan had something to say about teh buttsecks.




Tina Fey on Tracy Morgan’s Homophobic rant.














God Help You.

God Help Us All.


---willies out.

















OK, One More For Ya.




Mommy Might Kill Me?












.

121 Lorelei Talks

Please read yesterday's post before this one, cool?

Joey’s eyes were on the tiny tea cup in front of him. He would not look up at anyone while the following discussion occurred.

Katheena took off her kimono and sat across from me. Joey was on my right. The fourth seat was empty. There was nothing there.

I tried to break the mood. “Aces high, black hearts are spades.”

No one laughed.

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


“Lorelei and I talked some, you know.”

“I know. She told me. What did you talk about?”




“She told me that she hated him for how he left her. But she kind of knew it would happen. She just didn’t think it would happen over here in the desert, instead of back home in Germany.”

“Huh. Yeah, that was pretty fucked up, what he did to her, what he… Well, what he did.”




Katheena sipped her tea. “He was pretty amazing, but I know you don’t---”

“No. I don’t need to hear that shit at all Katheena.”




“Sit down Will. Please, sit down. I won’t say anymore like that.”

“Weeee-ill. Sit down for a couple minutes. Come on man.”




Ya know, I figured it would be pretty hard to hear this shit. I was simply hoping that it would be about Lorelei, like some answers or something. Fuck Ivan. He should have been at the bottom of the sea, not Lorelei.

I should never have let her slip my grasp.




“All right. Make it quick.”

“Thank you Will. I’m sorry.”




“I know you are. Stop saying it and spit your truth out Katheena.”

“Ok. I will.”



Joey put his teacup next to the service and Katheena was thankful to have something to do with her hands as she composed herself and got ready to spit some truth. She poured tea into his cup, and some more into mine.


She was about to show some of the mettle that she wasn’t quite aware she had held all along. This, for her, would become quite important in a later chapter. You will see.


She sipped her own tea and composed herself.


“Lorelei said that she forgave me. She saw that I had nothing to do with her betrayal, her Betrayer. Even though it hurt her, and continued to burn, she was thankful in a way. She was thankful for two reasons.”


What the fuck was this shit? Asshole Ivan had burned her, and she was thankful?






“Lorelei was thankful that it was finally over. The old phrase, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She said it’s like when you are sleeping in your bed, and the person in the apartment above you wakes you up when they are taking their shoes off. One shoe drops loud on the floor over your face. And you can’t go back to sleep until the other shoe hits the floor. The time in between is long. When it finally does, you have closure.”


I didn’t have a clue what the hell she was talking about. Katheena saw my face and went on.




“She knew he was going to leave her. As painful as it was, at least she could start to recover. And that brings us to the second reason. You.”


Oh. Me. Hah?




“She said that she wanted revenge on him, and also on me, when it happened. So she went about, asking about me. And she found out about you, and what happened to you because of it all. Someone told her that you and Joey are good friends---“



“Weeee-ill. When she came up to me, she was all asking about you like she was all wanting to get in your pants. So I told her where you had classes, Weeee-ill. I thought you might get something to help you out of your Well of Despair, or whatever those faggy Britland dudes used to write about.”





“Joe, she came up to me in the hallway, and I had no idea what the hell was going on.”



“I know, because she came up after she first got up in your face and she thought she had pissed you off, or gone all about it wrong. Sorry to say it, but I think she was hoping you’d join up with her to fuck up Katheena and Ivan’s shit. Two broke-hearts against two lover-dovers. Sorry Katheena.”





My head was starting to spin. “Yeah, I know, she told me later. But she was pretty cool.”


“She was, Weeee-ill. She pretty badass. Remember what she said on the Quad, when she was being led away by the Police? Dayam, son, that was---“





“Joe, hush. Let me tell Will what Lorelei said to me.”

“Sorry Katheeeeen-ahh. Go ahead.”




“Will. Lorelei told me that she was glad she had met you. She said that she had finally found someone who showed her that there was good in the world.”

This was a bit too much for me. I was not ready for feeling sad. I wanted to remain pissed off at everyone, at everything. I had no words for it at the time, but that was chust how it was. Fuck Califuckno to hell.




“Will. Please sit back down. I’ll make this short. Please sit back down.”


“Yeah, Weeee-ill. We’ll go have one of them burrito supremes you like so much, after this.”


“Good, have some more tea. Thank you Will. Lorelei said that she knew she’d have to go back to Germany. She knew she might never see you again, but she would do her best to try to come back to you. She would work for cash money, do whatever, to get back to see you again.”




