Monday, June 29, 2009

Stupor Heroes

Super Jerk

Two guys were sitting at a bar on the 40th floor of a skyscraper and were totally plastered.

The first guy said, ''Hey, I'll bet you a million bucks that I can jump out of this window, fly around the building, and land right here next to you!''

Being so totally wasted, plus hearing a completely impossible bet, the 2nd guy replied, ''YOU'RE ON!''

So the first guy jumped out of the window, flew around the building, and came right back to the same spot.

''WOW,'' screamed the 2nd guy, ''That was incredible. Do it again!''

So the first guy jumped out of the window, flew around the building, and landed right next to his friend.
''That is remarkable. Do it one more time!"

''Ok,'' said the first guy, ''But if I do it again, when I come back you have to do it."

The second man agreed, and with that, once again, the first jumped out, flew around, and came back.

''Your turn,'' he said.

So the 2nd guy stepped up to the window. ''This is easy. He did it, so can I!"

The much pumped second man, took a deep breath, and heaved his body out the window. He fell straight to the ground and died instantly upon impact. Calmly the first man walked back to the bar and ordered another beer.

The bartender remarked, ''You sure are a real asshole when you're drunk, Superman!'''

Sex on the Fly

Superman's had a hard week of fighting crime in Metropolis and is ready for some fun.

So Friday afternoon, he looks up his pals Batman and Spiderman to see if they're up for going on the prowl that evening. Both turn him down on account of prior commitments, and Superman is pretty ticked.

As he's flying around the stratosphere letting off steam, he spots Wonder Woman lying on her back stark naked sunbathing on the beach.

"Hey," he thinks, "I'm Superman and I don't need those two clowns to have a good time. I can just fly down there at the speed of light, catch a quickie, and fly away before she knows what happened."

So, Superman zips down, takes advantage of the situation and flies away at the speed of light.

Wonder Woman says, "What the hell was that?"

The Invisible Man cries out in obvious pain, "I don't know but my asshole is killing me !"

Ms Capt. America

Talk about a tight fitting costume!

Flash Gordon

Is About...

To Boldly Go Where No Man Has Gone Before !


Sunday, June 28, 2009

Death In Threes (+ One)

Ed McMahon ... Farah Fawcett ... Michael Jackson

There's an old saying that death comes in threes ... fate bodes ill again!

First we were saddened by the passing of the world's most famous sidekick:

Edward Leo Peter McMahon, Jr. (3/6/23 - 6/23/09)

McMahon was a decorated Maine Corps war veteran (a WWII fighter pilot), a comedian, games show host, announcer, and TV personality. He hosted "Star Search" ('83-'85), with Dick Clark co-hosted "TV Bloopers and Practical Jokes" ('82-'86), and annually co-hosted Jerry Lewis' "Labor Day Telethon."

He performed in commercials, most notably for Budweiser.

Above all, he was most famous as the announcer for over thirty years ('62-'92) for Johnny Carson on the late night "The Tonight Show," with his booming "Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeere's Johnny!"

Next we were to lose an angel, one of the original "Charlie's Angels:"

Farrah Leni Fawcett
(2/2/47 - 6/25/09)

Her iconic picture at the right was the 1976 poster that sold between 5 million and 12 million copies. It would adorn the wall of many a young male during the height of her popularity.

To many she will be best remembered as Jill Munroe, starring along side Jacquelin Smith and Kate Jackson as one of Charlie's Angels. The unseen Charlie was voiced by William Forsythe.

Once married to Lee Majors and later wed to Ryan O'Neal, Fawcett had for the most part a less than stellar acting career after she left the "Angels." She did receive critical acclaim in 1986 for her film role in "Extremities." She gave a dramatic and shocking performance on the small screen in the 1984 TV production, "The Burning Bed."

My personal first memory of Farrah Fawcett was from an early TV commercial she shot with former NFL quarterback Joe Namath. The spot was for Noxema and featured the catch phrase, "Let Creamy cream ya."

Finally, we were shocked to hear that the self-proclaimed "King of Pop" was dead.

Michael Joseph Jackson (8/29/58 - 6/25/09)

What can I say about "Jacko" that hasn't already been said in the last 72 hours since his death? You needn't go any farther than the Internet, television or even the radio, to be deluged with coverage and homage to this musical icon.

All over the world there is a feeding and buying frenzy of everything that is Michael Jackson. Within hours of the announcement of his passing anything pertaining to him that could be bought - was gone.

I will not attempt to post anything biographical concerning his life. All one has to do is to type his name on a browser line and everything, and I mean everything one would want to know about him will be there before your eyes.
I will, however, make one observation about the circumstances surrounding his death.

He had a personal physician who lived and traveled with him. The doctor freely dispensed drugs and pain killers to Jackson. This is not an uncommon practice, as the same was true with other notable celebrities when they died. Notable among these were:
Marilyn Monroe, Elvis Presley and Anna Nicole Smith
In each instance these doctors have had questionable past records. It seems to me than any time a celebrity hires a personal doctor for his or her exclusive treatment there is cause to worry about the welfare, health and fate of said individual.

I was about to close this post when my wife called out to me from the next room where she was watching the news. It seems that this time around, death has come in fours. Another celebrity was dead!

Love them or hate them, but infomercial pitchmen are celebrities too!

William Darrell Mays, Jr. (7/20/58 - 6/28/09)

Billy Mays, known for pitching a number of products from Oxi Clean to the Awesome Auger, was pronounced dead in his Odessa, Florida home at 7:45 AM by a local fire rescue crew after his wife found him unresponsive.

While it is unclear if related to his death, Mays had been aboard a June 27th US Airways flight which experienced a rough landing when the plane's front tires blew out. The jolt of the landing caused loose objects in the cabin to strike some of the passengers. Mays himself was reportedly struck in the head by some of the objects.

I'm closing the post with haste, lest I learn of number five !

I awoke this morning, Monday, to in fact learn of the fifth celebrity death.

Gale Storm - (4/5/22 - 6/27/09)

Born Josephine Owaissa Cottle, Gale Storm was a film actress, a television actress and recording artist.

On television, she starred in two successful programs, "My Little Margie" ('52-'55), and "The Gale Storm Show: Oh, Susanna!" ('56-'60). In recent years she made guest appearances on "Burke's Law," "The Love Boat," and "Murder, She Wrote."

Her big screen career was less than stellar, but she received acclaim for her roles opposite Jackie Cooper in 1943's "Where Are Your Children," and with Don DeFore in the 1947 film "It Happened on Fifth Avenue."

She was also a successful recording artist for the Dot Records label. In 1956, she earned a Gold Record for her hit, "I Hear You Knockin'," which was followed in the same year by "Teenage Prayer." Among her pop hits were "Tell Me Why" and "Dark Moon."

