Grandma has been bat shit crazy for as long as I’ve known her. Since she developed jimmy legs shes been considerably worse, the effect more acute with the onset of sundowners and a minor case of Alzheimer’s. Over the past thirty years she has been successful at driving a wedge in between her and everybody who has cared about her, an innate ability to place everybody at a distance so when it is time to say goodbye nobody would feel like they missed her.
She has been sick for some time now. So convoluted in her own past memories and pain that perhaps cruelly, maybe callously there have been several conversations that, if she were a dog, we most likely would’ve put her down, put her out of her misery.
Ma told me today she spoke with the doctors and who informed her that, with the pain medication Grandma is about to go on Gram will most likely have six months to live. For Grandma, for her mixed mash of a brain, for her tired and worn out body this will come as sweet relief.
To my Ma and Grandpa this will be the end of something far greater. She is a beautiful and strong woman. Her own mother died when she was a child, she was then raised by her sister who left her when her sister was married. She earned a degree in chemistry and parlayed that into a master’s degree in music. She taught small children, she volunteered in the church. Looking back at her now I see all of those beautiful moments that I’ve taken for granted: piano lessons, the odd book that she thought I would like, her appreciation and patience for the music I would make her listen to.
To that extent I don’t know if this is why I feel sad, hollow. Death becomes us all, it is unavoidable and for some people it is the final and only real grace they seek. It is for those of us left behind to feel this emptiness. Grieving for not being able to see her, grieving for those that have depended on her for so long.
My family is small and scattered across the Midwest. Counting both sides of the family, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents plus my immediate family, there are only twelve of us. So when the family gathers it is a time for jokes, drinks but mostly, and the greatest part, the stories. And so I’ll end this with one of my favorite Grandma stories:
Junior year of college Jordan, Greggy and I made a pilgrimage down to Madison to attend a Hawaiian party. We woke up the next day hungover, maybe still drunk but cognizant enough to make the trip over to my grandparent’s house.
We have never been a family of cooks, in fact, as a rule we generally don’t eat. However there is a rich tradition that when we do gather we go out to lunch. That day we headed to Irishman’s Bay the restaurant my grandparents ate at every Saturday. We rode over in two cars with most of my friends, probably Greggy or Dre, helping my hobbled Grandpa into the restaurant leaving me to help Grandma.
She exited the car looking perplexed, asking me if I knew where her keys were. To which I replied that the car was still running; her keys were still in the ignition. She, at least that day, had a defensible reason for being in such a state, however. My grandpa’s brother was coming in from New York with his new lady friend which made Grandma nervous and inform the table, “And I don’t even think that they drink.”
She has always been off in her own little world, though I don’t know if she has ever been comfortable, even there. My favorite line from this story takes place after we sat down at the table. She looked everybody in the eye to make sure nobody was crazy and asked in a calculated manner, “So, are the drinks ordered?”
They, of course, had been ordered. Her glass of cheep, boxed Chablis was always waiting for her at the anticipation of her coming. She is bat shit crazy. Another one of the reasons we love her.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Monday, September 24, 2007
dreams and private myths
Jonsie sat alone by a campfire taking drags off the butts of spent cigarettes. He was trying to fit a text message into the prescribed 160 character, but couldn’t make sense of the words.
The music was turned up beyond the limits of city ordinances and he knew that he was playing on borrowed time. He started out saying that “I believe in those perfect moments where everything is beautiful, everything is illuminated.” But then had no faith in his words or rather, he wished he was writing it about something else.
Lushness in his own lyrics lambasted his head; heavy weight thoughts punched him to the ropes:
“We are all laying in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”
-Oscar Wilde
“People seldom do what they believe in. They do what is convenient, then repent.”
-Bob Dylan
“There was only one catch and that was Catch-22. You would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if you didn’t want to, but if you were sane than you had to fly them. If you fly them you are crazy and don’t have to; but if don’t want to you are sane and have to fly them.”
-Joseph Heller
“I don’t believe people are looking for the meaning of life as much as they are looking for the experience of being alive.”
-Joseph Campbell
“If you don’t know where you’re going, any road will get you there.”
-Lewis Carroll
“A sentimental person thinks things will last, a romantic person hopes against hope that they won’t.”
-F. Scott Fitzgerald
“Be careful what you pretend to be because you are what you pretend to be.”
-Kurt Vonnegut
“I’ve never had a humble opinion in my life. If you’ve got an opinion, why be humble about it?”
-Joan Baez
“Everything is clearer when you’re in love.”
“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”
“Time you enjoyed wasting was not time wasted.”
-John Lennon
The music was turned up beyond the limits of city ordinances and he knew that he was playing on borrowed time. He started out saying that “I believe in those perfect moments where everything is beautiful, everything is illuminated.” But then had no faith in his words or rather, he wished he was writing it about something else.
Lushness in his own lyrics lambasted his head; heavy weight thoughts punched him to the ropes:
“We are all laying in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”
-Oscar Wilde
“People seldom do what they believe in. They do what is convenient, then repent.”
-Bob Dylan
“There was only one catch and that was Catch-22. You would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if you didn’t want to, but if you were sane than you had to fly them. If you fly them you are crazy and don’t have to; but if don’t want to you are sane and have to fly them.”
-Joseph Heller
“I don’t believe people are looking for the meaning of life as much as they are looking for the experience of being alive.”
-Joseph Campbell
“If you don’t know where you’re going, any road will get you there.”
-Lewis Carroll
“A sentimental person thinks things will last, a romantic person hopes against hope that they won’t.”
-F. Scott Fitzgerald
“Be careful what you pretend to be because you are what you pretend to be.”
-Kurt Vonnegut
“I’ve never had a humble opinion in my life. If you’ve got an opinion, why be humble about it?”
-Joan Baez
“Everything is clearer when you’re in love.”
“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”
“Time you enjoyed wasting was not time wasted.”
-John Lennon
Monday, September 17, 2007
Battleground Any Town, USA
SOMEWHERE IN WISCONSIN- Fires are visible now from both camps and a smell that might be something chemical is wafting from where most of the troop has gathered. This is most likely the roasting of the large animal that was trudged in during this mornings march. Occasional sounds of laughter erupt as crass and crudely crafted jokes come across the distance in their guttural language.
Animosity began between the two camps when Mr. Ford decided the choice of bivouacs then was disputed by Mr. Densmore. Further aggression was caused by an exchange of words that included but was not limited to: tenure of camping, weight and height comparisons, between both gentlemen, and the nature of Bud Light versus Miller Lite.
While the Ford camp boasts greater numbers the Densmore camp surpasses them in technological reasoning and quantity of beer. I have been informed by members of the Densmore camp that their larger cache of beer, in the past, has lead to grudging peace. Becky Densmore informed me while waiting to “break the seal” in the DMZ/out-house area, “[The Ford encampment] always doesn’t remember to bring, you know, enough of their like crappy beer. Then, around two in the morning one of those guys will come here and stuff. And then they’ll all come here. It’s good family time. They just are too stupid to know it. That and they’re all inbred bastards.”
Peace, in this form, may be harder to come by this year. Last year,fed up with having to provide beer to the Ford family, the Densmore camp continually slipped the Ford visitors alcohol free beer. This action almost caused the 2007 installment of the family camping trip to be cancelled en total.
Reactions from the Ford camp have been staunch. Matriarch of the Ford family and avid whiskey drinker, Rose Ford, informed me, “Let’s see them guys try to make me a non-alcoholic whiskey and then I’ll shove it up their non-whiskey ass. I would rather pass out than deal with them.”
But, of course, during all of these times of strife there are the children. Little twelve-year old Derek Densmore, who according to family by-laws is not eligible to drink until next year, was seen sneaking off into the woods with his cousin Emily Ford. When Darrel Ford, father to Emily, was informed of this new development he commented, “Well, at least then the family would only have to pay for one wedding.”
Senior expert on Ford-Densmore relations, Lynnabelle Richter, went on record saying that “This is really just a melee compared to Christmas when the confines of both clashing sects are pulled closer and brought under one roof. The rough outline that is typically agreed upon by both families is based upon feats of strength and longevity of drinking.”