“I didn’t know that.”



“You know, she was like that. She didn’t want to make you sad. She wanted you to stop being so sad. She really did. So she didn’t let on about how much you meant to her. I think it was pretty hard for her to keep it away from you. But now, it’s a shame that she never let you know, the way things turned out and all.”


“Yeah, Weeee-ill, she told me that she felt like she wanted to protect you from the bad things in the world. Like she was trying to mother you or something. That chick really dug you, man.”






“Will. She said she wished she could protect you. I think she would have went to the ends of the Earth for you.”


This was too much. I got the fuck up and I got the fuck out.


Fuck that shit.


I didn’t need that shit.



Fuck.










































.

120 Joey's Shit

KATHEENA ON LORELEI

What did Katheena know?

A Guardian Angel? From the fallen aircraft, into the sea. I was then and always will be a river culture dude, but lost in the desert of an ancient river valley in Califuckno at that point.

Punkology. What had Lorelei said to Katheena?

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

A short but mighty young man walked up to the front door of my section eight poor folks housing duplex and knocked politely. I couldn't hear him from where I was standing there in the rear patio, so he walked right in and hollered into the hallway.

"WEEEEEE-ILLLL! Get Yo Ass UP!" His shout echoed down the tiled hallway and throughout the duplex apartment, ringing in the way that mostly empty places do.


I about jumped out of my skin, and I was already awake, out on the rear patio, where there was no furniture or grill. There was nothing.


Bastard.



I set my mug down on the cement and crept in. I snuck up behind him and yelled, "GOOD MORNING JOSEPH, HOW ARE YOU?"


He jumped out of his skin, I kid you not.


Sometimes, payback is a bitch.


He spun around with his fists up and jabbed at my face. I did not expect this. He connected with my cheek with a loud crack. We both shouted in pain.

It was a good thing I'd left my coffee outside. Who knows where the mug would have ended up. He was laughing at being jumped, and sort of whimpering from his fist. Try to aim for the jaw or eye if you can, not the cheekbone. It's never a good idea to crack your knuckles upon fixed bone.

My cheek was hot from being smashed against the bone underneath it. It would swell up, that was certain, but I would get a black eye if I didn't take immediate action.


When you have been hit in the eye, from a knuckle sammich, or walking into a wall corner or the blunt end of an open door, you have about ten minutes of opportunity to stop from getting a black eye.

Here's what you must do:


Ice cold anything. A cold steak will help, some people use salt pork (called fatback, if you live up north), and others use a bag of ice. I'd always used a bag of frozen vegetables, until I learned to block swings at my eyes.

Bags of frozen peas are full of small pieces that will mold better around your eye socket, and they do not melt into water. Vegetable give off their cold immediately at first, but then they slow in their thermal absorption.

You will not freeze your eyeball.


If you have none of these, then a source of cold water from the tap, into your cupped hand running continuously over your affected area, will provide the needed lowered temperature to keep it from swelling up and causing blood to pool and stagnate, which turns blue then purple.

Don't press on that which has already been smacked. Be gentle with a wound.


Be very gentle, with a wound.




I went to the fridge and opened the freezer on top. Joey followed me into the kitchen.

"You gonna zap a frozen burrito? I'll have one."

"Fuck you Joey."


He chuckled and went to the sink to grab a towel. "Got any ice in there?"


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

We both sat on the edge of the cement slab, feet on the tar walkways that led to the communal area of the duplexes, me with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel over my cheek and eye, and he with a bag of ice in another hand towel over his knuckles.


Coffee mugs sat next to us. This was before I lived alone and learned to drink my coffee black, so that I would have enough cash for alcohol instead of sugar and creamer.

There were three tablespoons of creamer and two of sugar in each of our mugs.

The sun looked down on us with a warm smile, like an evil clown who had plans for us.

"Weeee-ill. We gonna go see Katheena."

"Good. Where she at?"


"She's working. But she gets off at one."

"One time, I wished I was that one."



"You still do, don't lie."

"You do too, don't talk shit."


Actually, the coffee tasted pretty damn good on that fucked up day.


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

Katheena's house sat behind walnut trees at the end of a cul-de-sac. A 1940's Era block house, constructed with solid craftsmanship and ornate, white trim, and forest green-painted stucco. I'd made some good memories inside her,

ummm, home.

"Hi guys. Come inside."


Indeed.


