So many ways to have good clean fun…

The human capacity for hypocrisy never ceases to amaze me.  On September 11^th, 2001 our nation was callously and cruelly attacked by terrorists.  This is fact, it happened, it cannot be disputed, cannot be covered up.  Within minutes of this outrage the American “public” let out a rallying cry for revenge, justice, and punishing the parties responsible, kind of responsible, related to those responsible, or failing that, having met the responsible parties once at a cocktail party.

“WE” as a voting public wanted the war in Iraq. “WE” as a voting public loudly embraced the president’s decision to search for Bin Ladin.  Now, 8 years after the fact the only thing that matters to the conscientious objectors of our great, wonderful, nation is the fact that we are losing men in Iraq.  Guess what?  IT’S A FREAKING WAR PEOPLE.  One thing about our Army, Air force, Navy, and Marines, they are ALL volunteers.  NOONE holds a gun to their head and says “Join the military”.  Welcome to America.

As of last count, the US death total stands at a shade over 4100 http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/ops/iraq_casualties.htm

This is over the course of almost 6 years, which averages out to about 700 per year.  I of course am sympathetic to anyone who loses a family member.  However, THEY JOINED THE FREAKING ARMY!  Be upset, be sad, be angry at the people who killed them, but for Pete’s sake, don’t be mad at the country that told them to do their jobs!

These people who post the casualty numbers in an effort to scare, alarm, and excite the general public are manipulating you to think as they do.  YES 4150 deaths is a lot, but when opposed to the 2.1 MILLION service members currently serving in either an active capacity or a reserve capacity it’s a drop in the bucket.  Every year in the US OVER 40000 deaths occur as a result of an auto accident, which gives you a 1 in 6250 chance of dying every year from an auto accident (Assuming 250 million living in America).

http://www.car-accidents.com/pages/stats.html

As such, if you want to survive to 80 you will have had 80 chances in 6250 to die from a car wreck (that’s about 1 in 800 for you mathematicians out there.)  Conversely, the military members SERVING our country have only a 1 in 2857 chance of dying PER year the war goes on.

I wonder who’s safest.

The problem, as it was in Vietnam is a deep-seated inability of Americans to give a crap about anyone but ourselves.  The “Ugly American” stereotype is loudly decried, and shrugged off as simple racism, or jealousy from less fortunate countries.  Unfortunately we prove it time and time again when we as a country involve ourselves in global affairs, and fail to follow through, or keep our word.  We prove time and time again that other peoples suffering means nothing beside the siren cry of “bring our boys home”.  We have proved already in one country of the world, that we are willing to support them only so long as we don’t get our hands dirty.

Now, those who would claim that I have no room to talk, as I haven’t lost a family member or close friend to the war, would no doubt be correct.  I HAVE however lost both my parents, and 2 uncles to alcohol and cigarettes.

Yet strangely enough I don’t blame the liquor companies, nor the cigarette companies.  After all, my parents, and uncles all Volunteered to drink and smoke.

“Her heart beat painfully in her chest, she dove behind the doorway that suddenly loomed out of the dark.  Shutting the door carefully behind her so as not to make a noise that might attract attention she slumped bonelessly to the floor, gasping for breath.  Suddenly, she heard a faint noise in the distance, “tap tap”  “tap tap”.  She strained her hearing for any other sound, but heard nothing.  Suddenly “Tap Tap”  “Tap Tap”  it was much closer, she knew she had to run.

It started out as a perfectly normal day for Ashley Quick.  She woke up early, and kissed her sleeping son, and got ready for work.  She left at about 6:40, happened to spot the clock on her way and cursed, she was late…. Again.  Just yesterday her boss had given her a no-nonsense talk about the benefits of timeliness, and integrity.  He also told her that if she were late one more time she may as well just not come in. 

So, she jumped in her car and swerved out of the driveway, heedless of the consequences and drove at a breakneck pace all the way to work.  She made it in the front door about 1 minute before 7, and settled behind her desk.  She was a bit frazzled, not only because of her close call, but also because through the entire drive she kept hearing “asssshhhhlllleeeeeyyyyyy”  “Ashhlleeeeeeeeey”

She kept trying to see who was calling her, but she never saw anyone.