Still, nights like tonight are not without their share of special moments that arouse continual hope that both sides might one day cohabit in peace. Responding to multiple noise complaints Park Ranger Stephen Eau Claire approached the Densmore camp in an attempt to quiet them. Members of the Ford family were quick to rush to the aid of their insulted brethren and both parties saw members taken prisoner to an area detention center. A bipartisan detachment from both the groups is now purportedly planning a clandestine mission to place the sugar, intended for tomorrow’s pancakes, into the gas tanks of all Park Rangers cars.
This article is also available on The Spoof.com
Animosity began between the two camps when Mr. Ford decided the choice of bivouacs then was disputed by Mr. Densmore. Further aggression was caused by an exchange of words that included but was not limited to: tenure of camping, weight and height comparisons, between both gentlemen, and the nature of Bud Light versus Miller Lite.
While the Ford camp boasts greater numbers the Densmore camp surpasses them in technological reasoning and quantity of beer. I have been informed by members of the Densmore camp that their larger cache of beer, in the past, has lead to grudging peace. Becky Densmore informed me while waiting to “break the seal” in the DMZ/out-house area, “[The Ford encampment] always doesn’t remember to bring, you know, enough of their like crappy beer. Then, around two in the morning one of those guys will come here and stuff. And then they’ll all come here. It’s good family time. They just are too stupid to know it. That and they’re all inbred bastards.”
Peace, in this form, may be harder to come by this year. Last year,fed up with having to provide beer to the Ford family, the Densmore camp continually slipped the Ford visitors alcohol free beer. This action almost caused the 2007 installment of the family camping trip to be cancelled en total.
Reactions from the Ford camp have been staunch. Matriarch of the Ford family and avid whiskey drinker, Rose Ford, informed me, “Let’s see them guys try to make me a non-alcoholic whiskey and then I’ll shove it up their non-whiskey ass. I would rather pass out than deal with them.”
But, of course, during all of these times of strife there are the children. Little twelve-year old Derek Densmore, who according to family by-laws is not eligible to drink until next year, was seen sneaking off into the woods with his cousin Emily Ford. When Darrel Ford, father to Emily, was informed of this new development he commented, “Well, at least then the family would only have to pay for one wedding.”
Senior expert on Ford-Densmore relations, Lynnabelle Richter, went on record saying that “This is really just a melee compared to Christmas when the confines of both clashing sects are pulled closer and brought under one roof. The rough outline that is typically agreed upon by both families is based upon feats of strength and longevity of drinking.”
Still, nights like tonight are not without their share of special moments that arouse continual hope that both sides might one day cohabit in peace. Responding to multiple noise complaints Park Ranger Stephen Eau Claire approached the Densmore camp in an attempt to quiet them. Members of the Ford family were quick to rush to the aid of their insulted brethren and both parties saw members taken prisoner to an area detention center. A bipartisan detachment from both the groups is now purportedly planning a clandestine mission to place the sugar, intended for tomorrow’s pancakes, into the gas tanks of all Park Rangers cars.
This article is also available on The Spoof.com
Monday, September 10, 2007
Secrets of the Forest
Astral Ninja scratches his faithful slave Pedro behind the ears, a move his feline companion both hates for its’ demeaning qualities and adores for its’ sensation. With lack of a better comment, Pedro removes a clove cigarette and brings it to life.
Astral Ninja sets down and looks over all that is before him. Peace like a river becomes him. Grace from the great canvas of the world sings in stories before him. Possibilities within dreams; dreams inside of their possibilities twine together in thick hair pulled high off the shoulder with a rubber band. He closes his eyes to take it back in, then removes pen and parchment from his satchel and writes.
The letter is, he knows, a foolish exercise. It is written to extend and savor the delicious, amborsial acts of words and emotions that spiral through the abyss of his mind, placing them all into the permanence of ink. This is the creation of something visual to satisfy another one of his senses; a point to concentrate on, to channel, to communicate with. These words scrawled on paper feel more vulnerable, more true, more like a gift he could leave for others to discover. A little bit of soul dust from me to you.
Pedro, beside him, removes another black cigarette and fires it. Astral Ninja looks for inspiration, setting his eyes on the cliff in the distance that looks like a lower toothed smile. He removes another sheet of paper and begins to write the words again, this time in a more legible, careful caress. Words pour off the paper but he feels like he could say more. That by saying something more this will enable all the twisted emotions to make sense or come true.
He agonizes over the words again, copying over the letters on the page, emboldening them until the grip of the pen indents itself onto his hand. Sloppy, ink tears kiss the page and are wiped into background as he continues.
Then he rests. The madness that both calms and en-flames him churns on, coping with other ways to say it all over again. Pedro stamps out the clove but the ember still blazes.
“The eye on the prize.” Astral Ninja says then, for no good reason.
Astral Ninja sets down and looks over all that is before him. Peace like a river becomes him. Grace from the great canvas of the world sings in stories before him. Possibilities within dreams; dreams inside of their possibilities twine together in thick hair pulled high off the shoulder with a rubber band. He closes his eyes to take it back in, then removes pen and parchment from his satchel and writes.
The letter is, he knows, a foolish exercise. It is written to extend and savor the delicious, amborsial acts of words and emotions that spiral through the abyss of his mind, placing them all into the permanence of ink. This is the creation of something visual to satisfy another one of his senses; a point to concentrate on, to channel, to communicate with. These words scrawled on paper feel more vulnerable, more true, more like a gift he could leave for others to discover. A little bit of soul dust from me to you.
Pedro, beside him, removes another black cigarette and fires it. Astral Ninja looks for inspiration, setting his eyes on the cliff in the distance that looks like a lower toothed smile. He removes another sheet of paper and begins to write the words again, this time in a more legible, careful caress. Words pour off the paper but he feels like he could say more. That by saying something more this will enable all the twisted emotions to make sense or come true.
He agonizes over the words again, copying over the letters on the page, emboldening them until the grip of the pen indents itself onto his hand. Sloppy, ink tears kiss the page and are wiped into background as he continues.
Then he rests. The madness that both calms and en-flames him churns on, coping with other ways to say it all over again. Pedro stamps out the clove but the ember still blazes.
“The eye on the prize.” Astral Ninja says then, for no good reason.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Janice
A question was put to me over this Labor Day weekend from a women no less, no need for a big build up on this one lets just get straight to it.
For the safety of all parties involved I will use very Common names so I don't embarrass anyone.
Our Heroine of the Story let's call her Janice.
Janice and Bob have been married for 15 years happily Bob is just your overall nice guy helps old ladies across the street, all that kind of jazz after hanging out with Bob on several different occasions he is devoted to his wife for instance Bob and I were out for a guys night out tossing back a few drinks at a bar no wife, he doesn't even try to stare at other women when they walk by and
NO!!! Ladies I don't encourage or instigate any type of deviant behavior from a married man I find that tacky I wouldn't try to drag this guy to strip Club or anything of that nature I may be a lot of things but Balddee respects a persons choice with that disclaimer out there lets continue.
There is something very interesting about women they seek to confide in each other I mean to the level where it's uncomfortably odd in some respects it seem needy but that's another Blog where was I.
Oh yeah women tend to confide in one another and Janice is no different, she has a friend aquance named Sue. Friend Aquance?
I had to know what that means what she told me is that women have three categories for there Amiga's
#1 Friends
These are there Secondary Sisters these are the Godmothers; these are the women they would swim Shark infestifed waters for you get the point.
#2 The Acquaintance
These are the ladies they have to keep in contact with either because of there Work, in-laws tend to fall in this category these are the people they always say "Call me lets do lunch“ but you never do that because they really cant stand that person.
And then there's this.
# 3 FriendAquance:
Obviously, this is a made up word to describe that secret person, in a women’s life this is that person who they don’t bring around group # 1 because that group would chastise you no this friendaquance you bring around Group #2 cause a friendaquance is someone who you have that cheating passion for so they make you look like you got it going on.
