Thursday, December 30, 2004

The Time Draws Nearer

Last night I searched my memory and realized the true identity of Zach Wells. How could’ve my mind been so clouded not to remember as but by the devilish nature and power Zach wields? Indeed the dark storm clouds appear as I make haste to warn Travis. Unless Travis remembers, all hope is lost.

Will death become me in the future battle Zach likes to call “The Game?” I shall do my part by sending my furry friends as protection. It’s the only control I have left.

May God have mercy.

Tuesday, December 28, 2004

Scenery Change

I must apologize for the crudity of the blog. I return from the holiday vacation to witness a total transformation without my approval. My fingers wanted to post about my latest tryst with a coworker but now I must deal with a juvenile hacker.

From the tag board I see someone by the name of Zach Wells (hopefully no relation) taking credit for the change of scenery.

There is something vaguely familiar about the name Zach, like he is part of my past. The more I read his name the more my desire is to help a man by the name of Travis. Who is this Travis character? I do not know. But he needs my help.

Yes, I remember. The dream.

Monday, December 27, 2004

Break Time

While I'm taking a break from the story how about trying something people say actually works.You've heard about the free IPOD deal. I signed up and completed an offer for the Blockbuster DVD program. (It was actually cheaper than the netflix so I saved money.) I am looking for 5 people to sign up and complete an offer. THe site says you can cancel after the free trials. Okay let's give it a shot.

Please click the following refferal link

I'll keep you posted on the outcome.

Sunday, December 26, 2004

Haunted Dreams

I wanted to experience a joyous holiday but loneliness was my only friend. My expectations of visits by friends and family bearing gifts fell into a dark abyss. For some strange reason I have no memory of family or friends. It’s like I am just here, out of nowhere.

I did have a visit from a strange dream last night. Sad that one’s only friend is a nightmare.

In this dream I envisioned a mysterious man that held a gold pen. As he wrote with this pen I saw other people appear. Although I never met theses people I recognized their names, Travis and Zach. Travis seemed peaceful in nature while Zach is a dark figure of a man to be feared. I saw Zach as future trouble.

As I watched the man write I noticed a name tag upon the desk where he sat. I drew closer to read but the name blurred into two letters, D. R. The man looked up and stared at me with his dark eyes. He wrote a few words and my body disappeared. Then I awoke to the sound of birds singing a morning song.

My hope is this dream never visits me again.

Wednesday, December 22, 2004

Merry Christmas

Before I take a breather from the blog I give you another holiday story.

Have a safe and Merry Christmas.

The Lottery

Ned Campbell stared at the empty space underneath his Christmas tree. Work at the factory was slow this year and overtime pay was cut back in the summer months. Without the added revenue Ned could comfortably pay his bills but it was a struggling week-to-week process. If an emergency arose some bills would be paid at a later time. This year, Christmas was the emergency.

In October his hot water heated was replaced. Later during the month the television quit. His bills approached the sixty days past due point and he anticipated a visit from the repo man. One more month of putting off the bills would ensure a quick trip to the street.

He gazed at homemade stockings hanging above a fireplace and shook his head. Santa was still apart of his two son's lives. Without a visit from the jolly man in the red suit the children would believe themselves naughty, when, in actuality, they were decent kids. Ned pondered the idea of breaking the news of Santa's fictitious nature, but they were only five and seven years old.

He sighed and lowered his head. Before his vision fell to the floor a small present stashed behind the tree caught his attention. Head perked up he walked to investigate. He retrieved the gift and smiled upon reading the nametag. His wife, Katie, found a little spare cash to purchase him a gift. Tears welled up in his eyes.

The gift seemed empty when he shook it, but he did hear a faint noise. He smiled and placed the present back under the tree. Then he picked it back up again. He pulled back on the end of the wrapping paper in hopes of seeing the present before it was time. Looking around the room he peeled off one strip of tape. Soon the box was uncovered.

A tree branch hitting the ground startled him. He thought it silly acting like a school kid, but he wanted to see the gift. Slowly he opened the box. Inside was a piece of thick paper about the size of sporting event ticket. He read the words on the paper: MEGA LOTTERY - SCRATCH TO WIN.

He reached in the front pocket of his jeans and retrieved a penny. With the lottery ticket in one hand and the penny in the other he scratched the silver covering. If the three silver boxes matched then he was an instant winner. The first scratched off box read $10,000. He scratched the second box. $10,000. His heart raced. He thought about scratching the third box slow to build anticipation. Throwing the thought aside he cleared the box in four swipes. Reading the contents his mouth dropped open. He rubbed his eyes and read again. $10,000.