The day went by quickly, though every now and then she heard that same faint voice… “asssshhhhleeeeeey” “leeettt meeee ouuuuutt!”  Whenever the voice sounded, she would look around to see if anyone else heard it, but noone ever did.  She had a late lunch because it was so busy that day and she didn’t go until 2:30, she went to the break room and was just so tired that she took a little nap.

She woke up to darkness.  Everyone had left without her!  She got up and after blindly fumbling around found the door to the hall way.  While she was making her way towards the exit a chill ran down her spine “ashleeeey, ASSHHleeeey, I know your in here, and I’m going to get you!” “tap tap, tap tap”  She broke into a cold sweat at hearing the voice, and ran to the door.  Yanking and pulling at it, with freedom just on the other side she almost panicked, it was so unfair!  A flimsy piece of glass separating her from freedom, and keeping her locked in with some ravening monster.  She resolved to survive, if nothing else for her son’s sake.

Now almost 3 hours later, of running through the entire building, relentlessly pursued by the mocking voice, and that terrible tapping, she was almost ready to give up.  “Assshllleeeey stop running away, I only want to talk to you” the voice taunted.  “GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE!” she shrieked at it, and started running again.  Around the next bend she came upon an upstairs corner office, she resolved to meet her fate here, at least she had some light coming in through the window.

She took up position behind the door, and held a chair at the ready.  Tap tap, came the noise, tap tap, tap tap, tap tap, her heart seemed almost to be beating in tune. Suddenly the door began to open, and the shadow of the thing stretched out on the wall, it was a monstrous lizard!  As she looked it opened its jaws to swallow her whole, and she heard…

“O There you ah!  I thought yew might like to change to geico for your ca insurance.  She looked at the Gecko, it looked at her and said “whot?  Oh my crutches?  You ran over me this morning when u left your house.  Terribly rude of you.”

Ashley brought the chair down, again, and again, and again.  “Hey!  Hey!  What the hell are you doing!?”  Ashley opened her eyes to see it was her boyfriend standing there in their house.  He had his arms up to ward off the blows she had been raining down upon him.

“Does this mean you DON’T want to switch to Geico for our car insurance?”

This is a short story, its violent, and not for the squeamish.   You have been warned!

It’s another beautiful day.  I’m visiting my mother at her home in a little town about an hour away from where I live.  She’s getting older these days, and ever since dad died last summer she’s been a bit lonely.  So, being the faithful son I am, I come out here to this Podunk little place about once a month.

As I pull up to the quaint little house on the cul-de-sac I see construction going on and people are working on the street.  They seem to be repairing something or other and the sharp stink of asphalt lies over the street like a cloud.  I shake my head and smile at the familiar city smell as I walk to my mother’s house.

I knock on the door and let my self in, as always she’s sitting in her favorite stuffed recliner.  With her feet up, laid back, a book in one hand, and a drink in the other she’s the picture of comfort.  She looks up from her book, and jumps to her feet to hug me.  We sit down and talk about life, and what she’s doing these days.  We reminisce about my childhood, life in the country, and what she’s doing these days.  Somehow, the time just flies by, and when I look out the window and realize its late afternoon I tell my mother that its time I got going.

I head out to my car, and hear a commotion down the street.  A woman is screaming and crying as she staggers into the street.  I run over along with everyone else on the street to see if I can help, and what happened.  The girl is sobbing, she’s covered in blood, and looks like she was beaten and she’s shaking with fear and pain.  She begins to stammer out a story of a strange guy with long hair who broke into her house, beat, and raped her.  I start to feel a strange vibe from some of the other guys crowded around her.  As I watch, their faces twist to resemble demons with the need for revenge, and their need to lash out.

Suddenly the woman sees me.  I’m standing with my back to the sun, so all she sees is my long hair, and a silhouette, but that doesn’t matter.   She shrieks and points “THAT’S HIM!”  I begin to back away, and too late realize I should have run.  Hands seize my arms, and I’m bodily lifted into the air.  I try to lash out with fists, and feet, but my hands and legs are caught and held.  The people drag and carry me back to the center of the mob, fists strike me, boots crush me, and they yell like devils the entire time.