№ 1725

Thursday, June 25, 2009

The Fly on the Blog

The Food Chain

In the dead of summer, a fly was resting on a leaf beside a lake. It was a hot, dry fly who said to no one in particular: "Gosh, if I go down three inches, I will feel the mist from the water and I will be refreshed."

There was a fish in the water, thinking, "Gosh, if that fly goes down three inches, I can eat him."

There was a bear on the shore, thinking, "Gosh, if that fly goes down three inches, that fish will jump for the fly and I will eat him."

It also happened that a hunter was farther up the bank of the lake preparing to eat a cheese sandwish. "Gosh," he thought, "if that fly goes down three inches, and that fish leaps for it, that bear will expose himself and grab for the fish, at which point I'll shoot the bear and then have a proper trophy."

You think this is enough activity for one bank of one lake? There is more.

A wee mouse down by the hunter's foot was thinking, "Gosh, if that fly goes down three inches and that fish jumps for that fly, and that bear grabs for that fish, the dumb hunter will shoot the bear and drop his cheese sandwich."

A cat luking in the bushes took in this scene and thought, as was fashionable to do on the bank of this particular lake around lunch time, "Gosh, if that fly goes down three inches and that fish jumps for that fly and that bear grabs for that fish and that hunter shoots that bear, and the mouse makes off with the cheese sandwich then I can have mouse for lunch."

The poor fly is finally so hot and so dry that he heads down for the cooling mist of the water.

The fish swallows the fly.

The bear grabs the fish.

The hunter shoots the bear.

The mouse grabs the cheese sandwich.

The cat jumps for the mouse.

The mouse ducks, and

The cat falls into the water and drowns.

The moral of this story is:

Whenever a fly goes down three inches, some pussy is probably in danger.

( - Lifted from Miss Cellania.)

Jewish Fly

This guy walks into a bar, and sits down at the bar. There is a really good looking girl alone at the end of the bar. He catches her eye, and smiles at her.

She gives him an icy stare in return.

A little while later he tries again, and is rebuked. He calls the bartender over. "Listen, I'd really like to meet that girl, can you help me".

"Sure," says the bartender, "have you ever heard of Jewish Fly".

"No, is it like Spanish Fly", replies the man.

"Much better than that." Says the bartender.

The bartender mixes the girl a drink, (with the Jewish fly of course) and gives it to her.

A little later she smiles at the man. After a few more minutes and she began to lick her lips suggestively.

The man walks over, sits down and says "May I get you another drink?"

"No", she says in a deep sexy voice, "But you can take me shopping."

Q: How many flies does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: Two, but how the heck do they get in there?

The Fly and the SAMURAI

Back in the time of the Samurai there was a powerful emperor who needed a new head Samurai so he sent out a declaration throughout the country that he was searching for one. A year passed and only 3 people showed up: a Japanese Samurai, a Chinese Samurai and a Jewish Samurai.

The emperor asked the Japanese Samurai to come in and demonstrate why he should be head Samurai.

The Japanese Samurai opened a match box and out pops a little fly. Whoosh goes his sword and the fly drops dead on the ground in 2 pieces.

The emperor exclaimed: "That is very impressive!"

The emperor then asked the Chinese Samurai to come in and demonstrate. The Chinese Samurai also opened a match box and out pops a fly. Whoosh, whoosh goes his sword. The fly drops dead on the ground in 4 pieces.

The emperor exclaimed: "That is really very impressive!" The emperor then had the Jewish Samurai demonstrate why he should be the head Samurai.

The Jewish Samurai also opened a match box and out pops a fly. His flashing sword goes whoooooooossshhh whoooooooossshhh whoooooooossshhh whoooooooossshhh whoooooooossshhh.

A gust of wind fills the room, but the fly is still alive and buzzing around. The emperor, obviously disappointed, asks: "After all of that, why is the fly not dead?"

The Jewish Samurai smiled, "Well, circumcision is not intended to kill."


Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Relationship Wisdom

When you're down and out, something always turns up - and it's usually the noses of your friends. - Orson Wells

After marriage, husband and wife become two sides of a coin; they just can't face each other, but still they stay together. - Sacha Guitry

By all means marry. If you get a good wife, you'll be happy. If you get a bad one, you'll become a philosopher. - Socrates

Woman inspires us to great things, and prevents us from achieving them. - Anonymous

The great question... which I have not been able to answer... is, "What does a woman want? - Dumas

I had some words with my wife, and she had some paragraphs with me.. - Sigmund Freud

"Some people ask the secret of our long marriage.
We take time to go to a restaurant two times a week.
A little candlelight, dinner, soft music and dancing.
She goes Tuesdays, I go Fridays." - Henny Youngman

"There's a way of transferring funds that is even faster than electronic banking. It's called marriage." - Sam Kinison

"I've had bad luck with both my wives. The first one left me, and the second one didn't." - James Holt McGavra

Two secrets to keep your marriage brimming:
1. Whenever you're wrong, admit it,
2. Whenever you're right, shut up. - Patrick Murra

The most effective way to remember your wife's birthday is to forget it once... - Nash

You know what I did before I married? Anything I wanted to. - Anonymous

My wife and I were happy for twenty years. Then we met. - Henny Youngman

A good wife always forgives her husband when she's wrong. - Rodney Dangerfield

First Guy (proudly): "My wife's an angel!"
Second Guy: "You're lucky, mine's still alive." - Anonymous


Communication In Relationships

A man wakes up in a hospital, bandaged from head to foot.

The doctor comes in and says, "Ah, I see you've regained consciousness. Now you probably don't remember, but you were involved in a pile up on the freeway. You're going to be okay, you'll walk again and everything. But something terrible happened."

"What is it, doc," the man asked.

"I'm trying to break this to you gently, but the fact is, your penis was chopped off in the wreck and we were unable to find it."

The man groans and fights back tears.

The doctor continued, "The good news is you've got $9000 in insurance compensation coming, and we have the technology now to build and to attach a new penis that will work as well as your old one did, and better in fact! But the thing is, it doesn't come cheap. It's $1000 an inch."

The man perks up at this and begins to feel better about his misfortune.

"So," the doctor says, "it's for you to decide how many inches you want. But it's something you'd better discuss with your wife. I mean, if you had a five inch one before and you decide to go for a nine incher, she might be put out and maybe even afraid.

But if you had a nine inch one before and you decide to go for the five incher, she might be greatly disappointed. It's important that she plays a role in this decision. Making that decision together will help you through this tought time."

The man agrees to talk to his wife. The doctor returns to his hospital room the next day. "So, have you spoken to your wife?" the doctor asks.

"Yes, I have," replies the patient.

"Has she helped you in making the desirable decision?" the doctor asked.

"Yes, she has," says the man.

"And what is it?" inquired the doctor.

Replied the patient, "We're getting granite counter tops."