We sat around the kitchen table and she performed a tea ceremony, something her mom, back in Thailand, had shown her. The tea ceremony hails from Japan, but her mother was knowledgeable about many fine things of the many Eastern People.


The East is always a good place to go, you know.



"Katheeeeen-ahhh. How's Ivan doing?"

"Joey, I wish you guys wouldn't call him that. Why do you do that?"



"It's Weeee-ill's fault. Why don't you ask him?"

She looked at me, hand on her hip.



I smirked, shaking my head. "It's dumb. It's nothing. Ok, Ok, I'll tell you. Stop pinching my cheek! It hurts. Umm, well, it's from the Rocky Movie. Ya know, Ivan Drago, the giant Russian boxer."


Katheena laughed, and she'd always had a lovely laugh. No my friend, I was not falling for her again. That was no man's land for me, chummy.


She said, "I can see that! It's funny. Ok, I just thought it was derogatory or something."

"Well, I was pissed at him."





Katheena's smile faded, and she quietly cleared her throat and swallowed. The air in the kitchen grew a little thin. But the atmosphere was suddenly quite dense.


Each of we three had been involved in the repercussions of what had followed after the introduction of Ivan into our tight friendship.



And the appearance of Lorelei.



And the Aftermath.



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


"Will, I just want to apologize for what I did to you."

I sipped my tea. "No worries. Shit happened. 'Nuff said."




"Will, there is much more that needs to be said. And it needs to be said here and now."

"Look, it's all water over the wings. What's done is done. I just want to be done with it."




"I know, nothing can be changed. But maybe I can help make some sense of things. There are some things that you should know."

"I know. It's just that, well, I don't know if I want to know, ya know?"




"Well, Will, I think you should know."


I have always said that nothing good comes from hearing the words, "I think you should know."



But this here one time, my friend, I would be wrong about that.







You will see tomorrow, on Sunday.














LINKS



Kain Carter, home made comedian. Funny as hell. 71 videos, if you like his stuff.







Wave at the bus. 170 days of your dear old dad waving you off to school dressed as in a different costume each day. His son will need therapy.






Those two folks above believe in what themselves. You ever had a dream…?

This guy followed his dream, of being a tow truck operator. He is dedicated to his trade.

My Name Is Two-Ten from Michael Nusbaum on Vimeo.

Some started out that way, but then got jaded. Or, is it traded? Here is the explanation of why the second trilogy of the Star Wars series was, well, …what the fuck happened to George Lucas anyway? From Slick Gigolo, 20 videos if you like this stuff.







For instance, here’s the latest Star Wars spin off by George Lucas, by way of the Jersey Shore. Jedi Douchbags. WTF?






9000





Back to reality, or realty, as it were. Bank of America tries to foreclose on a couple who’d bought their house with cash money straight up.






It’s all about truth, my friend. And dispelling misconceptions.





In another direction, the Drunk Kitchen. Seven videos, if you like to drink and cook, which is dangerous. But funny.









Angry Birds, best live action one evah.









God Help You.

God Help Us All.


---willies out.










OK, One More For Ya.







Tom Cruise is weird? When Kirsten Dunst was a kid, her folks tried to prep her for an interview after her first movie. Kid spilled her own truths. Huh. What do you think of her parents?
















.

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.


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

.

118

Dust rained down over me.


My little rocket ship rumbled quietly in the desert sand of the Sans Joking River Valley, where Fuckno, Califuckthisshit slowly crept northward into more farmland to steal from the production of food, leaving a trail of slime and waste in its wake.


Give it a wake, give it a funeral. It was time to get the fuck out.


I opened my car door in the early night, and stepped out to survey the damage.


No one was there. I had ended up swirling and skidding into a desert sand dune bass-ackwards in my panic, when I’d sure as shit seen Lorelei standing in my way in the middle of the road.




Her wheels were dug in pretty deep, buried in dirt. It took some scooping by hand to make a path for her treads, and this was much easier and warmer than in snow in a north-eastern land, far away, where I wanted to go.

What the fuck was happening to me?


Seeing ghosts and crashing my Celica while I was running away from a bad situation, man, that chust did not add up. I didn’t think that I was going crazy or anything, but then again, that is what any crazy fool will tell himself or anyone within earshot.



I rocked her back and forth with her easy stick shift like a good driver, and when it felt right, I chugged her forward. She made it up over the hump, and we were on the road again like we had planned it that way all along.