They drag me to the construction area, and throw me down to the ground.  I crumple, and lie there trying to catch my breath.  I hear a click sound, it doesn’t mean anything until I am flipped onto my back and held there.  I see a man, in one hand he holds a blow torch, and in the other he holds a switch blade.  “You like raping women do ya boy?” I desperately try to back away as he edges closer.  The men holding me down chuckle darkly, “IT WASN’T ME I DIDN’T DO IT” I scream, then I scream again only much louder. 

Strangely enough, the cutting doesn’t hurt at first, but when he tosses the bloody bits onto my chest I completely lose control, the pain is excruciating as he uses the blow torch to stop the bleeding. From a distance I hear the roar of the crowd, like a distant ocean.  I can barely understand anything through the ringing in my ears, I think I hear my mother shrieking to let her through, but I could just be imagining it. 

Suddenly I’m floating, I don’t know how, but I feel like I’m lighter then air “maybe I’m dying?” I think, and I look for a bright light.  Suddenly I stop floating, and I have been dropped into a hole.  It’s about 4 feet wide, and 7 feet deep, my mind notes this subconsciously, as all the pain returns tenfold.  When I landed I must have broken a leg, because I can’t get to my feet.  Suddenly everything goes quiet, the only thing I hear is my mother screaming and yelling, I call to her and then I see a dirty cylinder begin to obscure the sunlight out of the hole.  I wonder what it is, when suddenly I hear a “THUNK” and a motor kicks in. 

As the concrete begins to pour, I scream.

This is an interesting story.  Apparently the friends and family are outraged over the cops shooting this guys who was a “harmless eccentric”.  Apparently the “harmless eccentric”  was an avid collector of german and nazi paraphernalia, he also enjoyed shooting rifles, and shot guns inside his apartment.  I’m not quite sure, but somehow if I were a cop, going to investigate shootings, and I opened the door to see a college kid all decked out in the Reich’s uniform pointing a rifle at me… well, I might just shoot his ass too.  Scratch that, I WOULD shoot him, after all, better me then him right?

Now, what I DON’T get about this story is that apparently the two cops shot this guys 7 times….. I could see once apiece, I could even see twice apiece, but 7 times? were they competing or something?  Were they using automatic pistols?  I mean honestly, you shoot someone in the chest 3 or 4 times, they are going down…. were they trying to prop the guy up with bullets? “HES LEANING TO THE LEFT! SHOOT HIM IN THE RIGHT!”

I mean seriously, how about a little bit of discrection?

Note*

Don’t read this if you are easily scared, disgusted, upset, or cant deal with fiction.  This person is NOT me, nor anyone I know, nor anyone I have ever heard of.  It is purely a work of fiction.  If you enjoy it please let me know, if not feel free to criticize.

My Coat rack is talking to me again.  Ever since I lost my wife its all I can do to keep from cracking up.

I’m drinking again, Erica says that I shouldn’t “its bad for you Daddy, your going to kill yourself if you keep it up” her eyes brim with tears as she looks up at me… Shes so beautiful these days, with long blond hair just like her mother. I give her a kiss on the forehead, and gently push her towards the door. “go out and play honey, dont worry about your old dad, ill be alright.”

She looks back doubtfully, but she leaves the house, and I collapse on the couch with my beer in my hand.  I wake up sometime later, its dark outside and my little girl still isn’t back.  I stagger to my feet cursing the beer which makes my head feel like its full of wool, and shuffle over to my thrice damned coat rack.  Somehow while I was asleep its fallen in front of the door and my coat has gotten hopelessly tangled up.  I tug and pull, but the coat wont seem to come off.

I look around, frantic to get out and look for my baby, and spy my pocket knife that Jessica gave me for my birthday, and flick it open.  I cut the tangles away from the coat, it seems to take longer then it should, but that’s just because of how drunk I am.  Of course the damn thing pleads and tells me to stop, it never shuts up, ever since Jessica gave it to me for our anniversary present the day before she died.  Now I finally have a chance to pay it back for taunting me all these days.