Tuesday, June 23, 2009

The Next Poets Laureate

I've often wondered [sic] how the nation's Poet Laureate achieves that honor. I know the Poet Laureate is appointed by the President of the United States, but who comes up with a list of candidates for him to chose from? What criteria is used to determine what poet gets consideration?

Surely the President doesn't pick his favorite poet? Wouldn't that be giving our Commander-In-Chief a little too much power? After all, why should a man who doesn't know if he's Muslim or American be allowed to determine who gets to be a Poet Laureate?
Think about it, what would stop him from naming Sean John Combs, aka P. Diddy?

What if he opted instead for Cordozar Calvin Broadus, Jr., otherwise known as Snoop Dogg?

The Poet Laureate is sometimes called upon to publicly read poetry to audiences. I would think that any audience listening to poetry would not want to hear rhymes about sex and violence. Also, I believe such an audience would want to be able to understand what the Poet Laureate is reading.
See what I mean? Giving the President the power to name a Poet Laureate would be fraught with controversy. If it isn't bad enough that our President selects judges for the Supreme Court, do we really want him nominating Poets Laureate?
Who would George W. Bush have chosen? Elmer Fudd? Why not? They impersonated one another?
Here's an intriguing one. I can only imagine William Jefferson Clinton's ideal poet. He would have chosen one specializing in his favorite type of poetry, the Limerick:
The was a young woman named Monica
Who liked to play music on Hannukah.
Bill asked her if she'd play the flute,
And she obliged to play for the coot
But instead played him like a harmonica.
I'll have to admit that I didn't have the foggiest idea as to the name of the current Poet Laureate. A quick Google produced the name of Kay Ryan.

If I was asked to name a former Poet Laureate, the only one I can think of is Robert Frost. He was the selection of President John F. Kennedy back in the early sixties. Suffice it to say, I'm not exactly well versed when it comes to Poets Laureate. (Is anybody?)

I wonder, can a private citizen nominate a Poet Laureate?

Perhaps, I'm old fashioned, but when I think of poetry I like poems that rhyme. For example, to me a haiku isn't real poetry. (I guess it's a matter of semantics.)

There are a couple of poets out there who have been spinning some creative and original poetry for some time. Largely, they've gone unnoticed when it comes to their lyrical rhymes. It may have something to do with how they apply their poetry. They are not unknowns either. Practically every American knows who they are.

Anthony Sullivan and Billy Mays are pitchmen who work the Infomercial circuit.

Their products are not available in stores, even though they show up in stores a couple of months after the original infomercial airs.

You've seen their pitches and you've heard their pitches ... Surely (and I'm not calling you Shirley) you've heard the almost melodic meter of their clever rhyming sales pitches!
The Awesome Augur: ... it takes the hard work out of yardwork!

Fixit: ... the scratch has met its match!

Holliday House Floor Shine: ...Shine it once and it shines for months!

Big City Slider Station: ... Stack 'em, double stack 'em, triple stack 'em, and watch your family attack them!
Well' there you have it, these two poets probably don't know it, but I hereby submit their names for nomination for consideration as the next Poets Laureate.


Monday, June 22, 2009

The Strange Story of Mr. Black and Ms Gray (60)

Part 60 of an original tale that delves into the unexplored realms of the human mind. Hired by her lover to find a raven haired beauty, Benjamin Bering must avoid the local police as well as the agents of a nonexistent government agency who are after him and the woman. There are just two problems. The woman is in a coma and her body has been stolen. (Part 1 can be found HERE.)

In Memorium

The dark sky and the wind driven sleet had done little to dissuade the small group of mourners who had gathered by the two grave sites to pay their final respects. There were no dry eyes gazing upon the coffins of those who had been so tragically taken from them.

The pastor, who had braved the elements without a topcoat, closed his Bible and looked over the small assemblage before him. Ignoring the sting of the frozen droplets on his face, he lowered his head and invited those present to join him in prayer.

Following the chorused Amens he approached and offered condolences to each person there. He ended his visitations by kneeling before a distraught woman confined to a wheel chair. He gestured the sign of the cross and whispered words of encouragement to her. He rose to his feet, turned and walked away.

Once her companion had pushed the wheel chair closer to the grave sites, Rosie laid a single red rose upon the closest casket and raised a tissue to her face. Next, she leaned forward and placed an outstretched hand upon the second casket, that of a dear friend.

Her companion Stu knelt beside her and rubbed her hands. Though she and Stu had known each other for many years, it had taken the tragic losses of the departed to draw them closer into an intimate kinship. They stayed there for a few minutes sharing a private exchange before moving away.

Sergeant Brock O'Day, resplendent in his dress uniform offered the couple a few condolatory words and stepped aside to allow them to pass. His hands folded across his belt and his head lowered, he stood silent before the twin coffins. He ignored the tears forming in each eye. He was thankful that through recent events he had gained a renewed friendship with the man after so many years of mutual dislike.

He nodded to the approaching old man, who on matching canes was struggling to get nearer to the caskets of the man and woman. He whispered to the encased couple and asked for their forgiveness, because if not for his work they would on that day still be among the living. Bishop King was ailing and he vowed to them that he would soon be joining them.

A young couple had opted to stand in the background away from the other mourners. They had been watching in silence as the others in turn had been paying their final respects.

They had felt both pity and sorrow for the old man, for only they among those present shared in the knowledge of the cancer that was rapidly killing him. Only they knew of the guilt that was consuming him. He had expressed to none other that he was tired of living and that he would welcome and embrace death.

They had observed the curious exchange between O'Day and his wife. Faye had refused to approach the grave sites, remaining instead by the cemetery gate several hundred yards away. If she was bidding goodbyes to her ex-husband and niece, it was hidden within her and not visibly expressed.

Tears of happiness had dampened their faces when Stu had appeared guiding Rosie in the wheel chair. It was heart warming to see that those two lonely people had found mutual companionship, if only in the face of tragedy.

For most of his life, the only love Stu had ever known was a press room, printing presses and the smell of fresh ink upon large rolls of pulp paper. His closest friends had been UPI and Reuters.

The pair had been weeping openly for Rosie. She alone among them had suffered the most. She alone had lost the most. Long ago, the only man she'd ever loved had died in a mysterious accident, but he'd left her pregnant. Led to believe that she had given birth to a stillborn daughter, she had given up on the dream of ever having a family.

When, twenty-five years later she'd learned that her daughter was in fact alive, a new hope and purpose in life was given to her. It was with tragic irony that she would only get one chance to hold her long lost daughter, alas, it was while Susan lie dying in her arms.

If all of that tragedy had not been enough for any one person, Rosie had to still bear another cruel blow to her sanity. While being linked to Ben Bering's mind she had been holding Susan's hand. His name her last word, and her name upon his lips, Susan and Ben had died at precisely the same moment. Rosie had felt the very departure of the two souls from this world.