"Why not call them your secret Lover?" I asked.
Janice replied, " Cause that means you care to much, that means you love them, that means there's more to what's going on then there actually should be."
Yike's!
So you may see where this is going but hang tight kids it takes a turn.
For the safety of all parties involved I will use very Common names so I don't embarrass anyone.
Our Heroine of the Story let's call her Janice.
Janice and Bob have been married for 15 years happily Bob is just your overall nice guy helps old ladies across the street, all that kind of jazz after hanging out with Bob on several different occasions he is devoted to his wife for instance Bob and I were out for a guys night out tossing back a few drinks at a bar no wife, he doesn't even try to stare at other women when they walk by and
NO!!! Ladies I don't encourage or instigate any type of deviant behavior from a married man I find that tacky I wouldn't try to drag this guy to strip Club or anything of that nature I may be a lot of things but Balddee respects a persons choice with that disclaimer out there lets continue.
There is something very interesting about women they seek to confide in each other I mean to the level where it's uncomfortably odd in some respects it seem needy but that's another Blog where was I.
Oh yeah women tend to confide in one another and Janice is no different, she has a friend aquance named Sue. Friend Aquance?
I had to know what that means what she told me is that women have three categories for there Amiga's
#1 Friends
These are there Secondary Sisters these are the Godmothers; these are the women they would swim Shark infestifed waters for you get the point.
#2 The Acquaintance
These are the ladies they have to keep in contact with either because of there Work, in-laws tend to fall in this category these are the people they always say "Call me lets do lunch“ but you never do that because they really cant stand that person.
And then there's this.
# 3 FriendAquance:
Obviously, this is a made up word to describe that secret person, in a women’s life this is that person who they don’t bring around group # 1 because that group would chastise you no this friendaquance you bring around Group #2 cause a friendaquance is someone who you have that cheating passion for so they make you look like you got it going on.
"Why not call them your secret Lover?" I asked.
Janice replied, " Cause that means you care to much, that means you love them, that means there's more to what's going on then there actually should be."
Yike's!
So you may see where this is going but hang tight kids it takes a turn.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Calahan and Buxton... Together Again?
SALEM, CONNECTICUT- Friends of Miranda Carahan and William Buxton had fears re-woken last Friday that the couple might be getting back together. After a party at the Stoltz residence it appeared the couple had a conversation that did not end in an angry argument or thrown objects.
Long time friend to the couple, Brenda Graff, was willing to go on record saying “Every time they break up they always need somebody’s shoulder to cry on… every time that they get back together they want everybody to be happy for them.”
Craig “Shotty” Shotliff, best friend of Buxton, indicated he did not know how many times they had broken up and gotten back together. “It sucks when we go to the bar and try to pick up women and [Buxton] talks a big game then gets drunk and kills the mood by ending up talking about Mira. Worst wingman ever.”
Several other friends of the couple were quick to reiterate these comments.
“We have tried everything to keep them separated.” Leigha Borgart, continued “Last time Mira’s sister tried to set her up with Chuck Grenovich so she could get a new relationship going or just have somebody to fuck.”
Charles Grenovich, a man of certain morale deficiencies within the Salem community, only provided Buxton with a sense of jealousy and prompted him to actually say the things that had never been said. There is much speculation that this is the driving force behind the Carahan and Buxton relationship being back on again.
Overheard at the Stoltz party has been some indication that marriage may result if the couple gets back together this time. From a source that wished to remain anonymous “Will and Mira feel that if they have a kid together it will give them something really permanent to base their relationship on.”
Still, as exit polls from the party would indicate, the odds of Calahan and Buxton working out their relationship are slim to none. Nick Carraway was willing to admit, “I’ll give them a week and then I see the two of them breaking up again. It could even happen as early as tomorrow. Still, it does give us a reason to drink.”
But all might not be ending on a bad note, as partygoer, Clark Grabel, was willing to note, “I hope it doesn’t work out. I’ve been waiting for Mira to get over Will for a long time so I can usher in the new era of Clark Grabel into her life.”
Long time friend to the couple, Brenda Graff, was willing to go on record saying “Every time they break up they always need somebody’s shoulder to cry on… every time that they get back together they want everybody to be happy for them.”
Craig “Shotty” Shotliff, best friend of Buxton, indicated he did not know how many times they had broken up and gotten back together. “It sucks when we go to the bar and try to pick up women and [Buxton] talks a big game then gets drunk and kills the mood by ending up talking about Mira. Worst wingman ever.”
Several other friends of the couple were quick to reiterate these comments.
“We have tried everything to keep them separated.” Leigha Borgart, continued “Last time Mira’s sister tried to set her up with Chuck Grenovich so she could get a new relationship going or just have somebody to fuck.”
Charles Grenovich, a man of certain morale deficiencies within the Salem community, only provided Buxton with a sense of jealousy and prompted him to actually say the things that had never been said. There is much speculation that this is the driving force behind the Carahan and Buxton relationship being back on again.
Overheard at the Stoltz party has been some indication that marriage may result if the couple gets back together this time. From a source that wished to remain anonymous “Will and Mira feel that if they have a kid together it will give them something really permanent to base their relationship on.”
Still, as exit polls from the party would indicate, the odds of Calahan and Buxton working out their relationship are slim to none. Nick Carraway was willing to admit, “I’ll give them a week and then I see the two of them breaking up again. It could even happen as early as tomorrow. Still, it does give us a reason to drink.”
But all might not be ending on a bad note, as partygoer, Clark Grabel, was willing to note, “I hope it doesn’t work out. I’ve been waiting for Mira to get over Will for a long time so I can usher in the new era of Clark Grabel into her life.”
Friday, July 27, 2007
Advice letter to Balddee.
Hello kids I received this email and I have to share it it’s a bit long but man oh man.
Balddee2
Dear Balddee2
I am not one to reach out for help or for suggestions, least of all from a perfect stranger yet here I am, my situation is far to serious to seek the counsel of my friends, not that I don’t value there opinion but sometimes you need the guidance of someone completely unattached to both parties, yes this is an unlikely place to seek advice but after reading some of your previous responses to other peoples problems they seem more insightful and not so spiteful as other more popular Advice Columnist now that I have stroked your feathers so to speak on to my Problem .
I have been with a vibrant young lady but our relationship has come to a standstill the main reason is she cheated on me. I cant prove it but she went on a” Girls night out to Vegas with some of her more slutty friends.
Now I understand that this may seem silly and obviously since I don’t really have any proof how can I make such a claim.
I have been with this person for 8 years we live together I work, she does not I pay the bill she creates them, I pay for her personal trainers ect you get the point our interactions have been one sided to say the least she has 3 kids from 3 previous relationships.
I forgot to mention there all from three different guys who pop over to see her at my home sometimes when I’m not there they also bring there personal Religious stuff to my home.
Well one guy is a devote Hindu from India, another guy is a Santero from Puerto Rico and a hardcore Christian guy from Romania. I don’t care about their race or anything but they drop off all their stuff at my home. She argues that it’s important that the kids experience and have a bond with their fathers I ‘m not allowed to discipline her kids
I cant talk to my friends cause I made the mistake of mentioning that her sex is addicting it’s like really good Ice Cream or a perfect Glass of Wine.
Please Help
Balddee2
Dear Balddee2
I am not one to reach out for help or for suggestions, least of all from a perfect stranger yet here I am, my situation is far to serious to seek the counsel of my friends, not that I don’t value there opinion but sometimes you need the guidance of someone completely unattached to both parties, yes this is an unlikely place to seek advice but after reading some of your previous responses to other peoples problems they seem more insightful and not so spiteful as other more popular Advice Columnist now that I have stroked your feathers so to speak on to my Problem .
I have been with a vibrant young lady but our relationship has come to a standstill the main reason is she cheated on me. I cant prove it but she went on a” Girls night out to Vegas with some of her more slutty friends.
Now I understand that this may seem silly and obviously since I don’t really have any proof how can I make such a claim.