He jumped around the room like the floor was on fire and screamed, "Yes! Yes!" At once he stopped when he heard a roar of an engine coming up the driveway. He peeked through a window to see it was somebody using his driveway to turn around. Walking back to the tree he placed the ticket back in the box and rewrapped the gift.

He checked the balance in his checkbook and smiled. The day before was payday so money was in the account. Grabbing car keys and a jacket he walked out the front door.

Ned was sitting back in his recliner when Katie and the kids arrived home from visiting the grandparents. The kids screamed with excitement when they say the mountain of presents under the tree. They ran to them like a kitten to a ball of yarn. Katie's stood in the open door way, mouth gaped.

"Merry Christmas," Ned said as he stood up. He walked over to Katie and gave her a big hug and kissed her on the cheek.

Katie asked, "But how did…"

He placed a finger on her lips. "Don't worry, hun. It's all taken care off. Just sit back and enjoy the holiday."

Shaking her head she said, "I don't want to know." She looked at Ned and smiled. "But thank you." She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed.

"I should be thanking you," Ned said.

Katie asked, "What?"

"Never mind."

The kids were moving present around making a total mess of the living room.

Ned watched and laughed.

Nighttime came and a light snow started to fall. A fire was in the fireplace and the kids were nestled in their beds. Before long, and after many parental trips to their bedroom, they fell fast asleep.

Ned raced to his bedroom closet and pulled out bikes, remote controlled cars and various other toys and placed them all beside the glowing Christmas tree. He took a drink of the milk and a few bites of the cookies that the kids sat beside the fireplace.

Katie watched all this in amazement. "You have to tell me how you did this?"

Ned walked over and kissed her cheek. "Like I said, don't worry."

Ned gave her a smile.

Christmas day the kids awoke with smiles and laughter. This stirred Ned and Katie out of slumber. After pouring a cup of coffee Ned looked out the window and gazed on a thick blanket of snow.

"Ned?" Katie placed a hand on his shoulder.

He turned around to see Katie handing him the small gift that he previously opened. He acted surprised. "For me? Thank you hun." He kissed her cheek and tore the wrapping paper.

The youngest kid said, "Mom, look at this." He held up a toy train.

Katie replied, "Yes, that's nice." She walked to the child.

Ned turned his back and retrieved the lottery ticket from the box. He acted like he scratched off the silver. He took in a deep breath and screamed, "Oh my God! Honey! Honey!" He ran over to her, picked her up n the air, and squeezed.

She looked shocked, but there was a slight grin on her mouth. "What is it?"

Ned set her down and showed her the ticket. "This ticket you gave me?"


"It's a winner. Ten thousand dollars!" He stressed each syllable.

"Oh my God! Really?" She grabbed the ticket.

"Yes, really." Ned started dancing around the room screaming and yelling. He stopped upon hearing laughter from Katie. Ned asked, "What are you laughing at?"

"I got you good this year, sweetie."

"What do you mean?"

"The ticket is a joke, a fake. All these years playing jokes on me and I finally got you back." She bent behind the couch and retrieved another small wrapped gift, walked over to Ned and handed it to him. She kissed him on the cheek and said, "I'm sorry. But you should have seen your face. Classic."

Ned looked at the new gift, eyes wide.
Katie said, "Here's your real gift. Merry Christmas."

Ned turned and looked out the window again. Heavy snow started to fall.

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

The Shave

I feel my senses coming back to me. Enjoy the latest.


I sit on the side of the tub and gaze at my painful throbbing pussy. Weeks of neglect dictated the necessity of the razor. The latest storm and playfully enjoying the mud caused thick mats that only shaving could cure. Preparing my pussy for the shave I realized the can of shaving crème was empty. Movement stirred sharp pains as the hairs pulled against the skins so dry shaving was the only solution.

After the job I noticed little red whelps appear on the pale skin. Needing relief I fetched a bottle of my brother's after shave crème, thinking this would sooth the pain and smooth the skin. I thought wrong. Screams of agony still ring in my ears.

All I can do is wait for forgiveness. I'm so sorry, kitty cat.

Monday, December 20, 2004

There Came Such a Clatter

I awoke this morning and found this story staring at me. My intention was to finish the story about the dressing room. I guess, through a clouded haze, I produced this story instead.