Their thoughts were interrupted by a commotion just outside the main cemetery gate. They hurried to the scene to find that Bishop King had slipped and fallen on the ice covered sidewalk. Brock O'Day and his wife Faye had already come to his assistance. Hovering over him, they managed to help him back onto his feet and had steadied him until he was balanced on his canes.

He turned and nodded to the younger couple. They returned the gesture. The simple act was an acknowledgment of gratitude for the new lease on life he'd given them. It also assured the old man that he'd made the right choice, that they would accept the responsibilities and challenges he had tendered them.

Although keenly aware of their presence, they ignored the three men in dark suits stationed by the perimeter of the cemetery. They couldn't help but dread the thought that the mysterious and ruthless agents were not going to disappear from their lives. Quite the contrary, they knew that one or more of them would be ever lurking in the shadows watching them.

They were the last of the mourners remaining. They touched lips for a moment and hand in hand walked toward the spot where Susan and Ben awaited interment. Kneeling before the pair of caskets, Michelle and Michael lowered their heads and wept.


Eighteen months later, Michael swept Michelle off her feet and carried her over the threshold into the honeymoon suite. Once inside, he let her feet swing gently onto the floor. Yet in the arms of the other, they kissed long and hard.

"I love you, Michael," she said looking into his eyes.

"...And Michelle, I love you."

He placed his hands on her shoulders and held her at arms length. "You know, something?" he said. "All of these clothes are in the way."

She giggled and replied, "Spoken like a horny man." She winked and added, "This horny woman is one hundred percent in agreement!"

A puzzled look came to his face as something on the nightstand caught his attention. "What's that package over there?"

She picked it up and answered, "It's from Stu and Rosie! I wonder what it is."

Michael moved behind her and placed his arms about her waist as she began tearing at the wrapping. She gasped with delight, "It's Ben's book!"

Looking over her shoulder Michael read aloud the title, "The Strange Story of Mr. Black and Ms Gray."

She sighed and said sadly, "It might not be a front page story, but at least the story he wanted to tell has finally been published. Stu called in a lot of favors to get the book published, but it's a shame they would only print it as a work of fiction."

Michael mused, "It's also a shame they didn't use the title you suggested, Michelle. The story is as much about them and their love as it is about us. "The Strange Story of Ben and Susan" would have been more fitting."

She positioned her cheek against his chest and said, "How sad their love was not fulfilled." She placed a finger near her eye to catch a tear that had formed there, "My heart aches for Rosie most of all. That poor woman may have saved the rest of us, but how awful the price she had to pay!"

"Yes, but it was King who paid the ultimate price. He warned Rosie that the procedure in theory should work but it had not been tested, and that it was not without its risks. He instructed her that once their minds were coupled, all of that brain wave activity and the electrical energy from the overloaded circuits could cause irreparable harm to the two of them."

Vivid imagery of that evening in King's secret hospital wing began playing in their heads.
King was seated at the head of a large conference table and said to the group seated with him, "As I said before, this has never been attempted. It may or not succeed." He cleared his throat and looked in the direction of Stu Jankowski and said to him, "Stu, you are the only one present who has never been subjected to a mind link. As such, I would like for you to record, by what ever means you choose, what happens here today."

He studied their attentive faces and addressed them, "Michael, Michelle, David, myself and you too, Rosie, have all been mind-linked not only to one another, but also, if only briefly, to Ben and Susan. You are all familiar with the trace memories left behind in our own minds from the minds of those with whom we've been linked. Those trace memories are not unlike web cookies that are deposited in our computers by the sites we have visited."

David, the intern who had been employed by King at the Check Mate facility said, "You are hoping that the common cookies from Michelle and Michael in our respective heads when combined with the power surge will allow them to return to their original bodies."

"That is correct, David," he replied. "Hoping, however, is the operative word here."

Rosie shifted in her chair and seemed to be apprehensive. "Mr. King, it would be a wonderful thing for those two to return to their natural bodies, but something else is bothering me."

"What is it that bothers you so, Rosie?" King asked.

"Well, when I looked at the tables in the other room, I couldn't help but notice that there are dozens of wires on the bodies of both Ben and my daughter Susan. What is their purpose? Is that really necessary?"

He smiled and said, "Believe me, Rosie, I have nothing but the utmost respect for the dead. As for Ben and Susan, they were still exhibiting a detectable measure of brain activity, although very slight." He paused for effect before continuing, "There is a chance, perhaps only one in a million, that when our combined minds are concentrating on Michael and Michelle, some of the trace memories of Ben and Susan might stimulate their brain wave activity."

She gasped audibly, "You mean ... are you saying there is chance that they can be brought back from the dead?"
The visual images dissipated from their minds and they stared into each other's eyes. "I remember that you could have heard a pin drop in that room it was so quiet," Michelle said.

"Just the suggestion of the possibility of resurrecting the dead came as quite a shock to all of us who were there," Michael stated. "It came as no surprise, that to a person, we were all for letting King try it." He lowered his head and said in dismay, "Of course, it didn't work. It didn't happen."

Michelle sighed, "There were things that happened, things that were expected and some that weren't."

"Who would've thought that a preexisting health condition could be mutated to such an accelerated rate? I don't think Bishop King was all that concerned about the small malignant tumor on his pancreas when he initiated that group mind linkage," Michael said.

Michelle touched her fingers to the corners of her eyes where more tears were forming. "Rosie had no way of knowing that she was in the earliest stages of Parkinson's Disease. It had never been detected."

"When Rosie collapsed after the mind links were severed, we thought it was because of the enormous strain from the process. When she slipped into a coma, we thought she might not ever wake up again," he uttered. It was his turn to attempt to suppress his own tears. "It was tragic when she awoke partially paralyzed and unable to speak. God bless Stu for being there for her."

"When we accepted King's invitation to visit him the day before the funeral services and burial, I was shocked to see how emaciated he'd become in only a matter of days," Michelle averred. "I was so upset over his physical condition, that I didn't realize what he was saying to us until later."

Michael nodded, "You have to admit that the news he had for us was quite shocking too!"

"Well ... yes," she replied, "I'm still shocked about that. I mean, how often are ordinary people like ourselves named sole heirs to a vast empire estimated to be worth a lot of dollars with a lot more numbers and zeroes than we could have ever imagined in our wildest dreams?"

"He knew he wasn't long for the world," he said. "Three days after Ben and Susan were laid to rest ... he died."

"He made it clear to us that he felt he'd lived longer than any one man had the right to live, a hundred sixty-one years, and he had done so by cheating death several times over. He asked us to swear that we would not make the same mistakes he had made," Michelle voiced.

"It was his last words to us, just before he died, that still haunt me, Michelle." The young man's face was solemn as he looked upon his lovely bride.
Bishop King's haggard face was visible in their minds, just as it had appeared only minutes before his final breath. He gasped for air as he struggled to speak.

"It is not over. You must remain alert. You must not bury my work with me. The others are strong and they are growing stronger. We did not stop them."