I have been with this person for 8 years we live together I work, she does not I pay the bill she creates them, I pay for her personal trainers ect you get the point our interactions have been one sided to say the least she has 3 kids from 3 previous relationships.
I forgot to mention there all from three different guys who pop over to see her at my home sometimes when I’m not there they also bring there personal Religious stuff to my home.
Well one guy is a devote Hindu from India, another guy is a Santero from Puerto Rico and a hardcore Christian guy from Romania. I don’t care about their race or anything but they drop off all their stuff at my home. She argues that it’s important that the kids experience and have a bond with their fathers I ‘m not allowed to discipline her kids
I cant talk to my friends cause I made the mistake of mentioning that her sex is addicting it’s like really good Ice Cream or a perfect Glass of Wine.
Please Help
Monday, July 23, 2007
Balldee''s tips on saving $ Today's tip: Porn DVDs
I pride myself on keeping you up to date on the best ways to conserve your hard earned dollar's lets start with Entertainment. My tip of the day, be on the look out for Porn Magazines that carry free DVD's That's right !!! this will help save the environment, no need for all that heavy extra Plastic Packaging doing this will save you an extra $40 no longer do you have to spend obscene amounts of money on DVD's By Combining the two these savings can be passed on to you the consumer.
Enjoy
Enjoy
Monday, June 18, 2007
You tell the Tale Balddee has a Contest ..
I am going to give you all a real scenario and I would like you all to make a story out of it
After several cups of Crap Coffee I scurried along to the men's room as I walked in something grabbed my attention, on the floor in the stall next to the urinal I see a cover of Glamour Magazine with some blond actress just smiling on the cover I shuttered, all sorts of crazy ideas danced about in my head after flooding the sewer system with my fluids and washing my hands, I walked out still pondering why a copy of Glamour would be in the men's room.
You will note I did not pick up the magazine I would not dare the thought of sticky pages was just too much.
As I'm writing this little ditty I thought this would be interesting to see the imagination of the common man so, just for fun if you want to come up with a story as to how the Magazine got there and for what reason it was left please post it the most imaginative gets the grandest of prizes 1st Prize gets $300.00 from Harmon's paycheck .
Have fun
After several cups of Crap Coffee I scurried along to the men's room as I walked in something grabbed my attention, on the floor in the stall next to the urinal I see a cover of Glamour Magazine with some blond actress just smiling on the cover I shuttered, all sorts of crazy ideas danced about in my head after flooding the sewer system with my fluids and washing my hands, I walked out still pondering why a copy of Glamour would be in the men's room.
You will note I did not pick up the magazine I would not dare the thought of sticky pages was just too much.
As I'm writing this little ditty I thought this would be interesting to see the imagination of the common man so, just for fun if you want to come up with a story as to how the Magazine got there and for what reason it was left please post it the most imaginative gets the grandest of prizes 1st Prize gets $300.00 from Harmon's paycheck .
Have fun
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
322
As he trolled past the room a tempest of tempers tossed round in torpedoes of tepid tantrums.
-I will not accept this word from Them! Too many of their words are already in our lexicon! And now this! This ‘saree’!
-I believe it is ‘sorree’.
-It is sheer nonsense!
-Could you use it in a sentence?
-Certainly. You thought your wife was cheating on you. Well, when she came to visit me for that weekend she did. Sorree.
-But it is a clear admission of guilt!
-She cheated on me with you?
-It is quite brilliant actually. You see the first part of the statement was an admittance of some act performed that quite possibly caused offence. However, with the inclusion of the word ‘sorree’ it negates the entire ugliness of the act and, in some of our preliminary studies, has been showing pangs of guilt within the offended party.
-You slept with my wife?
-But still! This admits that we have done something wrong! Think of the sound bites! The sound bites!
-I guess, in some way, this might show that you care?
-This is no way for somebody to lead a country! This secretion of self infallibility will not garner respect from the populace!
-Has anybody seen the polls? Does anybody know if caring carries any water these days?
-You see! Nobody cares about caring these days!
-Because it demands too much personal investment which nobody is willing to attempt?
-In a manner of speaking: yes.
-You really slept with my wife?
-In a manner of speaking: yes.
-We are in agreement then! We will not say ‘sorree’!
-God save the King.
-I will not accept this word from Them! Too many of their words are already in our lexicon! And now this! This ‘saree’!
-I believe it is ‘sorree’.
-It is sheer nonsense!
-Could you use it in a sentence?
-Certainly. You thought your wife was cheating on you. Well, when she came to visit me for that weekend she did. Sorree.
-But it is a clear admission of guilt!
-She cheated on me with you?
-It is quite brilliant actually. You see the first part of the statement was an admittance of some act performed that quite possibly caused offence. However, with the inclusion of the word ‘sorree’ it negates the entire ugliness of the act and, in some of our preliminary studies, has been showing pangs of guilt within the offended party.
-You slept with my wife?
-But still! This admits that we have done something wrong! Think of the sound bites! The sound bites!
-I guess, in some way, this might show that you care?
-This is no way for somebody to lead a country! This secretion of self infallibility will not garner respect from the populace!
-Has anybody seen the polls? Does anybody know if caring carries any water these days?
-You see! Nobody cares about caring these days!
-Because it demands too much personal investment which nobody is willing to attempt?
-In a manner of speaking: yes.
-You really slept with my wife?
-In a manner of speaking: yes.
-We are in agreement then! We will not say ‘sorree’!
-God save the King.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Ny Chronicles Federal Govt and Glory Holes
I'm walking thru a dark hallway the smell of the Mary Jane is distant pungent yet sweet not that I enjoy that kind of stuff, Reggaeton is blaring in the distance there are your typical pre-party hunters you know the ones who hang out close to the entrance so they can scope out who's coming in picture if you will a pack of Leopards just sitting in a tree waiting for that one helpless gazelle to wander close too there tree, easy for them to pounce on the poor animal a quick kill this is not the type of underground party that can be fabricated you know like when you watch any of those Canadian based action show that's, depicting a nightlife scene in New York . This is the real deal. I'm barely in the place but once I walk in the decadence is in full swing and that's impressive cause by true New York Clubber codes this is early.
I walk in the Main Room which is bright Lime Green the music volume is defying the tolerance of the human ear this is a hip hop video without editing the racy stuff the first thing I see two scanty Clad women holding each other so tight and grinding so hard and so close to each other they would be arrested in some states normally this type of thing would of kept my attention but this was a smorgasbord of uninhibited sexual display, played out for all to see everywhere uncut girl on girl action I thought I stepped into Lipstick Lezzies I thought I stepped into Straight guy heaven, not a few feet away and clearly not to be outdone there was this multitude of couples women raising there skirts showing all there paraphernalia
Pressing and grinding on there man leaving nothing to the imagination it was hedonistic primal, there is so much half naked, offensive pelvic pumping gyration I’m Home.
My joy is disturbed Terrance turns close to me to close but oh well he gets close to my ear I lean in to hear what he's wants to say and he Giggles I have never heard a grown man giggle I mean he giggles like a little school girl he motions to me a green door I decide to make my way thru the dense crowd and Second hand Smoke, it feels like every smoker In the state has converged on Brooklyn puffing with a vengeance I open the door and Dwele is playing the decor is blood red candles everywhere it’s odd with the closing of the door you cant hear the blaring Reggeaton in the other room, the vibe in this room is completely different , this is the stand and be cool while silently judging people room , this is the high fashion crowd Prada, Gucci logos are the standard I bump into the Leopards who are as I mentioned earlier are always guarding the door there meal is abundant, I make my way to the Bar finally..
Martinis are the only thing you can order yikes I just wanted a flipping beer I stand there for what seemed like hours trying to figure out what to order I cant focus all the names are so fruity like Strawberry Kitty, Mandarin Ecstasy I didn't know if I was getting frou frou lotion or some sweet booze my attention is turned to the gyrations on the floor the lighting in this room is very relaxing very dim very let's get it on but with foreplay a far different vibe from the Lime Green Room. I finally get the Bartenders attention she makes her way down it's hard not to stare at the assault of cleavage coming my way think Coyote Ugly extra, wearing only a Bra yikes indeed. I light up a cigarette one Mandarin Ecstasy with a twist of lime. Yeah I was beginning to relax.