There Came Such a Clatter

Red wine rested in a crystal glass. My cat sipped milk beside the warm fireplace. I lay beside her, fetched the wine and took in the aroma of the beverage mixed with the burning hickory. She purred as I scratched her ears. She seemed to be at peace with the empty house, no repeat of the Thanksgiving fiasco.

All was quiet except Nat King Cole floating through my stereo and the cracks and pops from the burning wood. Gazing upon the flames I felt warmth and comfort. My eyes moved to the cat and noticed her fast asleep. My eyes too grew weary. I placed my empty glass on the mantle and stretched my legs and body on the sofa. Soon my eyes closed and I dreamed of a small village decorated with Christmas lights.

A thump on the roof startled me out of slumber. The cat resembled a feline from Halloween with its hair raised and pupils dilated. Another loud thump came from the fireplace, which, by now, only had smoldering ashes. Sitting up, I reached over and grabbed my Glock aiming to protect kitty and I.

The cat gave a low growl and started moving back as light snow fell from the chimney. She appeared scared. I, on the other hand, was pissed. How dare a burglar invade our peaceful slumber and interrupt Christmas Eve? I checked the clip to make sure I had enough firepower. Cocked and ready.

More snow fell and loud rumblings resonated from the fireplace. From the fading sounds of the cat's paws on the kitchen floor I knew she was not dependable. I bent down out of eyesight.

A black boot appeared in the cavity and I fired. The screams were deafening. Blood poured from the wound and on to the remnants of the burnt wood. To my surprise another boot appeared. I fired again but missed. Soon a figure in a red suit laced with white fur fell in the fireplace and to the floor. A big black bag landed beside him. He rose to one knee, grabbed the bag, and retrieved a 38 special. Before I could move he jammed the barrel against my left nostril.

"In all my years delivering presents I have never been shot," the man said in an unsuspecting Italian accent. His fat belly rolled with each word. His breath smelled of cookies and milk. More like rum laced eggnog. He reached over and pulled the chamber and loaded a bullet.

Looking down the barrel a memory came to me telling me the identity of this man. IT was Jolly Ole Saint Nick. But he wasn't so jolly after I plugged his foot with my Glock.

"I'm sorry, Santa. I thought you were a burglar."

He pulled the gun back and sighed. "Ah, forget about it." He sat down looking at his wound. "I'm getting too old for this crap." He looked up at me with his dark eyes. "I'm gonna make you an offer you can't refuse. Since I'm now unable to perform my duties I'm gonna pass the responsibility off to you. You do a good job and I'll, uh, fatten your bank account. But, screw up, and I'll cut off your fingers."

"Santa, I just couldn't."

He pointed the gun to my head. "It's either that or I end this conversation right here and now."

Faced with the choice I grabbed the bag and said, "Let's go."

As I reached the chimney I heard a familiar low growl emanating from my bedroom. I turned and saw the cat sneaking up behind the old fat man. Apparently the home invasion by Santa really pissed off the feline.

He didn't hear her until it was too late. By the time he turned his head the cat leaped and sunk her claws in the middle of his back.

Santa screamed like a schoolgirl.

He quickly stood up and tried to reach for the cat. Twisting and turning he stretched his arms around to his back. He almost got one hand close to her head but was rewarded with a solid bite that severed his pinky finger. Pulling his hand back he shook it sending drops of blood across my living room.

During the melee he dropped his gun. I ran over and kicked it to the next room. Before I could turn back I felt hands tightening around my neck cutting off my air. Drawing my foot up I kicked back and landed square on Clause's jewels.

Santa whimpered and fell to the floor.

My attention was drawn to a window by jingling bells. I saw the reindeer and sleigh leaving the premises. Little Johnny, down the street, wasn't receiving his Tickle Me Elmo this night.

I looked back and saw the cat attacking Santa's head with quick slaps of her paws. With each swipe his white hair turned red.

Before I could raise my own gun he reached back and grabbed the cat by the scruff of the neck and threw her across the room. She hit the wall hard and landed on a stack of presents. She got to hear feet, shook her head and hissed. Apparently she wasn't hurt, just angered.

She crouched and took off in a dead run. Jumping, she landed on his head with her claws sunk on each side of his face. She cocked her head and started gnawing on his neck. He tried to pull her off his clawed face but with each pull strips of skin and drops of blood fell. She growled and bit harder making blood ooze out of his neck.
His eyes rolled up and his body fell limp to the floor.