He looked up at them and whispered between fits of coughs, "We ... you have two things they do not ... Rosie and ... the butterflies." Then he was gone.
"I know, Michael. Those final words are bothering me too."

Michael took a couple of steps backward and growled playfully, "Enough of this dwelling on the past. I'm interested in the here and now." He moved over to the bed and continued, "I want you here and naked now!"

Moments later, standing by the bed with their naked bodies locked in embrace, she stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, "I know we have to be careful. But just this one time, on this one special night, can we not honor the memory of Ben and Susan and still respect our new life?"

He placed his fingertips on her lips and replied, "I can think of no reason to deny your request. For the record, I was going to suggest the same thing."

They collapsed onto the bed, their limbs intertwined and kissed with hungry fervor. His lips still touching hers he whispered, "Now, is the time and place."

She found him and squeezing gently cooed, "I love you so much, Ben Bering!"

"I love you, Susan."

The End?


Sunday, June 21, 2009

This Is Summer ?

The first day of summer ............

You'd never know it here in the Boston area. It's a dreary cold rainy day - not fit for man nor beast - nor a blogging father!

Maybe a couple of hit songs from the 60s with a summer theme will let us get a glimpse of the sun today.

It's also Father's Day ....

So to all you other fathers out there:

A father carries pictures where his money used to be. ~Author Unknown


Saturday, June 20, 2009

Dictionary of Redneck Idiom


Argosy - biography of a buccaneer

Asperse - a fanny pack

Bacon Strip - what Kermit saw at the all nude girlie revue starring Miss Piggy

Circumstance - the condition where one's girth makes it difficult to see the feet on which one stands (see graphic above)

Conniption - a male reaction to a woman wearing a tight tee-shirt in an air conditioned room

Constable - where prisoners sit to eat

Elixir - what a woman hopes a man will do after he removes her underpants

Endive - the letter "e"

Experiment - hardened wads found under desk tops or movie theater seats

Falsify - to wear a padded bra

Freezer - divorces his wife

Insinuate - when you had dinner at the house of your mistress

Innuendo - one way to get in your house when you lose your keys

Java Script - a cup of coffee and the morning paper

Johnny Walker - a hospital ambulatory device

Judo - unleavened bread

Masturbator - one who is adept at putting the worm on the fish hook

Morale - a corral for boats

Nitrates - they kick in after the day rates

Parables - two bovine males

Parsimony - what a preacher pays his ex-wife

Piston - much, much worse than pistoff

Queue - powerful alien tormentor on Star Trek: The Next Generation

Rhubarb - Ru Paul's sister who dresses up as a man

Socrates - a male practice of placing something, such as a sock, in the front of his pants in order to appear more endowed


Friday, June 19, 2009

The Strange Story of Mr. Black and Ms Gray (59)

Part 59 of an original tale that delves into the unexplored realms of the human mind. Hired by her lover to find a raven haired beauty, Benjamin Bering must avoid the local police as well as the agents of a nonexistent government agency who are after him and the woman. There are just two problems. The woman is in a coma and her body has been stolen. (Part 1 can be found HERE.)

Ben Bering, Assassin

Ahead of us, the SUV appeared from behind the framed skeletal remains of an old shack by the side of the road. Dust and gravel was being spat from beneath the vehicle's rear tires as it turned onto the pavement and into our path.

"Don't these bastards ever give up!" Brock snarled as he braked and swerved trying to avoid slamming into the rear end of the SUV.

In spite of his efforts, the front driver's side bumper smacked into the SUV's right rear taillight. We braced ourselves as we slid sideways up against a utility pole. Thirty yards ahead of us the other vehicle came to a stop on the shoulder.

After making sure that Baxter and I were okay, Brock was rushing toward the other vehicle with his gun drawn. I could see two young men scrambling out of the SUV. Seeing Brock and his gun one of them raised his hands and pleaded, "Don't shoot. We're sorry!"

"We were just taking it for a ride. Honest sir, we just borrowed it!" the other one cried.

"Well, I'll be," I said to Corporal Baxter, "they're teenagers. They must have stolen that SUV and were out on a joy ride."

I watched bemused as Brock began to take advantage of the teenagers' misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. "Let's see, boys," he said, "grand theft auto, driving recklessly, driving to endanger and resisting arrest ... I ought to run you in."

One of them stammered, "Resisting arrest? No, sir. We gave up. We're not resisting."

Brock, his face all businesslike had holstered his gun and was scribbling in a small notebook, "Son, who do you think the judge is going to believe, two car thieves or me, an officer of the law with over thirty years of service?"

"The poor bastards," Baxter whispered. "Look. One of them pissed his pants!"

Brock was really pouring it on, I thought. I was guessing that he wasn't really writing down the information from their IDs, but that it was all part of an act. They two young men began to walk toward our vehicle with Brock close behind them. He then shouted at us through the window, "Okay, you two prisoners. Out of the car!"

I whispered to the corporal, "I don't know what he's up to, but let's play along."

We moved to the front of the vehicle with our hands raised. I noticed that the two boys were as pale as sheets. They huddled together and seemed to be trying to keep their distance from Brock's prisoners.

"Lads, see the one in the fatigues?" he said to them. "He's the psycho pervert I was telling you about. He especially likes young men." The two young men were shaking like leaves. "...And when he's had his way with them he chops them to pieces with an axe! That's why on the force he as known as Baxter the Axe-ster."

It was all I could do to keep from laughing. Baxter on the other hand, took the bull by the horns and jumped in on Brock's game. "Aw, what pretty boys, officer. Can I at least see them naked?"

It was the other one's turn to wet his pants. "Officer, please. We'll do what you said." He tried to move even farther away and was close to tears, "Just keep him away from us. Please!"

His face still stern he snapped at the young man, "Stop your sniveling! Get in the car and get out of here! Both of you!" In an obvious move to avoid Baxter they didn't hesitate to crawl one after the other through the driver's side door into the damaged car that had been our transportation. Brock leaned into the car and grinned, "Remember, I have your names and addresses. I'll know where to find you if you let me down."

As they sped away I finally let loose the laughter I'd been suppressing. "Baxter the Axe-ster? Jesus, Brock, you scared the shit out of them."

"Say," the corporal asked, "what did you tell them about Mr. Bering?"

He chuckled, "You mean the ruthless mob hit man, Balls Arriva Derci?"

Moments later when we were on our way in the SUV Brock said, "We needed a change of vehicles anyway. If those kids follow my instructions, it'll be awhile before they find that car. We just might make it all the way into Boston before this one is reported stolen."

"What did you tell them do with the car, Brock?" I asked trying to mimic an Italian voice.

"I told them to take the back roads up to Hampton Beach and to leave it there somewhere. After that, I said they were free and that I would not turn in the report."