I finally free my coat from the grasp of the rack, and give it a good kick to show who’s boss.  The effort causes me to stagger as I momentarily lose my balance, and I put my hand down on the coat rack peg.  The rich coppery smell of my blood focuses my mind, and I remember that my little girl is all alone outside, and I need to find her.    I stagger outside, my hand bleeding freely, my coat in tatters, and the cold bites through, like I’m wearing nothing but my own skin.  I begin to regret not taking the time to remove my coat delicately. my feverish eyes search for my daughter, suddenly alighting on the park across the way. I make my way there, moving better with the cold, and the pain sharpening my mind.  The few people who are there, stop what they are doing, and stare at me.  I scream at them to help me look, and they shrink back.  Somewhere a child screams, but my mind is too frantic to take note of it.  I wander for what seems like hours, but is probably only a few minutes, my bloody coat and stabbed hand leaving a trail of red in the light powder of the winter evening.  Several people are following me, but every time I try to get close and ask for help they back away like I have the plague.  My hand throbs horribly, and when I look it seems to be a mass of blood.  I must have hurt it a lot worse then I thought.

I hear sirens in the distance, they seem to be drawing closer.  Someone must have called the police to help me find my daughter, but I just feel so weak, that I have to sit down.  I find a bench in the park and collapse gratefully on the cold hard wood.  I raise my hand and notice that I still have the knife and that I am holding it by the blade.  “So that’s why I’m bleeding so badly, my daughter is going to be so mad at me” I think to myself.  I see off in the distance policemen coming towards me with weapons drawn.  I try to look and see what the problem is, but its so hard to keep my eyes open.  Maybe I’ll just take a short nap, to regain my strength.  As I close my eyes a lock of long gummy blond hair falls over my eyes. I don’t dream.

Ok, so this past Thanksgiving we got a dog.  She is a sweet, cuddly, happy, and INCREDIBLY rambunctious dog.  I have no idea what breed she is, but shes a sweetheart nonetheless.

  Now, the problem that I’m having is this, no matter how recently shes eaten, no matter the treats I give her, no matter what I say, the minute I leave she scatters the trash across the entire house.  I mean seriously, I never knew just how much trash could be in a half full can.  I try to take it out every time we leave, but when I forget?…. lets just say that she believes in that Zoolander fashion… what was it?  “Gar’Bage”?

Anyway, the worst part is shes about 2 1/2 and we got her from the pound.  Her previous owner/s most likely abandoned her since Lied (the animal shelter) found her in a field with no tags/collar/chip.  As such, when we picked her up we became her saviors… and she treats us like them.  If either me or my girlfriend go to the bathroom, she follows us, to make sure we dont leave, if I take a shower she will push aside the curtain so I can’t escape, if I go into another room she follows so I don’t run away.  I swear, if she were human I would be considering a restraining order.

So, because of her incredibly needy/psychotic nature when I punish her you would think her world had cracked open and dumped her into the abyss.  She will hover and watch me for signs that I’m not mad at her anymore at which point she’ll come bounding over in bliss that the love of her life has decided she’s worthy once more (you think im exaggerating don’t you? HA!) and proceed to be as loving as she can possibly be.  At least until I leave again, at which point it rinses and repeats.

Also, I swear to God this dog’s tail is a lethal weapon.  Its as hard as a Shinai, about 2 feet long, and she wags it so hard she cuts herself on the walls.  Seriously, around my house I have spots of blood from her cutting her tail on the wall, and then continuing to wag it,  thus splattering/smearing blood in a strangely artistic manner at random intervals, all about 2-3 feet off the ground.  Could she be a reincarnated impressionist?  WHO KNOWS?

Oh well, I’m trying to figure out what to do about her trashcan diving, I dont want a new trash can that she can’t get into, I want her to stop of her own volition, but I’m not quite sure how to instil “values” in a dog.  

Oh well,  I guess my real new years resolution should be this.  ” I resolve to take the time (patiently) to teach my dog to behave (without firearms) I resolve to teach her to calm down when asked (without using a whip) and to behave properly when I’m gone (without locking her in a dungeon) Finally I resolve to take the time to teach her properly, and not to get upset (much) when she messes up.   