The cat landed on all fours, looked at him for a few moments and walked off. She stopped in the kitchen to drink from her water bowl.

I walked over and moved his head with my foot. He didn't respond. From the pool of blood gathered around his face I realized Santa was dead.

Shaking my head I looked over at the cat who was giving herself a bath. I drew my gun and aimed for her head.

She looked back with sad eyes and meowed.

Sunday, December 19, 2004

What a night! It started with a fantasy that almost came true.

My plan was to stay at home and work on writing. My novel is almost complete but has suffered neglect with my clouded thoughts the past week. Booting up my computer I realized that my pack of cigarettes was almost empty. I only smoke when I write. Yes, a bad habit indeed. Still, the words remain dormate until I light up. Off to the store.

Needing a few other things, besides the cancer sticks, I decided to drive to the local supercenter.

Strolling down the main aisle on my way to purchase a Pantera CD (Yes, I prefer the hard stuff) a display of sultry lingerie caught my eye. Although I would much rather purchase my unmentionables from a specialty shop, this outfit was cute. It was a black transparent bra and panty set with a black silk robe. While checking for the right size I noticed a pretty woman and handsome man close to me. Our eyes met and soon we struck up a conversation.

We made mention of us girls trying on the lingerie in the dressing room while the man watched. Grabbing the pieces we walked to the fitting room…

I must apologize. My head is starting to ache. I’ll finish the story at a later time. Rest. Yes, rest is needed. Weird. I close my eyes and envision a dark figure of a man.

Friday, December 17, 2004

Clear Head

The last few days were rough on my nerves. Today I awoke with clarity and a new light. Looking outside the air is clear, but in the distance a few black clouds roll, moving away. At least I hope. Still I hear a faint voice laughing.

Searching my memory I can't remember posting these past entries. Maybe my friends were correct in assuming my mind is floating down the black river to the abyss. The writing of the posts seem too dark and strange, not my usual repertoire. I'd much rather write about a romance that climaxes in the woods under a foggy mist, not about cats clawing out eyes and Cinderella's head severed.

Was I drugged then my identity stolen on this account? I have no idea. Parties and social gatherings give me anxiety attacks. I'd rather spend a quiet night by the fire with a special someone.

Once I track down the culprit I'll post my findings.

Wednesday, December 15, 2004

A cloud

Last night my dreams were haunted by a memory that once was lost and forgotten. Visions of a dark man that floats above the ground and has a hideous smile awoke me while dawn was a lifetime away. For some reason I feel that man was a creature I rose from earth but couldn't control. I tied to close my eyes and face the dark clouds again. Violent storms and tornadoes enveloped my presence. I come to a rain-splattered dirt road. At one end stood the dark man. I turned and faced the other end of the road and saw a man that seemed young but time withered away his youth with deep wrinkles.

I feel that the young but old man was my creator, although looking at him filled my mind with rage and anger. But I was not afraid. The dark man was the one to fear.

A loud clap of thunder opened my eyes to the real world. A storm is coming. Indeed, a storm is coming.

Tuesday, December 14, 2004

Feeling Funny

My head is spinning with weird thoughts. I am on the outside looking in and a madman is in control. Maybe sleep will clear the fog.

Monday, December 13, 2004

Monday Blues

My mood is foul. Life is not as simple as once thought. I’m a little league player facing a curve ball thrown with the velocity of every great major league pitcher, and my bat is too short. If I can judge the speed just right I can knock the ball through the gap and beyond left field. Astronomical odds indeed. Two strikes down and here’s the wind up. I could simply let the ball coast by leaving the bat on my shoulder. Only two outcomes are possible. The pitch might float outside giving me another chance or it might fly straight in the zone giving me the infamous third strike, and I didn’t try.

Should I swing? If I did make contact I’ll receive a hero’s welcome. What if the ball fell short into an outfielder’s glove? If I miss, at least I gave it a shot. Still the same outcome if I let that ball of leather go past, but I did try, against all odds. At least football is more of team sport.

Sunday, December 12, 2004

Random thoughts

This is a dark day. The black screen laughs at the lack of words. Empty thoughts flow through my brain while my fingers go through the motions, typing pointless dribble. Uninspired emotion blocks the prose while I gnash my teeth in frustration. The great story is in the early stages of pregnancy suffered with morning sickness that consumes my every thought. Waiting on something I know is there but can't grasp is difficult. With patience comes reward, regardless of perfection.