"Whew!" I whistled. "If you had them scared, wait until our 'friends' with the Hum-Vees and helicopters catch up to them!" I was quiet for a few minutes and growled at him, "Balls Arriva Derci? What kind of name is that anyway?"

"You haven't heard of him?" he said with a grin. "He's the hit man who cuts off his target's balls and wishes them arriva derci before finishing the job."

When we arrived in Cambridge, across the river from downtown Boston, Brock parked the SUV across the street from the Lechemere rapid transit station. We only had to wait five minutes before boarding a Green Line trolley which would take us the rest of the way into to a stop beneath Government Center.

Once seated in the trolley Baxter addressed us, "Mr. Bering, I know you have instructions for your mission in Government Center. I fear the security there will be quite extensive. I have no doubt that they have photos of both you and the Sergeant. They will be looking for you."

Brock nodded in agreement and said, "It's a safe bet those we left scattered on I-93 have radioed ahead that they failed to stop us. Like the corporal said, the security will be intensified. It isn't going to be easy to get anywhere near the dais." He shook his head and added with solemn words, "In fact, I think it's going to be damned near impossible!"

I looked at my two companions and replied, "I thought you were going to tell me that I have little chance of succeeding." I began to occupy myself with that nervous habit of interlacing my fingers and twirling my thumbs.

Baxter cleared his throat and said, "General Gates foresaw that the odds would be stacked against you. He and I agreed that you would need help."

"I was wondering about your part in this matter," I quipped. "I assume you are to be a backup in the event I fail?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. However, I'm not so much of a backup as I am a diversion. My role will be to create a major disturbance elsewhere in the crowd." He took a deep breath and said, "I am expendable to insure that you succeed."

Brock scratched the top of his head. There was concern in his tone, "I don't like it, Baxter. Your diversion won't draw all of the security to your location."

"You are forgetting that I bear a striking resemblance to another player in this dangerous game we've been playing. They will be looking for anyone and everyone who has been involved in King's work," he lectured. "All of us are expendable!"

I patted his shoulder and said, "After that ride from New Hampshire, I figure we're all on borrowed time. I think that we should separate when we start mingling with the crowd."

Baxter stood up and shook our hands in turn. "I will get off at Haymarket Station. I'll enter the Government Center Plaza from the back of the crowd. That should draw a lot attention before you even exit the train station."

He moved to the nearest door as the the train pulled into Haymarket. Once the train doors slid shut behind the corporal Brock said, "How do we know he'll do what he said, Ben? What's stopping him from walking away from Government Center?"

I shook my head and said, "You picked one helluva time to question his motives, Brock."

He shrugged, "You're right. Just in case, I'm going to create a disturbance of my own. If he comes through on his end, then two diversions ought to increase your odds."

"Brock," I said with a nervous waver in my voice, "If I don't make it ..."

He elbowed me in the chest and snapped, "I'll have none of that. I don't want any part of a tearful goodbye!" He rose to his feet as the trolley began to slow down as it approached our stop. "Ben, we'll talk about this later ... Over a couple of cold ones!"

We distanced ourselves from each other when we stepped down from the trolley. In the sea of disembarking passengers I caught a glimpse of Brock stepping onto the escalator. I, on the other hand, allowed the tide of people to guide me to the stairs which ran parallel to the escalator.

When I reached street level I noticed that the crowd ahead of me was walking around and stepping over a man lying on the ground. I strained to get a better look at the unfortunate man. I couldn't help but chuckle when I saw that the man who was wearing an expensive dark suit was writhing in pain while curled up into a near fetal position. Good old Brock, I thought to myself. He must have recognized the man as one of the Feds and then must have hit him where it would hurt the most. Next to him was the man's radio, which just happened to be in the path of my foot.

I tried not to feel over confident, but that Fed would not be reporting that Brock or myself had been spotted. The mass of bodies around me began to spread out as we entered the open expanse of the plaza. I shouldn't have been, but initially I was stunned as I looked upon an ocean of what must been tens of thousands of people who had gathered to hear the President speak.

I paused for a moment when I saw a woman tending to a dark-suited man leaning against a lamp post. The man was rubbing his eyes which were tearing copiously. I heard him say that mace or pepper spray had been squirted into his face. I grinned thinking that Brock must have taken out another one of the Feds.

After a quick glance at my watch, I picked up my pace and began to work my way through the bodies toward the center of the plaza. I had only ten minutes to get myself into position.

I came to a halt when I felt the tickling sensation that meant Rosie was reaching out to me.
"Ben, the doctors are taking Susan out of ICU. They're rushing her to emergency. I don't know what's wrong. I'll let you know as soon as I know."

"Stu and Michelle are here now and Michael is being tended to. He is alive and awake, but he is very weak."
"Thanks, Rosie. If all goes well, I should be finished here in about nine minutes or so. Pray for her for me."

Fearing the worst, I choked back the tears that had formed in the corners of my eyes. She needed me there at her side and I needed to be with her. Torn between my love for Susan and my mission, I felt ill-equipped to handle either. I was within a heartbeat of turning away from the plaza and rushing to Susan.

Suddenly, from the far end of the plaza I heard a loud pop. I turned in time to see a large white cloud of smoke rising above the scattering heads of the screaming people in the immediate area. Then in rapid succession there were two more muffled bursts which gave rise to red and blue clouds of smoke. I could see dozens of policeman and men in dark suits fighting their way through the throngs of people, rushing to the scene of the smoke bombs.

It was the diversion Corporal Baxter had promised us. The significance of the patriotic use of red, white and blue smoke bombs was not lost on me. I began to move again as time was growing short. One thing was certain, Baxter had succeeded in drawing some of the security force away from the center of the plaza. The odds in my favor had been increased.

Moments later after I had found the tower atop the Saltonstall Building, I aligned myself with the podium from where the President would soon be addressing the crowd. I placed my hand over the object in my pocket and recalled the sequence of the buttons I had to press per Rosie's earlier instructions.

After he had been introduced by Mayor of Boston, the President took up position behind the dais bearing the Great Seal of the United States. He waved and acknowledged the cheers from the crowd for several minutes. I grew tense, unable to relax as he began to speak.

As Rosie had predicted he paused in mid-sentence and a mask of confusion took over his facial features. I aimed the disabler-device in the direction of the
Commander-in-Chief and pressed the button on the right.

From somewhere close behind me there was a loud retort of a gun and in the same instance searing pain spread through my body. I had been shot in the lower left side of my back. I fell to my knees and struggled to retain consciousness. I looked up to see two Feds standing before me with their pistols drawn and trained on me.

I felt someone's hand on my shoulder. It was Brock. He held up his badge for the Feds to see. "Hold you're fire. I've got him under control," he shouted at them.

With all the strength I could muster I raised the device and pressed its left-hand button. A single shot rang out from the gun of one of the agents, a single shot that struck me in the chest.

