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.