After a couple of hours in the Red Room watching all the Beautiful people I wanted desperately to be on the inside, here I was entrenched in the Underground socialite event of the year, but I was still standing behind the Velvet Rope, but all that was about to change drastically, for little did I know that the next chain of events would leave me shaken to my core.
I walk in the Main Room which is bright Lime Green the music volume is defying the tolerance of the human ear this is a hip hop video without editing the racy stuff the first thing I see two scanty Clad women holding each other so tight and grinding so hard and so close to each other they would be arrested in some states normally this type of thing would of kept my attention but this was a smorgasbord of uninhibited sexual display, played out for all to see everywhere uncut girl on girl action I thought I stepped into Lipstick Lezzies I thought I stepped into Straight guy heaven, not a few feet away and clearly not to be outdone there was this multitude of couples women raising there skirts showing all there paraphernalia
Pressing and grinding on there man leaving nothing to the imagination it was hedonistic primal, there is so much half naked, offensive pelvic pumping gyration I’m Home.
My joy is disturbed Terrance turns close to me to close but oh well he gets close to my ear I lean in to hear what he's wants to say and he Giggles I have never heard a grown man giggle I mean he giggles like a little school girl he motions to me a green door I decide to make my way thru the dense crowd and Second hand Smoke, it feels like every smoker In the state has converged on Brooklyn puffing with a vengeance I open the door and Dwele is playing the decor is blood red candles everywhere it’s odd with the closing of the door you cant hear the blaring Reggeaton in the other room, the vibe in this room is completely different , this is the stand and be cool while silently judging people room , this is the high fashion crowd Prada, Gucci logos are the standard I bump into the Leopards who are as I mentioned earlier are always guarding the door there meal is abundant, I make my way to the Bar finally..
Martinis are the only thing you can order yikes I just wanted a flipping beer I stand there for what seemed like hours trying to figure out what to order I cant focus all the names are so fruity like Strawberry Kitty, Mandarin Ecstasy I didn't know if I was getting frou frou lotion or some sweet booze my attention is turned to the gyrations on the floor the lighting in this room is very relaxing very dim very let's get it on but with foreplay a far different vibe from the Lime Green Room. I finally get the Bartenders attention she makes her way down it's hard not to stare at the assault of cleavage coming my way think Coyote Ugly extra, wearing only a Bra yikes indeed. I light up a cigarette one Mandarin Ecstasy with a twist of lime. Yeah I was beginning to relax.
After a couple of hours in the Red Room watching all the Beautiful people I wanted desperately to be on the inside, here I was entrenched in the Underground socialite event of the year, but I was still standing behind the Velvet Rope, but all that was about to change drastically, for little did I know that the next chain of events would leave me shaken to my core.
Sexual H and the Man prt 2
Office personalities are unique and different no work environment is the same Duh. The people I work with are the type you want to invite to the party they are all top notch don't get me wrong you have your various camps.
Conservatives: These are the one who live in the Burbs and ooze Red White and Blue wont admit when there wrong and like to look down on those of us who choose to live in the City these people vary in Race, age and Gender.
Uptown Village crew: these are the People who know every hip to be Square place they know every trendy joint but it only falls under the category of what they think is cool. Pranksters and smart Alecs this bunch.
Cows: I call them cows because they know how to graze the pasture aka wasting time they're the ones who clock in at 9am but make the rounds talking to everyone about useless crap they pass the Buck when it comes to doing their own assignments ECT.
The Hunters: These are the ones who like to stand too close they're the ones who are really touchy they like invading your personal space talking about improper subjects who they're having sex with or that they did have sex with there spouse or boyfriend girlfriend ect it's all a ploy what there really doing is bringing up these topics to see how far you will go into there world there just looking for the opportunity to try and get in your pants at the next Office X-Mas party our Friend Mitzy as I later found out comes from this group.
As I mentioned before the File room is very narrow I see her coming in the room so not to be rude I basically press myself into the filing Cabinet and move my arse out of the way giving her plenty of space I have done this maneuver countless times to any and everyone not that I'm a prude but I find it best to let that person know that I respect your personal space, even if the space is too small for us to stand belly to belly. So there I am doing my pass in peace maneuver when suddenly and quite unexpexdely I feel to hands on my hips and a zipper graze my arse I was shocked I was in disbelief I was I was grinded on without warning I felt like throwing up an Elbow instead...
I turned around and smiled politely sorry not enough room. She smiled and whispered a very breathy excuse me. To be honest I didn't think anything of this incident cause accidents happen and who wants to think that the people you work with are flipping horn dogs...
So I went about my business and I made the realization, kind of like when you buy a certain brand of Car and then suddenly you see it everywhere? It became that way with Mitzy I could hear her cackling about how the night before her boyfriend would jump her bones cause she dropped some Cheez whiz on the floor. And I began to notice that we had more interaction then I cared for I would be typing and she would come up behind me and pretend to ask a question and put her tits on my Shoulder at first I didn't think anything of it cause accidents happen but by the 3rd time I felt like a pirate with her breasts perched on my shoulder a titty Parrot if you will. Arghh
I forgot to mention that Mitzy is fuggly and as we all know there's nothing worse then some Shrek looking mofo trying to get into your pants but that is no excuse unwanted groping is unwanted groping.
This really started to effect me in small doses, instead of looking forward to my day I would cringe at the dawn, instead of embracing the wonders of life I held myself in the fetal position scrubbing myself for hours in the shower feeling like I was never clean, I became jumpy the slightest movement, and I'm running out of my cubicle. like I said it only effected me in small doses.
So what do you do? I realized that Mitzy and other hunters are like Vampires we all know the rule: If the owner of the Home invites a Vampire into there home the Vampire can enter that property at there leisure doing all sorts of damage this rule applies to hunters, if you talk to them they feel like they can enter your Cubicle . So what do I do If your a guy no one will believe you thanks for your time please help I'm open to suggestions
Larry D
Conservatives: These are the one who live in the Burbs and ooze Red White and Blue wont admit when there wrong and like to look down on those of us who choose to live in the City these people vary in Race, age and Gender.
Uptown Village crew: these are the People who know every hip to be Square place they know every trendy joint but it only falls under the category of what they think is cool. Pranksters and smart Alecs this bunch.
Cows: I call them cows because they know how to graze the pasture aka wasting time they're the ones who clock in at 9am but make the rounds talking to everyone about useless crap they pass the Buck when it comes to doing their own assignments ECT.
The Hunters: These are the ones who like to stand too close they're the ones who are really touchy they like invading your personal space talking about improper subjects who they're having sex with or that they did have sex with there spouse or boyfriend girlfriend ect it's all a ploy what there really doing is bringing up these topics to see how far you will go into there world there just looking for the opportunity to try and get in your pants at the next Office X-Mas party our Friend Mitzy as I later found out comes from this group.
As I mentioned before the File room is very narrow I see her coming in the room so not to be rude I basically press myself into the filing Cabinet and move my arse out of the way giving her plenty of space I have done this maneuver countless times to any and everyone not that I'm a prude but I find it best to let that person know that I respect your personal space, even if the space is too small for us to stand belly to belly. So there I am doing my pass in peace maneuver when suddenly and quite unexpexdely I feel to hands on my hips and a zipper graze my arse I was shocked I was in disbelief I was I was grinded on without warning I felt like throwing up an Elbow instead...
I turned around and smiled politely sorry not enough room. She smiled and whispered a very breathy excuse me. To be honest I didn't think anything of this incident cause accidents happen and who wants to think that the people you work with are flipping horn dogs...