Thursday, December 09, 2004

The Hair

The Hair

Arriving to my dull job this morning I found something so disgusting and retched lying at the bottom of my keyboard. Curiosity rolled through my mind like a combine in a wheat field somewhere in Kansas. I dare not touch this vile thing for fear where it originated. I closed my eyes in hope it was just a dream manufactured by beings in the afterlife. No luck. It’s still there mocking me.

Looking closer I see the black shade of color as it coils around like a small Slinky. My fingers didn’t touch the thing but I could tell the texture was course and hard. I have but one question-where did it come from?

The possibility of that thing originating from my body is moot. My forest lost a fight with a hungry razor. Was it from my significant other carried over from the all night trist by the graveyard? Not possible. Smooth as satin.

I can only conclude that the small black Slinky came from somewhere unknown to me. But who? Why? How? Did the late night cleaning crew use my terminal to surf scantly clad ladies? Was it indeed women that were the object of infatuation? I shuddered at the possibilities. Women don’t normally surf for that vision. By the gross disfigurement of cleaning lady’s beauty maybe it’s the only love she can find. I still shudder.

My only recourse is to take in a deep breath of the stale office air and blow like the winds of Alaska. Hopefully the hair will land in a place where eyesight fails to fall. What if it lands close to me? Worse, on me? No time. I must rid my workspace of this evil creature.

Turning to the side I heave and blow. It is gone. Grabbing the can of Lysol I douse my desk and equipment with sprays of fresh air disinfectant.

My mind still wonders who owned the hair. Maybe I’ll set up a trap or recording device to find the culprit. Until then I can only wonder and ingest great quantities of Tums.

Wednesday, December 08, 2004



I wonder about life itself. What’s the point? Why do we wake up so early to make other people money? Sure, we pocket a little to keep the car from being repossessed, but very little beyond that. While the higher ups drive Beamers and wear flashy suits, the lowly people, including myself, are reduced to shopping at Wal-Mart and driving second piece trash running on bald tires and borrowed time. There must be an end to the insanity. I will find it someday, the day when my blood spills on the bathroom floor.

There is another option. I could start my own business; make my own money. Better yet, have other lowly people make me money. After long consideration, I conclude I don’t have the conscience to bust others balls to make me rich. Plus, I don’t have the cash to start one. Those damned higher ups have it all.

I could always play the lottery. Now that would be nice. I could win millions, retire to some beach and drink margaritas until my hair turns gray. But the odds are astronomical. I would have to be one lucky bitch to win. The way my luck runs, I would spend more than I could ever win. Still, I have to try. What’s a couple of dollars a day? $624. That’s enough for a used refrigerator when mine finally goes to that appliance store in the sky. I can’t win.

Many people have made a killing off of stocks, but not me. The last investment I made ended up in disaster. The company fell under federal investigation two weeks after I bought 10 shares at $50. The stock is now worth 87 cents. Once again, I make money for someone else – the stockbroker.

That Godfather flick was a good movie. I could become a female Don of sorts and dabble in the gangster underworld. Now that would be cool and profitable…for the mortician. I don’t know one thing about shooting a gun. I’m not crafty enough to elude any retaliatory hit coming my way. Them gansters would kill me in an instant.

Wait just a minute! I have the solution to my problem. I know something that generates tons of revenue and would make me powerful. People would adore me, no matter how ugly I became. Flocks of people would gather just at the mere mention of my name. It’d take little talent and very little overhead. All I need is a stage and a couple of timed “miracles”. The money will start pouring in. And it won’t be like I’m forcing sweatshop labor to generate my paycheck. The beauty of this job, people will give me money just for the hell of it, or just to keep Hell out of it. I will become the most famous miracle evangelist to ever walk this earth.

Move over Hinn and Jones, there’s another prophet in town. This place ain’t big enough for all of us.

I hear bells. Are those heaven’s bells? No. Just the sound letting us peons know we have permission to go home to our meaningless lives. Can’t wait until it all starts again tomorrow. Yippee.

Tuesday, December 07, 2004

Cinderella's Divorce

As promised, the story of why the Prince wanted to divorce Cinderella.

Once upon another time, when Cinderella and the Prince were facing troubled times, a decree was sent through the Queendom of Charmville. The decree stated that no man could issue a certificate of divorce to his wife, no matter what the circumstance. This angered the Prince. Upon learning of the decree he set forth to talk with his mother, the Queen.

“Please reverse this decree so I can divorce Cinderella,” the Prince said.