Evidently, I had driven out into the offskirts of Clovis in my blind fear, my escape mode. And now I had to figure out which way was home. Luckily, none of the drivers I’d pissed off driving through red lights moments before had followed me with road rage.



Cursive writing in black rubber scrawled my panicked path upon the sun bleached tar, in the twilight of that late fall night. I could see from which direction I had come, and I wanted to avoid those whom I’d caused to panic as well. I went south, instead of heading back west.


Anything to avoid the west.


Anything to get the fuck out of Fuckno.


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


The bed I’d saved up for and bought months ago held cold comfort to me, all freshly showered and sparkly clean.


The water ran red with desert ochre and other rusted metals from the dust I’d accumulated during one hell of a long day.


I stared up at the ceiling, listening to HGTTG on public radio. Arthur Dent made awesome sammiches for the Golgafrincham to celebrate.


That would be cool, to drink beer to soften the blow of teleporting to a spaceship, to escape the destruction of the Earth.


New worlds awaited. I would grab my towel and wear my bathrobe forever after like a starlit Hugh Heffner.


Instead, I sank into a deep slumber, like a pebble drifting down in a jar of honey.


I did not awake until the morning sun had passed from peeking into my window.


It shined down outside from directly overhead, and the whole place was silent. A note on the counter read that my mom had taken my little sisters to the mall for some winter clothes.


This was how I would awaken each day, after my mom would finally bail out of Fuckno, with my sisters in tow. I never left Fuckno, you see, until much later.


Oddly enough, I felt quite all right. This is how it was in the morning for me back then. The troubles of the previous day slept soundly while I awakened in amnesiatic bliss, for a few minutes at least.

The sun shined on the back patio and beckoned me to come outside, coffee mug in hand, to partake of one of the only things that California would always use to bring a smile to my face.



Unlimited warmth.



You will see what I mean tomorrow, my friend.




LINKS.




Cartoon about House, for your Sunday pleasure.



Playing a piano with your friend Dick.





Speaking of raging dicks, Rage comic Collection, for \b\ dude Jambo.


Speaking of \b\ Wikileaks dude: Hero or not?




Speaking of massive dicks, now the U.S. wants to follow China with internet censorship?



Bizarre Signs site. Start off with Dream Boyfriend. Huh.




Cheesy space pic compilation. But me likey space. Sorry.




Cool cave pics. Reed Flute style, yo.



Interesting read, below the cartoon. You may not like this. It’s odd.





Don’t land on your face. Someone may put a win foot on your back.



Or, you may win in another way. Confessions of a welfare recipient.




God Help You.

God Help Us All.


---willies out.









OK, one more for ya.


Some Memorial Day BBQ recipes from them gawd damned Canucks up north of us.








.

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?

.

116

I had lost my innocence. This was in no cense.

Censeless, so to speak...


Huh.

“There is only so much that shit thou canst take.” ---Shakespeare, ca. 1609, The Folios

This lamb for the slaughter would not be the scapegoat to this party of laughter.

Here's a find from my son Gabe.

I stood up and looked around at everyone, and they stopped what they were saying to each other and looked back at me. I hadn’t known it, but they’d been only ribbing me earlier, and then turned back to their own topics of discussion or amusement when I sat down.


I should have remained cool, shrugged it off, and then after I finished my plate and had a belly full of ribs I would probably have been introduced by Glinda to them one at a time and found more ribbing, but a gentle sort, as large, gregarious sorts of families often do to each other.


I could have told them about my own tribe, about growing up witnessing the oppression of my own people, that sort of stuff. We had some things in common.

But I didn’t wait until later to do this.



You know that it is human behavior to be self conscious when you regard yourself as “the other,” or, “the outsider.” Just as when folks speaking a language that you do not speak begin to laugh, you always think they are laughing at you. Correct as that may be, this curious trait of human behavior also occurs when you can not quite make out what others nearby are saying to each other.

Especially after they have, in fact, been laughing at you.



So I sat there, trying to enjoy the wonderful flavors each cook had put into their own dish for the family feast, but all I had going on in my head were three things, which were these:


1. They were staring at me, laughing and whispering behind my back.

2. They were bad people.

3. They were going to get me.


Of course, I was wrong on all three accounts, except for two folks. Two of Glinda’s cousins were going full steam ahead with number one up there above. They were nine and eleven years old and they thought I was cute.


I stood up and I heard folks whisper things like the following:

(Shhh, white boy gonna say something. Hold on, hold on, listen…)

(Check it out, Homeboy gonna give his oral presentation....)