So I went about my business and I made the realization, kind of like when you buy a certain brand of Car and then suddenly you see it everywhere? It became that way with Mitzy I could hear her cackling about how the night before her boyfriend would jump her bones cause she dropped some Cheez whiz on the floor. And I began to notice that we had more interaction then I cared for I would be typing and she would come up behind me and pretend to ask a question and put her tits on my Shoulder at first I didn't think anything of it cause accidents happen but by the 3rd time I felt like a pirate with her breasts perched on my shoulder a titty Parrot if you will. Arghh
I forgot to mention that Mitzy is fuggly and as we all know there's nothing worse then some Shrek looking mofo trying to get into your pants but that is no excuse unwanted groping is unwanted groping.
This really started to effect me in small doses, instead of looking forward to my day I would cringe at the dawn, instead of embracing the wonders of life I held myself in the fetal position scrubbing myself for hours in the shower feeling like I was never clean, I became jumpy the slightest movement, and I'm running out of my cubicle. like I said it only effected me in small doses.
So what do you do? I realized that Mitzy and other hunters are like Vampires we all know the rule: If the owner of the Home invites a Vampire into there home the Vampire can enter that property at there leisure doing all sorts of damage this rule applies to hunters, if you talk to them they feel like they can enter your Cubicle . So what do I do If your a guy no one will believe you thanks for your time please help I'm open to suggestions
Larry D
Sexual Harassment and the Man prt 1
It was a dynamic morning unlike any other day I woke up feeling fine, I ate a hearty breakfast caught the Train to work, I even managed to score a nice window seat I closed my eyes to feel the Sun rays radiantly shining on my face, all the possibilities that make life interesting were cascading all around me.
I felt my inner being oozing with a positivity that is uncanny for so early a morning.
It felt as though the very hustle and bustle of the City had somehow forgotten to catch up with me, casually I made my way down the Boulevard without having to weave around anyone, the good fortune continued as I walked into the Main Lobby of (Such and Such Building) Security held the gate and the Elevator for me no need to show my Employee badge not today.
Greeted everyone with a smile as I made my way to my Cubicle no need for the Office bland Crap Coffee no not today I was still quite satisfied from my breakfast. Logged in my password hit enter readjusted myself in my chair and began to tackle the figures in front of me.
I was in high gear completing tasks in no time turning in lengthy reports with ease I took a break to say the normal office pleasantries to my Cubicle neighbors then back to work .
I needed some tax forms on a Client so off I went to the file room to get the hard copies there I was lost in thought digging away now, the file room is not the widest of places very narrow to say the least when someone comes in you basically have to hold your breath in order for them to pass by without it being awkward and that is the usual File room etiquette if you will everyone follows it except on this day my day of days someone decides not to...enter Mitzy.
Friday, May 11, 2007
333
Marlon was perfectly comfortable with his depression; it was everybody else that kept pissing him off about it. Their constant need to touch him, their advice about what he should do to be happy, their need to treat him with kiddy gloves. His only defence was to combat them with his most feral of instincts: passive aggressiveness.
Of course, as soon as this message was conveyed he immediately resented the fact that nobody wanted to ask him how he was or were not doing anything to improve his situation.
And so, to deal with this, he logged into his video diversion. Classic escapism where he had built himself into a level twenty–nine Sweeper Servicer. This was a radical new move away from the Broker Recruiter, a field he had become, by and large, disenchanted with.
It was, for level twenty-nines, a difficult time. For too long the level sixty-fives and seventies had spent time ganking the lower levels in their rackets; camping them and keeping them from bettering their positions in life.
But he logged on nonetheless to run a quick instance and try to level some of his skills in hopes to make himself look more appealing. Maybe, just maybe, hit on some new vibe that would allow him to better himself into a more appealing version of everything he wanted to be.
This slash hast to beat reality.
Of course, as soon as this message was conveyed he immediately resented the fact that nobody wanted to ask him how he was or were not doing anything to improve his situation.
And so, to deal with this, he logged into his video diversion. Classic escapism where he had built himself into a level twenty–nine Sweeper Servicer. This was a radical new move away from the Broker Recruiter, a field he had become, by and large, disenchanted with.
It was, for level twenty-nines, a difficult time. For too long the level sixty-fives and seventies had spent time ganking the lower levels in their rackets; camping them and keeping them from bettering their positions in life.
But he logged on nonetheless to run a quick instance and try to level some of his skills in hopes to make himself look more appealing. Maybe, just maybe, hit on some new vibe that would allow him to better himself into a more appealing version of everything he wanted to be.
This slash hast to beat reality.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
335
The presidium views exequies as fine instances for the final exit interviews of their subordinates. Only through death are individuals finally free of the cultural mores and hindrances that plague and hold them in check throughout their lives.
Lilly Liverroot, the deceased, suffered no such apprehensions during her living years. So, even though the exequie was supposed to start promptly at eleven, she had been continuing the diarrhoea of the blab blab since the time her oomph had expired.
Presidium, as a rule, would never dream of attending something so deathly boring, nor, for the sake of company moral, would they deem it a good idea to send a regular employee. Henceforth stoppgappers placed themselves scattered about in pews; pens and papers in their hands.
Marlon, for his part, took casual notes, nose in notebook, as Lilly Liverroot moved through the many grievances that her oomph had bestowed upon her. Taking a mindful moment to establish eye contact, out of polite habit, with the speaker- though in this case the speaker was in a box- Marlon’s eyes traipse across a lovely creature loping down the isle to a pew. She picks a simple pen and pad from her pack and proceeds to place notes within. Her eyes are bespectacled upon a tiny nose, pulled back further by a tight bun. When she feels the weight of Marlon’s gaze she looks up.
Marlon dives back into his notes making quick observational insights which he hopes presidium will think is both apropos as well as relevant.
Peter “Pete” pRatchetpeels sit-a-plops next to Marlon further breaking Marlon away from his thoughts.
-I wouldn’t write that if I were you, my friend. Those of us from upper presidium don’t really want to know all that there is to know. In fact we know that we already know more than should be known by members of our knowledge. If you want to move ahead you will forget all this nonsense.
-In fact, jot down something about how the lovely Lilly Liverroot wanted a larger office, more pay, but still loved all of those of hers in upper presidium. That she wanted for her fellow employees to be grateful of the opportunities provided by presidium, and leave it at that.
-Of course all of that will needed to be expanded to at least thirty pages so that it looks like you’ve done your job. This will, in turn, be turned over to another stoppgapper who will make it more succinct, a single page, and it will, in turn, soon be lining the kipple bin of your immediate presider.
Marlon mentions a mumble of momentary guilt but consents to the knowledge of Peter “Pete” pRattchetpells. Then the twain abscond as Lilly Liverroot elicits another diatribe on how she never really loved her husband anyway.
Lilly Liverroot, the deceased, suffered no such apprehensions during her living years. So, even though the exequie was supposed to start promptly at eleven, she had been continuing the diarrhoea of the blab blab since the time her oomph had expired.
Presidium, as a rule, would never dream of attending something so deathly boring, nor, for the sake of company moral, would they deem it a good idea to send a regular employee. Henceforth stoppgappers placed themselves scattered about in pews; pens and papers in their hands.
Marlon, for his part, took casual notes, nose in notebook, as Lilly Liverroot moved through the many grievances that her oomph had bestowed upon her. Taking a mindful moment to establish eye contact, out of polite habit, with the speaker- though in this case the speaker was in a box- Marlon’s eyes traipse across a lovely creature loping down the isle to a pew. She picks a simple pen and pad from her pack and proceeds to place notes within. Her eyes are bespectacled upon a tiny nose, pulled back further by a tight bun. When she feels the weight of Marlon’s gaze she looks up.
Marlon dives back into his notes making quick observational insights which he hopes presidium will think is both apropos as well as relevant.
Peter “Pete” pRatchetpeels sit-a-plops next to Marlon further breaking Marlon away from his thoughts.
-I wouldn’t write that if I were you, my friend. Those of us from upper presidium don’t really want to know all that there is to know. In fact we know that we already know more than should be known by members of our knowledge. If you want to move ahead you will forget all this nonsense.