“This I can not do, young Prince. Once the decree is set forth it becomes the law of the land,” the Queen replied.

“Are you not the very queen who can make the laws and take them back if need be?”

“Yes I can. But this decree is final. I can not reverse it. Besides, why do you want to divorce Cinderella? She’s a nice woman and she takes care of your part of the castle.”

The prince cleared his throat. “I’d rather not discuss personal matters. But she is a very mean woman and doesn’t…needs. I just need the divorce.”

The Queen thought hard, for she loved her son very much. But she also had to uphold the decree she sent out. She said, “There is a way, but both you and Cinderella must face me for the final judgment. If I see that there is enough reason for the divorce I will grant it. Or at least remove her from the land.” She winked.

“I’ll fetch her now, Mother, so I can rid myself of this vile beast.”

“Try to hurry, for it’ll be dinner time soon and I am very hungry.” A loud growl bellowed from her big tummy.

The Prince’s eyes grew wide for fear he might be eaten. “Yes, Mother. I shall hurry.”
He ran out of the main parlor of the castle, through walkways and corridors until he reached his part of the castle. He stopped upon arriving at the big wooden door to his bedroom. Faint voices were coming through the cracks. He looked for a keyhole but found none. Grabbing the handle he gave the door a huge shove.

He screamed upon entering the room. Cinderella was sitting up on man who had smooth and tan skin. She only wore the glass slippers the Fairy Godmother gave her before she married the Prince. The smooth skin man wore nothing at all. As soon as she saw the Prince’s face she covered the smooth skin man and herself with bedding cover.

With a red face the Prince yelled, “Again? Again, I find you with this man. Remove yourself from him and go with me into the Queen’s quarters. I want a divorce and she will grant this to me. Once she finds out what a true harlot you are the decision should be quick.”
Cinderella smirked and stood, exposing the naked man.

The Prince gasped and looked down at his own mid section and frowned.

“Yes, dear. This should be a tasty treat. Please expose my evil ways to the Queen. We shall see who gets the last laugh.”

The Prince stepped back and was shocked. “What ever do you mean?”

“You’ll find out.”

After she put on a scarlet robe the Prince grabbed her by the arm and led her back to the Queens parlor. They stepped through the doorway and walked up to the Queen, who just finished a snack of bread and wild game. Fragments of meat were on her chin and down her dress.

“I have brought her to you. Can we proceed?” The prince placed Cinderella behind a small podium that was to the left of the Queen. He positioned himself behind another podium to the Queen’s right.”

Letting out a small belch the Queen said, “I understand that you, the Prince, wish to divorce Cinderella. Do you have reason why I should grant this divorce?”

“I indeed do. This woman,” he said pointing at Cinderella “is nothing more than a common harlot. I have caught her many times sharing love with other men while she denies my right as a husband.”

Cinderella rolled her eyes as she tried to pat down her mangled curly blonde hair.

The Queen asked Cinderella, “Is this true?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“The Queen asked again, “Do you have reason why you do not give yourself to your husband but will give yourself to other men?”

“Yes I do.”

“Tell us,” the Queen said.

Cinderella tightened her robe and said, “You will not find my reasons believable. But let the truth be known.” She cleared her throat. “I never gave myself to him because he has never offered or expressed interest, even on our wedding night. I think his proposal for marriage was to hide his other desires. Many times I have walked by and seen him catching a fancy on the young groundskeepers as they toil away.”

The Queen sat down while the Prince’s mouth opened.

Cinderella said, “Once I strolled by the bedroom and saw him in his birthday suit staring out the window and, um, touching his privates. I hid and waited for him to finish and leave then I walked to the window and saw the big guardsman, in nothing but a loincloth, soaking up the afternoon sun.”

“This harlot lies. All lies. It was her on our bed with that guardsman just a short time ago.”
Cinderella again rolled her eyes.

The Queen said, “I find this hard to believe, Cinderella. Maybe you are fibbing just to spare yourself humility.”

“I’m not ashamed of anything. I am a woman with needs that my dear husband chooses not to give me,” said Cinderella.

The Queen stood. “Do you have anything else to say before I pass judgment?”

“Yes I do. It was only last week I went into the temple to pray for the Prince that he would give himself to me. Upon entering I heard strange moans and grunts coming from behind the pulpit. I am a very curious person so I went to see what the commotion was about. I inched the curtain back and saw the Prince lying with the priest as a man lies with a woman. The Prince was on bottom, of course.”