Happy New Year!

Christmas as the holiday has always been about giving.  Be it presents, or the spirit itself, the point has always been (supposedly) to make others feel warm at heart.  Well, what I am going to talk about here is a complete perversion of the entire principle of the season.

  Here in our beautiful city of Las Vegas we have (as most cities do) an area where the obscenely rich (and those who like to pretend they are) live.  This area goes by the name “Spanish Trail”. 

 Now, Spanish Trail is a gated community housing some 700+ residents.  The Median price of a home there is well above 1 million dollars, and it has a golf course in the center of the place. 

  Unfortunately, much like the apple that Snow White in her naivety consumed, this jewel also seems to have a poisoned center.  The H.O.A.  (Home Owners Association) regulates the properties throughout Spanish Trail.  The purpose of this organization is to maintain/improve property values, cover maintainance throughout the grounds, and maintain a security force to protect the residents.

  Now, during the Christmas season, one of the things that is very nice to get (as I am sure everyone will agree)  is a Christmas bonus.  Its not a necessity, but it certainly does warm the cockles of one’s heart.  Anyway, it has come to my attention that…. how should I put this… “The distribution of bonuses throughout the Spanish Trail staff employed by the HOA would appear to be a bit… unfair”

Basically, what it comes down to is the office staff all recieved at the minimum 500 dollars in bonus money.  The guards who keep the community safe recieved….. A very nice card thanking them for thier hard work, and an expired 2 for 1 coupon……

  Does it get any more crass then that?  I mean seriously, how low can you possibly go?  “Thank you so much for your service, to show our appreciation we are going to spit on you, and you had better like it”.  Personally I am appalled that ANYONE could be so pathetically lacking in basic human compassion or their fellow man.  It gets worse though.

   So, listen to this.  Several of the residents of Spanish Trail personally brought Christmas bonus money to the HOA for the guards, and yet…. they never got it.  There were presents brought for the guards….. They disappeared as well.  

Its strange to think that there could be a wolf in sheeps clothing stalking along and pocketing anything that they care to in a season of giving… Sadly it seems to be true.  

When questioned about the bonus money for the guards I heard the captain reply that “the residents only brought about 500 dollars… if I split it amongst you that would only be about 10 bucks apiece” (on a side note there are aproximately 33 guards 500 divided by 33=10?  I must have failed basic math).  He also said in regards to the office giving them a bonus ”had they worked as a team they would have gotten one, if I felt they deserved it”.  The interesting thing is…. He got a hefty bonus himself.  Mabye its my military days getting back to me, but isn’t the captain responisble for those beneath him?  Bah, hogwash.

 Now, im not one to make crazy accusations like… Thievery, Embezzlement, Stealing, Lack of professionalism, and other crazy big words like that….. Then again, mabye someone should?

  Happy New Year!

This has been an interesting year for weather in Las Vegas.  In early March right after the movie “The Mist” came out Vegas was enveloped by the worst fog I have seen in my entire life,  I realize that by English standards this might have paled, but when you are used to a humidity of 2% its really something.  My girlfriend and I went to the top of the Stratosphere(casino) and when we looked out we literally could not see the strip, no lights, no buildings, no ground.  It was a surreal experience to say the least.

Then, last Sunday I was told we were going to be getting snow this week.  I scoffed in my smugly superior manner, and was totally certain that if we did indeed get snow it would be approximately 17 flakes… total.  Then, to my amazement on Monday it ACTUALLY snowed… a little, we got about a quarter inch on some parts of the city and it was really something.  My girlfriend (who had never seen snowfall) begged me to go to the park and play in it.  The only problem, was that by the time got there it was raining (rain falling on snow, at 33 degrees isint pleasant).

Then, Yesterday it actually snowed.  Im not talking about a half inch here and there, it was an actual snowstorm that was as bad as any I saw in Korea.  Traffic stopped moving, buissnesses shut down, cars tried to stop and kept right on going, the freeway top speed was about 40.  It was total chaos, and it occured to me.  Vegas is completely unprepared for anything like this.  We have no plows, no salt, no provisions in place, no planning at all.  The funny thing is… can you really blame us?  I mean… this is like a tidal wave in Colorado, or a tornado in Hawaii, its like the rain storm we had about 12 years ago when houses literally washed down creeks which were swollen to rivers.  I wonder what sort of emergency proceedures will be put into place after this?