-In fact, jot down something about how the lovely Lilly Liverroot wanted a larger office, more pay, but still loved all of those of hers in upper presidium. That she wanted for her fellow employees to be grateful of the opportunities provided by presidium, and leave it at that.
-Of course all of that will needed to be expanded to at least thirty pages so that it looks like you’ve done your job. This will, in turn, be turned over to another stoppgapper who will make it more succinct, a single page, and it will, in turn, soon be lining the kipple bin of your immediate presider.
Marlon mentions a mumble of momentary guilt but consents to the knowledge of Peter “Pete” pRattchetpells. Then the twain abscond as Lilly Liverroot elicits another diatribe on how she never really loved her husband anyway.
Monday, April 30, 2007
342
Marlon may throw his bag as hard as he might. Marlon may run from the apartment to scream. Marlon may punch the person next to him as hard as he wants, then watch their nose explode in tiny rivlets of blood and oblivion. Marlon may stare into the mirror, at least for now.
A journey to Crapcago requires the heaviest of boots and the roughest sense of innocence- almost innocence unawares. No journey is ever made with just the destination in mind, but then what trip is ever made with a real sense of finality? By that sense, what dreams may come are not the yieldings of our journey?
In the second floor by some stop on the way, Marlon met Despair. A loathing creature self set by lockjaw clumped down upon his final meal. Stuck with that bittersweet succulence that was the last chosen meal and now the only taste he will have for the rest of his life.
Despair hefts up his dog, Ignorance, by the ears to display for Marlon. The dog, for her part, can’t divorce the perma-smile on her face. Her yap screams out welcomes to him in a voice hoarse of a happiness deserted long ago.
Despair draws on the joystick through the open hole in his throat; the ember glows golden, then Despair moves the joystick, carving the humid and hollow air into words.
-If I could put her away from her misery, I would. I don’t know which of us is more miserable. Neither I nor she want it; neither I nor she could leave. Here and now is all I have. There is no future. There is no past. Only the here exists for me.
And each night Despair uncoils the noose, and each night the noose goes round his head. Then every morning he wakes afresh to repeat the process.
Marlon takes this memory and all the fresh memories from today and puts them in his box in his living room. The grief, the frustration, the anger, the remorse, the guilt, the despair. He banishes them out of his head and into the box, only to reminisce over them for the briefest of pauses. The humiliation and self loathing that belong to each one of them wink out from underneath the lid. He lowers the cord, then, in and around them in thick circles. He entraps all the misery and debt each one is owed.
Then he shuts the lid; it is all over for the second.
A journey to Crapcago requires the heaviest of boots and the roughest sense of innocence- almost innocence unawares. No journey is ever made with just the destination in mind, but then what trip is ever made with a real sense of finality? By that sense, what dreams may come are not the yieldings of our journey?
In the second floor by some stop on the way, Marlon met Despair. A loathing creature self set by lockjaw clumped down upon his final meal. Stuck with that bittersweet succulence that was the last chosen meal and now the only taste he will have for the rest of his life.
Despair hefts up his dog, Ignorance, by the ears to display for Marlon. The dog, for her part, can’t divorce the perma-smile on her face. Her yap screams out welcomes to him in a voice hoarse of a happiness deserted long ago.
Despair draws on the joystick through the open hole in his throat; the ember glows golden, then Despair moves the joystick, carving the humid and hollow air into words.
-If I could put her away from her misery, I would. I don’t know which of us is more miserable. Neither I nor she want it; neither I nor she could leave. Here and now is all I have. There is no future. There is no past. Only the here exists for me.
And each night Despair uncoils the noose, and each night the noose goes round his head. Then every morning he wakes afresh to repeat the process.
Marlon takes this memory and all the fresh memories from today and puts them in his box in his living room. The grief, the frustration, the anger, the remorse, the guilt, the despair. He banishes them out of his head and into the box, only to reminisce over them for the briefest of pauses. The humiliation and self loathing that belong to each one of them wink out from underneath the lid. He lowers the cord, then, in and around them in thick circles. He entraps all the misery and debt each one is owed.
Then he shuts the lid; it is all over for the second.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
349
- Hold steady dear friends!
Marlon doesn’t disagree with doubters dabbling in discrediting devolution looking no further than the degree of Crapcago’s paciphant system. According to the bylaws and restrictions laid down by the Double Secret Society’s decree that paciphants must move in pods or rove on as rogues. These are patient and keen creatures , they position themselves to opportunities to cast crowd’s constitutions to ensure the maximum populaced places are primed for the most painful moments of pestilents. Resistance is futile to the will of the paciphant’s persuasion; their sole credo consisting of creating a critical craptastical quota for the constituents of their services.
The emotion of elation and euphoria erupts and exits into the ether of a tiny death as the paciphant arrives. Even the slimy smells are supplied, while the particpant slips through the same dance of ceremony and the paciphant slides into the stoppage that is every sixty meters down the street.
To add to the morning, the merry meandering of a buzz buzz makes claim over the calm in an explosion of expletives with erroneous exception to the calm. In a pretension, far proceeding her province, the provider opens her buzz buzz with a sense of pomposity.
-Hullo? Who is this? No, who is this? Frack you, you called me, squawk. I can’t hear you. I’m on the fracking paciphant. Hullo? Oh, Smelly, how are you doing, sweety? Yeah it did end up being a good night. I wreak like the fracking joysticks, tea and the rest of the nightery. No, he is doing fine, I put him in a hackney. Oh him? No I don’ think that I’ll see him again. I just left him this morning. Is it so terrible that I didn’t even leave a note? What did you end up doing with yours? Ha, ha. Really mine is fracking small in the game. Oh, slash, I’m at my stop. I’ll send a message as soon as I get in.
To replace the retinance wreaked by the buzz buzz, a large conveynce pulls up to the paciphant. Much to malign Marlon, further, he marks the conveynce's occupancy the occupancy at one. Disparaging the disposition further, the marauder's dimension spreads, heaving his arms out, meandering them down to the muggajoe he sips at his own leisure.
Seeking away from this usurper, Marlon sees the protuberance of the traveler next to him steal his left arm in her gigantic bosom. The gargantuan glare from the girl’s face is twice offended. Once on occasion of Marlon’s initial onlook; on the occoasion, offended by the opportunity Marlon obliges himself to look away. Somewhere, some soul, marks the situation by releasesing the brown note.
The paciphant presumes its’ recourse, the will of society, the ocean of seas the ocean of storms. An infinite squeak squirms out of the sour sap stuck at the slack; buoyancy seeps inertia in a final salute to reveille, resuming the throng back to normalcy and baptising Marlon with a saturation from the novice paciphant rider who has been nursing his muggajoe.
It is always sunny in Crapcago.
Marlon doesn’t disagree with doubters dabbling in discrediting devolution looking no further than the degree of Crapcago’s paciphant system. According to the bylaws and restrictions laid down by the Double Secret Society’s decree that paciphants must move in pods or rove on as rogues. These are patient and keen creatures , they position themselves to opportunities to cast crowd’s constitutions to ensure the maximum populaced places are primed for the most painful moments of pestilents. Resistance is futile to the will of the paciphant’s persuasion; their sole credo consisting of creating a critical craptastical quota for the constituents of their services.
The emotion of elation and euphoria erupts and exits into the ether of a tiny death as the paciphant arrives. Even the slimy smells are supplied, while the particpant slips through the same dance of ceremony and the paciphant slides into the stoppage that is every sixty meters down the street.
To add to the morning, the merry meandering of a buzz buzz makes claim over the calm in an explosion of expletives with erroneous exception to the calm. In a pretension, far proceeding her province, the provider opens her buzz buzz with a sense of pomposity.
-Hullo? Who is this? No, who is this? Frack you, you called me, squawk. I can’t hear you. I’m on the fracking paciphant. Hullo? Oh, Smelly, how are you doing, sweety? Yeah it did end up being a good night. I wreak like the fracking joysticks, tea and the rest of the nightery. No, he is doing fine, I put him in a hackney. Oh him? No I don’ think that I’ll see him again. I just left him this morning. Is it so terrible that I didn’t even leave a note? What did you end up doing with yours? Ha, ha. Really mine is fracking small in the game. Oh, slash, I’m at my stop. I’ll send a message as soon as I get in.