The Prince’s eyes grey wide. “That is blasphemy. How dare you say that I commit such an act of debauchery. With a priest?” He came over to Cinderella and pointed a finger in her face. “This spawn of the devil deserves beheading.”

“Remove your finger before I eat it for a snack.” Cinderella looked at his finger with her nostrils flaring. She smiled. “Is that the priest or the groundskeeper I smell?”

The Queen stepped in between the two before Cinderella could bite his finger. “By the law of the land, anyone who blasphemes shall be put to death by beheading.” She looked at Cinderella with sad eyes. “I am sorry.” The Queen motioned with her arm. “Guard, take her away.”

“At last I will be free from this woman,” the prince said.

The Queen turned her head to him and said, “Close your mouth lest you will find your lovely head in the guillotine. You lover of hairy trees.”

The Prince remained quiet and scratched various parts of his body.

“I shall deal with you later,” the Queen stated.

The guard grabbed Cinderella by the arms and hauled her out of the Queens quarters. The robe she wore fell off one shoulder exposing one of her breasts. The guard caught site of this and smiled.

She smiled on return and motioned with her tongue in and out in her cheek. Looking down she could see the guard was impressed by her motion. The guard winked.

They finally arrived at the guillotine followed by the Queen and Prince. The guard placed Cinderella’s head in the boards and locked it in while the Queen and the Prince stood at the other end of the platform. The guard stood behind Cinderella.

Cinderella grabbed the bottom portion of the robe and started pulling it over her bottom until all her skin was exposed.

“Good gracious,” said the guard.

The Prince gazed upon the sweaty body and saw the tightening of the guard’s loins. He started walking to the guard eying the moisture rolling down the guard’s bare chest. Without warning the Prince pinched the nipple of the guard.
The guard, startled, jumped back, bumping into the Prince.

The Prince started to fall. He grabbed the rope which held the blade of the guillotine causing the blade to descend. Before it reached Cinderella’s neck the Prince fell in the path of the falling object.


Cinderella’s head rolled to the feet of the Queen. The upper torso and left hand of the Prince fell to the platform with a splatter.

Speckles of blood fell on the guard causing him to turn and puke.
The Queen kicked Cinderella’s head and sighed. “Now who will rule when I leave this world? Shame indeed.”

Monday, December 06, 2004


Another day, same old bull crap. Work blows like a cheap hooker with jagged teeth. The discussion was presented before about dealing with the traffic just to get to this place (work). I could find more enjoyment by going to the zoo and have the chimps throw dookie at me.

Don’t fret. The Cinderella story is coming. I might wrap it up tonight, depending on how the Boys do against the Seahawks.

Friday, December 03, 2004

Radio Madness

During my long commute the radio is my highway friend. Lately that friend has stabbed me in the back and watched me bleed. The friend doesn’t care what I like or want. I feel like throwing that friend out on the road and let it rot with the rest of the road kill.

Public radio is bad. If sitting through countless minutes waiting for commercials wasn’t enough to make you pull out your nose hairs, then the lame, repetitive song lists can make your ears bleed. I’d rather be deaf than force fed this crap they call FM radio.

Each station needs to fire every consultant and focus group. They apparently do not know what is good radio. How do they know what I like anyways?

I could always change the station. On each turn of the dial (old school term) I just get the same crap but in a different form. Which will it be today? Hard crap or liquid crap? None for me thanks.

It used to be that the CD player was a better alternative. I could load about 25 CDs and set to shuffle the music in random order. The collection grows stale. I still have the repetitive problem.

Buy some newer cds? There are very few artists who I would actually give my hard earned 18 bucks (charging that kind of cash is a crime itself). What are these labels thinking? Everybody sounds the same. Originality and creativeness are pushed in the trunk. I remember the time you could hear 5 seconds of a song and know, without a doubt, who was playing. Very few artists (another loose term) have the desire, style or emotion. And don’t comment to me about your favorite band, saying they are the greatest thing since the invention of the blow up doll. I’ll deflate it quick.

There are mp3 players now. Thanks to the money grubbing scums at the RIAA we can no longer download music that fits our taste, at least for free. We can, but the fear of the summons looms in the background. If they could produce a CD with 10 to 11 great songs instead of 1, I would be more than happy to shell out the cash. Yes there is the option to pay and download one song at a time. This might be a good solution. The format is portable and can be tailored to suit each individual. Still, there is the problem of what is commercially available.