Ok… so who the hell throws a shoe at a visiting head of state?  I mean seriously, I heard so many people talking about our President being an idiot and yadda yadda because some Iraqi reporter threw a shoe at him.  Well, I for one think he did pretty well dodging both the damn things (he moves pretty spryly for an old boy)  I mean don’t get me wrong I dislike him as much as the next guy, but give the man his due.

Personally in my opinion the Iraqi’s a freaking idiot who ought to be shot (accidentally of course).  I mean of all the freaking idiotic things you can do….

*An Al Qaeda camp somewhere in Iraq 3 days ago*

Habbib:  Hail Brother!  are you ready to punish the infidels for their dangerous, corrupt, pagan, impure, hedonistic, unIslamic, pork eating ways?!

Muntazer:  YES BROTHER! I have spent the last 2 years infiltrating the traitorous news networks of our desert oasis paradise. Now I shall have my REVENGE!                                   I  shall PUNISH the yankee scum for their transgressions!

Habbib:  YES BROTHER! JIHAD ON THE DOGS!  what will you use to destroy them?  C4?  a pipe bomb?  an IED?

Muntazer: NO!  I WILL USE!….. MY SHOES!…

Habbib:  ………

On a side note Muntazer was released from service within the Al Qaeda organization, and unconfirmed sources say he cries himself to sleep over the loss of  respect this has cost him.  He is reported to repeat to himself over and over again in his cell “but they always said my feet my most deadly weapons”

Oh well, I tremble to think what new retarded idea of protest we’ll see out of Iraq on the Morrow.  Good Night!

Ok, so last week I decided that I was going to start donating plasma.  I researched the record breaking THREE plasma donation companies here in the greater Las Vegas area and finally decided upon going to Biomat.  I called in an appointment, scheduled it for last Sunday, and proceeded to be excited about helping out the community, doing my civil service, and yadda yadda yak yak.  Anyway, I arrived 30 minutes early to my 10 am appointment, walked in, and stared.  Before me sat a seething mass of humanity such as you find at a free clinic, there must have been 50 people crammed into a 15 by 20 ft room all staring intently at  a plasma screen playing rush hour 3.  I hesitantly stepped into the room feeling very out of place and  took my place amongst the throng, and then waited for my name to be called.  When I was finally called up to the counter I walked up and was asked for my social security card, my license, and…. proof of residence?  What the heck?  Is this an attempt to save us all from… illegal alien blood? I mean seriously… if the plasma is needed, the people want to donate, does it matter where they live?  The plasma’s going to be tested so freaking much that they are GOING to find if something is wrong, so what the heck do you need proof of residence for?

I was sitting in the break room today, and complaining about this when my coworker decided to enlighten me.  Apparently the reason they ask for this is so they can compile a list of viable donors, and to stop aids infected crack hos from infecting everyone.  First off, if someone comes to the counter with a twitch and a sniffle its simple, TURN THEM AWAY!  Second, I already get massive amount of spam, and/or telemarketing calls off of other lists that I have sadly found myself upon.  Are you now telling me I am going to be telemarketed for my kidneys?  i can see it now “Hi there!  YOU have been randomly determined to be eligible to win a brand new 2009 Corvette!  In order to qualify for this exciting opportunity you must simply fill out this simple questionare!”

*By filling out this questionnaire you  agree to provide the company (hereafter referred to as wewillscrewyou inc.) complete rights to all organs, bodily fluids, and extremities you may have in your possession, or for a time up to 50 years after you sign said questionnaire.  

….. *shudder*

My point is this, if the plasma gets tested regardless of what you have or don’t have, it makes no difference one way or another.  Therefore why put limits on who can or can’t donate?  If the plasma is obviously not viable, deny the payment, and toss the stuff.  If it IS then take it and save a life, it just makes sense….