I rolled onto my back and looked up at Brock O'Day. I was spitting up blood as I was trying to speak, "We pulled it off ... didn't we?" Brock's face was grim while he nodded in response to my words.
"Ben, it's Susan ... her heart stopped. They tried to save her. She wasn't strong enough ... Ben, she's gone. Ben? Ben!"
I heard the agent who'd shot me shouting at Brock, "He was trying to assassinate the President. I did what I'm trained to do ... to protect the President!"

"Susan!" I cried just as everything went dark.

(To be continued in part 60 on Monday, 6/22, with the conclusion, In Memorium.)


Thursday, June 18, 2009

Things Momma Taught Me

(The following is an oldie but goodie and has been around the web block many times. It's still good the second (or third?) time around. Who knows, maybe there is some reader who hasn't seen it before. With that thought in mind ... Away We Go!)


1. My mother taught me TO APPRECIATE A JOB WELL DONE .
”If you’re going to kill each other, do it outside. I just finished cleaning.”

2. My mother taught me RELIGION.
”You better pray that will come out of the carpet.”

3. My mother taught me about TIME TRAVEL .
” If you don’t straighten up, I’m going to knock you into the middle of next week!”

4. My mother taught me LOGIC.
” Because I said so, that’s why.”

5. My mother taught me MORE LOGIC.
”If you fall out of that swing and break your neck, you’re not going to the store with me..”

6. My mother taught me FO RESIGHT.
”Make sure you wear clean underwear, in case you’re in an accident.”

7. My mother taught me IRONY
”Keep crying, and I’ll give you something to cry about.”

8. My mother taught me about the science of OSMOSIS.
”Shut your mouth and eat your supper.”

9. My mother taught me about CONTORTIONISM.
”Will you look at that dirt on the back of your neck!”

10. My mother taught me about STAMINA..
”You’ll sit there until all that spinach is gone.”

11. My mother taught me about WEATHER.
”This room of yours looks as if a tornado went through it.”

12. My mother taught me about HYPOCRISY.
”If I told you once, I’ve told you a million times. Don’t exaggerate!”

13. My mother taught me the CIRCLE OF LIFE.
”I brought you into this world, and I can take you out.”

14. My mother taught me about BEHAVIOR MODIFICATION.
”Stop acting like your father!”

15. My mother taught me about ENVY.
”There are millions of less fortunate children in this world who don’t have wonderful pare nts like you do.”

16. My mother taught me about ANTICIPATION.
”Just wait until we get home.”

17. My mother taught me about RECEIVING .
”You are going to get it when you get home!”

18. My mother taught me MEDICAL SCIENCE..
”If you don’t stop crossing your eyes, they are going to freeze that way.”

19. My mother taught me ESP.
”Put your sweater on; don’t you think I know when you are cold?”

20. My mother taught me HUMOR.
”When that lawn mower cuts off your toes, don’t come running to me.”

21. My mother taught me HOW TO BECOME AN ADULT .
”If you don’t eat your vegetables, you’ll never grow up.”

22. My mother taught me GENETICS.
”You’re just like your father.”

23. My mother taught me about my ROOTS.
”Shut that door behind you. Do you think you were born in a barn?”

24. My mother taught me WISDOM.
”When you get to be my age, you’ll understand.”

25. And my favorite: My mother taught me about JUSTICE
”One day you’ll have kids, and I hope they turn out just like you”


Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Good Advice ?

Dear Dr. Phil,

When I retired, I could hardly wait to spend time enjoying my favourite pastime -- bass fishing. I got my own little fishing boat and tried to get my wife to join me, but she just never liked fishing.

Finally, one day at the Bait & Tackle Shop, I got to talking to Sam the shop owner who it turned out loves bass fishing as much as I do. We quickly became fishing buddies.

As I said my wife doesn't care about fishing. She not only refuses to join us, she always complains that I spend too much time fishing.

A few weeks ago Sam and I had the best fishing trip ever. Not only did I catch the most beautiful bass you've ever seen, only a few minutes later Sam must have caught his twin brother! So I took a picture of Sam holding up the two nice bass that we caught and showed the picture to the wife hoping that maybe she'd get interested.

Instead she says she doesn't want me to go fishing at all anymore! And she wants me to sell the boat! I think she just doesn't like to see me enjoying myself.

What would you do? Tell the wife to forget it and continue my hobby or quit fishing and sell the boat as she insists?

P.S. Enclosed is a picture of Sam with the two bass we caught.

Dear Fisherman,

Get rid of that narrow minded wife.
That's a nice pair of bass!


Dr Phil


Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Letterman's Wish List

John Bell has contributed another funny and timely piece:


10- Wish I was as funny as Leno

9- Wish I could get John McCain on to save my ass

8- Wish the woman that stalked me in the 80’s was 14 years old, and then I wouldn’t have had to press charges

7- Wish I could play the Scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz, “If I only had a brain”

6- Wish David Carradine was 14 years old then I could have made jokes about him

5- Wish I could get guests to look like “slutty flight attendants” when they do their stupid dog tricks

4- Wish there were more 14 year old celebrities I could get on the show

3- Wish I could shag A-Rod’s balls in batting practice

2- Wish my 5 year old could stay up late to watch the show and be proud of his father

1- Wish I was man enough to say I screwed up big time and say, “I sincerely apologize”

Thank you, John for the above list.


Monday, June 15, 2009

The Strange Story of Mr. Black and Ms Gray (58)

Part 58 of an original tale that delves into the unexplored realms of the human mind. Hired by her lover to find a raven haired beauty, Benjamin Bering must avoid the local police as well as the agents of a nonexistent government agency who are after him and the woman. There are just two problems. The woman is in a coma and her body has been stolen. (Part 1 can be found HERE.)

The Chase Is On

I gazed upon the Apache copter hovering above the highway before us. I remembered a cartoon of a mouse standing firm with with his middle finger extended in defiance as a hawk, its deadly talons open, was swooping in for the kill. Beneath the image was a caption which read: "The last great final act of defiance."

There was no doubt about it, Brock and myself were mere mice facing a far more formidable predator.

In the distance, both ahead and behind us, there was the cacophonous wail of approaching sirens. The mayhem that had been left on the highway in our wake had no doubt gotten the attention of the various police departments as well the State Police.

I sighed, resigned to the fact that we had failed. I reached for the door handle, but Brock latched his hand onto my arm and demanded, "What do think you're doing, Ben?"

Stunned that he was restraining me I replied, "Brock, it's over! We're not going to slip through this noose!"

"Ben," he snapped, "don't you see. They don't want to capture us!"

My face began to pale as the meaning of his words hit home. "Listen to what you're saying. They can hear those sirens too. Soon, this place is going to be crawling with the local law enforcement."

"Ben, you're being naive. I ask you, why would they first send a Hum-Vee and now a fully-armed attack helicopter after us? Any chopper would have been sufficient." He paused for effect and declared, "By the time those locals arrive on the scene, that Apache will be long gone. When they get here, all they're going to find is the burning tangle of a vehicle ... and inside of it ... two crispy critters."