(Hey, what he doing now? Ohh, he going after a second helping, but look like he gonna be sick...)

(Yeah, he making room for more chitlins first, that’s all. It’s understandable...)



I was not all that understandable. I was done being under those who were standing on top of me.

It was my turn to stand up.



It had been a weird fucking day, you know. Glinty McFlintlock seemed like the strangest person on Earth when Glinda and I’d first encountered him, but at this point in the day, he now seemed like a kindly old gent who might sit down and share a beer with me and reminisce about an old stable that hid a hearse under a rotten tarp for the last half century.

I coulda hugged ole Glinty, toothless as he was.


I was alone.

“I think I’ve had about enough of this, thank you very much.”

Glinda looked up at me and her jaw dropped. She just stared at me.

(Well, if he full, he don’t need to be telling everybody, just go lie down and take a nap…)



“I can see you staring at the white boy, and that’s cool. I kinda stick out here.”

(Well, you do now all standing up and shouting at folks…)



“But you should know something about me. I am not just a white boy.”

(Oh no. He also a white girl trapped in a white boy body…)

(I told you he the fuzz! Put that shit out!)

(Shhh!)




“My friends, I am also an Indian. Yup, I am a half breed: half white, and half red.”

(Wait, that make him pink, don’t it?)

(Oh, he about to sing “Cherokee Nation” now…)



“You missed out on getting to know me because you can’t see past your own troubles.”

(He starting to trouble me now…)

(Wilfred, sit back down. He just scared…)



“It’s time for me to go now.”

(You got that right)



“Don’t try to follow me.”

(Boy crazy)

(Did he say “Don’t follow me?”)


“I don’t have any money.”

(OK, that does it. That’s enough now)

“White boy. You done talking. Get the fuck out.”

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

Yup, I had just insulted a whole group of people with one sentence. A group of people who had shared their delicious feast with me no questions asked. They had no idea I was diddling their pretty daughter/niece/cousin/grand daughter in her twenties.


I was her good friend who had driven her to her first professional photo shoot for her port folio, in my car, and that was pretty cool. They had a congratulatory feast in her honor, which was also just an excuse to cook up an awesome dish and bring it to a cookout, like anyone ever needs an excuse to do such a thing…


But then I’d gone and stood up, acting a fool, talking about being an Indian half breed and them missing their chance getting to know a Real Indian, and don’t follow me or try to steal from me.


Yeah, it was indeed time for me to get the fuck out.



Except,



I was still scared.



So I flipped over the buffet table to distract them.


I know. That was fucked.



It also had the opposite effect. They were suddenly focused on the asshole who ruined all the good food which flew out of the containers and platters and splattered on the ground.


Glinda dragged me out to the front of the house while folks were getting up out of their seats.


“What is wrong with you?! Why did you say all those mean things and then do that to the food?!”


I was busy trying to open my locked car door. Don’t look at me that way. I lock my doors at night, and I am surrounded by my tribe, my family, up here in the woods of Maine. I’m just an asshole.


I had no response for her. Well, none that was adequate for her, that was. I jumped in and cranked my little bitch awake, and gunned the engine.



All those pissed-off people, (well, those who weren’t gently lifting the containers off the cement patio to try to save their loving creations, that was,) were too full to move all that fast, and so sadly, there is no exciting car chase and gunfire in this part of the tale I have been telling you all these years, my friend.


No, there was simply a mentally exhausted, angry, scared, lost young asshole, who had a lot to learn about other people. Measly.


I needed to learn some true manners.



That would be the next time. You will see.




LINKS


Your actions will always have repercussions. You make waves in the world. Here’s an example.









Some folks will see through your intentions. They may swear against it, quite a bit, but it might be quite honest.








But you may find yourself a good captain, as I did, long ago. She may even be capable on the water, and be able to catch fish for dinnah.






This should not make you feel small in any way.





Or you will fail. (Please turn down your sound for this very short fail. Don’t want to hurt your ears, my friend.)








So, what do you do next? You try to win. But fail again?








How about having a brewskie while you are in Space? That would be cool.



Huh.




Perhaps you may need a new perspective.





Well, not like this.



This might be cool.








What is meant here, at the Mighty TDC, is to be cool like this, for something that means quite a lot.





Ya know.







God Help You.

God Help Us All.


---willies out.














OK, two more for ya.


A musical find from my dotta, a gold heart whom me and my lady Lisa have taught to steer clear of liars and cheaters.








This next find is from my son.

Tahoo.










Be true my friend, always.






















.