To replace the retinance wreaked by the buzz buzz, a large conveynce pulls up to the paciphant. Much to malign Marlon, further, he marks the conveynce's occupancy the occupancy at one. Disparaging the disposition further, the marauder's dimension spreads, heaving his arms out, meandering them down to the muggajoe he sips at his own leisure.
Seeking away from this usurper, Marlon sees the protuberance of the traveler next to him steal his left arm in her gigantic bosom. The gargantuan glare from the girl’s face is twice offended. Once on occasion of Marlon’s initial onlook; on the occoasion, offended by the opportunity Marlon obliges himself to look away. Somewhere, some soul, marks the situation by releasesing the brown note.
The paciphant presumes its’ recourse, the will of society, the ocean of seas the ocean of storms. An infinite squeak squirms out of the sour sap stuck at the slack; buoyancy seeps inertia in a final salute to reveille, resuming the throng back to normalcy and baptising Marlon with a saturation from the novice paciphant rider who has been nursing his muggajoe.
It is always sunny in Crapcago.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Ny Chronicles part 3 intro
Growing up people didn't know what to make of me, I could fake a Jamaican, Haitian or Puerto Rican Accent with so much authenticity that no one ever caught on so what am I trying to say ... Well this will all tie in later so keep your pants on or take em off I don't care .
The last time I blogged I was visiting my buddy in NY who took off on an impromptu vacation with his wife, I was stuck hanging out with two of there friends well, now that I think about it they really were his wife's friends a Swedish artist and his chain smoking wife.
I was lead to a party in the heart of Brooklyn and while I was at this party a series of events took place that lead me to the witness protection program for several months .
The events that took place are some what true, the names of said persons involved in the upcoming Blog will be changed so that I and the BMC will not be tied up in frivolous litigation .
So please prepare yourself as we will embark on a little ditty ENTITLED .
NY Chronicles part 3 : Sodomy , Glory Holes, Ecstasy, and the Federal Government .
The last time I blogged I was visiting my buddy in NY who took off on an impromptu vacation with his wife, I was stuck hanging out with two of there friends well, now that I think about it they really were his wife's friends a Swedish artist and his chain smoking wife.
I was lead to a party in the heart of Brooklyn and while I was at this party a series of events took place that lead me to the witness protection program for several months .
The events that took place are some what true, the names of said persons involved in the upcoming Blog will be changed so that I and the BMC will not be tied up in frivolous litigation .
So please prepare yourself as we will embark on a little ditty ENTITLED .
NY Chronicles part 3 : Sodomy , Glory Holes, Ecstasy, and the Federal Government .
It's about Time
Finally I'm free !!!!
Free to reign the world of mortal man once more, for far to long I balddee2 have been hidden in the witness protection but now I am free !!!! Free to roam the hallowed halls of BMCDOOM free to bitch Slap Harmon's punk ass at a moments whim , free, I say to teabag all the coffee cups in the break room .
Yes I'm back, back to reign ....
All hail Balddee2
Free to reign the world of mortal man once more, for far to long I balddee2 have been hidden in the witness protection but now I am free !!!! Free to roam the hallowed halls of BMCDOOM free to bitch Slap Harmon's punk ass at a moments whim , free, I say to teabag all the coffee cups in the break room .
Yes I'm back, back to reign ....
All hail Balddee2
Monday, April 09, 2007
357
This is the orientation blah blah Marlon Maxey thumps down upon finishing The Wizard of Oz:
The blah blah continues in the same vein from there, however an oversized stain from a muggajoe rewords the remainder until rendered unreadable.
Mildly Marlon rethinks re-reading The Wizard of Oz one more time to see if the ending has changed, but showing an uncharacteristic restraint he instead regards the mirror onto the kipple of landscape interned before him. To the mind of Marlon there are millions of lives out there all tuned to the great collective, all desperately wanting to desperately want. They are the souls fighting the good fight for what they believe others are believing; one and all buying into pre-occupation with the battle so much so that they miss the letters from the war.
Unfortunate for Marlon, the momentary resoluteness allows for an unwelcome salutation from Peter “Pete” pRatchepeels. Peter “Pete” twills his tye knot with sporting sophistication intent that this motion is an ideal conversation starter.
-Why, say, Marlon isn’t it? Quite the strange things these tye knots are. How wrapping a piece of tarey cloth round a kneck gives the impression of distinction is beyond my realm of reasoning, another madness to make up for the un-magical. Vouchsafe, it does look a bit ridiculous—I say, is that a word book you’re reading?
-It’s one of Theirs. I thought it was a Trixie at first but it hasn’t changed at all and I only just finished reading it for the seventh time.
-Bullriggers and savages all, give here. What a boring existence it must be to do the same thing all the time. What department did you say you were in? The Practically Perfect Partment sPecializing in the Private Procurances of Policy Pertaining to Politics and/or Politicians? Ah the jolly old DextraP. I cut my teeth with them some years ago. Is Ramenthorpe still the division head? You must be someone special if you were able to catch her eye.
-I’m a Stoppgapper. The Agency just sent me over…
-Oh well, we’re all in the same Lilyfloat so to speak I suppose.
And Peter “Pete” continues down the same stream growing sick with word vomit enough to take a sit-a-plop next to Marlon offering further pimply hyperboles pertaining to the grandeur and glory of Crapcago anon. Meanwhile Marlon, for his part, does his best to listen until the half epoch allocated for his lin-lin has expired and he retires back to orientation.
The Department of Practise and Legality of the Fifth Realm of Crapcago has, by and large, a long and treasured history. Sequestered by the right honourable King Flinterock during his noble and optimistic reign over the Third Kingdom of Illanoyed the Department now serves at the pleasure of King Aftmorrow. The Department of Practise and Legality, or as it is affectionately known by employees and officials alike: Depractnleg, manages and creates legal policy for the people of Crapcago within the parameters created by the Third Kingd-
The blah blah continues in the same vein from there, however an oversized stain from a muggajoe rewords the remainder until rendered unreadable.
Mildly Marlon rethinks re-reading The Wizard of Oz one more time to see if the ending has changed, but showing an uncharacteristic restraint he instead regards the mirror onto the kipple of landscape interned before him. To the mind of Marlon there are millions of lives out there all tuned to the great collective, all desperately wanting to desperately want. They are the souls fighting the good fight for what they believe others are believing; one and all buying into pre-occupation with the battle so much so that they miss the letters from the war.
Unfortunate for Marlon, the momentary resoluteness allows for an unwelcome salutation from Peter “Pete” pRatchepeels. Peter “Pete” twills his tye knot with sporting sophistication intent that this motion is an ideal conversation starter.
-Why, say, Marlon isn’t it? Quite the strange things these tye knots are. How wrapping a piece of tarey cloth round a kneck gives the impression of distinction is beyond my realm of reasoning, another madness to make up for the un-magical. Vouchsafe, it does look a bit ridiculous—I say, is that a word book you’re reading?
-It’s one of Theirs. I thought it was a Trixie at first but it hasn’t changed at all and I only just finished reading it for the seventh time.
-Bullriggers and savages all, give here. What a boring existence it must be to do the same thing all the time. What department did you say you were in? The Practically Perfect Partment sPecializing in the Private Procurances of Policy Pertaining to Politics and/or Politicians? Ah the jolly old DextraP. I cut my teeth with them some years ago. Is Ramenthorpe still the division head? You must be someone special if you were able to catch her eye.
-I’m a Stoppgapper. The Agency just sent me over…
-Oh well, we’re all in the same Lilyfloat so to speak I suppose.
And Peter “Pete” continues down the same stream growing sick with word vomit enough to take a sit-a-plop next to Marlon offering further pimply hyperboles pertaining to the grandeur and glory of Crapcago anon. Meanwhile Marlon, for his part, does his best to listen until the half epoch allocated for his lin-lin has expired and he retires back to orientation.
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