I’m not just another old geezer that is repeating the words of our parent’s expressive dislike of new music. I am a musician by heart and a music lover by choice. The decade makes no difference to me as long as the music is tight and enjoyable. Each decade has its gems and its crap. Just seems to be a lot more brown dookie these days.

I say to these labels and radio stations to seek out some fresh TALENT and stop worrying about mass-market appeal. Enough with the dilution. Which would you rather have? A big red tomato that is pretty to look at but lacks flavor or a slightly smaller one that’s not much to look at but the flavor explodes in your mouth.

Daily Musings

Saturday morning arrives with a vengeance. The ground is cold and thick fog rolls across the lake. Coffee brews and the first morning cigarette lays, smoking, in a ceramic ashtray. The computer is booted up and my fingers scroll the words across the screen.

Very little is on today's agenda. A few chores need attention and a bill needs payment. Another day in this sleepy small town. Someone knocks on the front door.

The police arrived with two squad cars. They must have the wrong house or is it donations to the youth fund they are looking for? It couldn't be the bodies that lie on the bottom of the Trinity River. That was many years ago and much concrete and chicken wire was used. Play it cool.

The last cruiser leaves my driveway. Seems some punk kids are painting up road signs and various buildings. I'll keep my eyes open.

I pour some coffee and light another cigarette. Life is good.

Thursday, December 02, 2004


I said I would continue my op/ed piece on the conclusion of Trading Spouses. I see no need. The California woman made herself look like a nut and hypocrite. I am sorry the fine people of Louisiana had to deal with her.

The novel still resides on the back of the stove. Gasoline and matches would do it some good.
I did manage to complete a couple of short stories and one is in the works. I probably won't post the first two just yet, but the other one will probably find its way to this blog. With copyrights, first publication rights and general thieves I am hesitant on posting my stories, at least some of them.

Hmph. Is my life so boring right now, at this very moment that I can't come up with something of substance that I can post? Ah, I remember now. Phew...

My next to post "should" deal with my opinions on public radio and music in general. Afterwards I plan on posting the short story that I'm currently working on. I'll give you a little hint. Cinderella’s been a naughty little girl. :)

Until then...

Wednesday, December 01, 2004


A report came out yesterday (or was it the day before) stating people who commute to work suffer more stress than a fighter pilot. After today I tend to agree. At least fighter pilots can blow the crap out of anyone who gets in their way. Motorists don't have that option, unfortunately. Wish we did so the next time I see a fender bender blocking up traffic for miles I can hit a button and destroy the wreckage. If the person is too ignorant to give space for the car in front then they don't deserve a vehicle.

As commuters we could stifle the insurance companies by one simple thing; paying attention. It's driver's ed 101. Keep your eye on the freaking road and put that damn cell phone down. Who the hell is that important that you have to talk with at 6:00 in the morning? If the call is important then for God's sake use a hands free device. In reality, is the phone call that important? As a society we managed without cell phones before. We've grown dependent like a junkie on crack.

"I have to call to make sure the family is awake." Hitch your ass down to your local Wal-Mart or Target and buy a freaking alarm clock. Can't afford it? Reduce the minutes on your plan. Simple. You won't need the minutes if your family can become more self sufficient instead of relying on you all the time.

"I'm calling in to work." Why? You're on the way there. The place will still be present when you arrive. If your boss is that much of a butt and chews your ass like a dog on milk bone underwear then maybe you need to find a new place to work. Seems a little stressful to me. If you are the boss, then lighten up and give your employees a break. If you show some restraint then your workers will be more productive.

"I have a sick relative." Then by God you need to be WITH them.

See, there is no reason to even have a cell phone. But let's look at a few more "excuses."

"What if I break down?" Valid point. At least youre not driving and talking. In the good old days people would see someone broke down and offer a helping hand. I have yet to see that in the last five years. People are just too busy. Sad.

"I need to stay in contact with my spouse." This is laughable. It's just a homing device disguised like a phone. If there is that mistrust in a relationship that either spouse needs to keep tabs on the other, then seek some counseling. There are major issues there.

"I need to stay in contact with my child." This is the only valid reason I could see. But kids will abuse the privilege. They're kids. If my child is in a situation (broke down, at the Communist public school, in a sticky situation) I want to be assured they can reach me, at any time. My child is my responsibility, not society.

There are other distractions that take our eyes off the road. There is a simple solution. Keep your hands on the wheel and eyes on the road. And look out for the crazy MF driving full speed on the onramp. He's got a cell phone to his ear.