I glared at him and said, "Thank you for that graphic obituary, Brock. I can't believe it's going to end like this, with us helpless ... sitting ducks!"

We both grew silent and withdrew within ourselves to make peace in our own private ways. Thoughts of Susan and images of her dominated all of the synaptic activity of my mind. We were united in a desperate embrace. Our eyes could only see the other. Our lips were touching.

"You've got to be shitting me!" Brock exclaimed breaking the tender reverie in which I'd hidden myself.

"What? What is it, Brock?"

"Over there ... on the ground ... below the chopper!" he muttered. He was pointing to a row of shrubbery just off the highway.

I stared in disbelief and rubbed my eyes, lest it was an illusion or a mirage. There was a man in Army fatigues crouching behind the shrubs. He was holding something ... some sort of weapon?

Brock elbowed me and said, "He's armed with a hand held rocket launcher! He's pretty far away, but it looks like an RBR-90mm M79. I don't know if you were praying or not, but mine was answered in spades!"

I watched in morbid fascination as the man positioned the weapon onto his shoulder and aligned it with the hovering war bird. A sudden flash of fire and smoke erupted from the back of the weapon in reaction to the launch of a deadly projectile. Too late, the crew detected the object hurtling at them and tried in vain to avoid their imminent destruction.

The small rocket struck the Apache's tail boom just ahead of the vertical rotor blades. Its tail section falling to the ground, the craft was unable to maintain stabilized flight and began to spin out of control.

Brock, realizing our precarious position, slammed the accelerator to the floor. The vehicle lurched forward despite the drag being caused by the screaming tires trying to achieve traction on the surface of the road. He spun the steering wheel hard to the right to compensate for the rear end fish tailing in the opposite direction.

We had moved only about ten yards when the Apache copter slammed onto the road ahead of us. It's wheel assemblage crumpling from its violent landing, the craft rolled onto its side. The four main rotor blades slashed onto the pavement sending sheared pieces of them flying into space.

Reduced to airborne shrapnel, the pieces of rotor had become deadly razor blades slicing through the air. One such piece struck the hood of Brock's vehicle gouging a six inch gash there before deflecting away. A second piece careened along the passenger side and clipped the mirror from its mounting.

Undaunted, Brock somehow managed to steer us clear of any further danger. He maintained breakneck speed for several seconds before screeching to a halt next to the row of shrubs where our unexpected savior stood. The soldier raised his hand to his forehead in a gesture of salute.

"Good grief!" Brock exclaimed, "That fellow looks just like Michelle."

I rolled down the window and said, "It's Gates' personal driver. And yes, he's the spitting image of Michelle."

"You look like you could use a ride, corporal," Brock shouted.

He turned and heaved the rocket launcher down the embankment behind him into a thick patch of undergrowth. After picking up a duffel bag he hopped into the back seat and exclaimed, "Let's get the hell out of here!"

Brock had needed no prompting. We tore from the scene, quickly distancing ourselves from the wreckage littering the highway. Not wanting to see any our service men harmed, I was relieved to see the Apache crew crawling from their fallen craft.

"You sure know how to make an impression, soldier," Brock declared over his shoulder. "Do you make it a habit of destroying fourteen million dollars worth of Army equipment?"

"Not as a rule," he replied, his cheeks flushed in mild embarrassment. He glanced at me and said, "Mr. Bering, we meet again. I didn't have time to exchange pleasantries that evening." He cleared his throat and addressed Brock, "General Gates always spoke highly of you, Mr. O'Day."

"Call me Brock, corporal. You are ...?"

"Baxter, Jeremy Baxter," he answered. He leaned forward in his seat and said, "Might I suggest that we take to the back roads the rest of way into Boston?"

"My thinking exactly, Corporal Baxter ... Jeremy," he responded. "I-93 is getting a little too crowded to suit me."

Peering over the seat at the dashboard he said, "I don't mean to be critical, Brock, but I would have thought that you would have had a police radio in your car."

Brock's voice became almost a mumble, "I've been cursing myself about that ever since Ben and I left Check Mate." He growled, "I was in such a damned hurry when I left the house to pick up Michelle, I took the last car in the driveway. This is my wife's car!"

I let out a low whistle, "Whoa, Brock. Faye is going to be one pissed off ..." I let the sentence die a quick death.

"You were thinking ... bitch?" he responded. "Look at her car! I'd venture a guess that it's totaled!"

I turned in my seat and faced Cpl. Baxter. "You were close to the general. Tell me that this plot to plant that bogus speech in the President's head was not his idea."

His countenance became serious, "I cannot prove it, but I assure you ... he was not behind this plot! I've been with General Gates for over five years. He loved the Army. It was his life. He's never gotten over being forced into retirement and he had plenty of reasons for being bitter, but he would have never subscribed to any action that might force America into a war against all of Islam, or any other enemy for that matter."

His loyalty to Gates was obvious and I was certain that Baxter was sincere. "Were you and the general aware that the purpose of the transmission might have been more sinister than merely planting a speech in our Commander-In-Chief's head?"

He was wearing a puzzled look when he responded, "What do you mean ... more sinister?"

"That broadcast is a double-edged sword. Not only is it intended to plant the speech, but it was also going to swap the President's mind with Gates' mind."

"What?" he stammered. "General Gates would never do such a horrible thing!"

"I agree, at least not of his own volition. But if someone else had been in his head ...," I offered for his consideration.

He was silent for a moment before he spoke again, "Now that you mention it, he has been acting a little different lately. At times he wasn't himself. I chalked it up to all the stress he'd been under."

I tensed as it suddenly dawned upon me that the corporal was not aware that Gates was dead. "Uh, Jeremy," I said, "I don't know how to tell you this, but there's something you need to hear."

There was several minutes of silence in the car after I told him what had happened back at the Check Mate facility. His face was pale when I ended my account by noting that the door to Gates' capsule had not been sealed and had been left ajar. He was still lamenting the general's passing when we felt Brock slow down as he turned onto an exit ramp that would finally take us off Interstate 93.

Regaining his composure he said to me, "If the President's mind is transferred to General Gates, who is dead ... then what goes into the President's head?"

My demeanor somber I responded, "My guess is that we would have a President who'd be nothing more than a mindless vegetable ... a zombie!"

Brock's announcement returned our focus to our mission. "We've got company!"

(To be continued in Part 59, on Friday, 6/19, with Ben Bering, Assassin.)


Saturday, June 13, 2009

In the Nood For Love

See no evil. Hear no evil. Speak no evil. And ... NO?

Blame It On the Economy !

Nude Dip In the Lake

The weather was very hot and this man wanted desperately to take a dive in a nearby lake. He didn't bring his swimming outfit, but who cared? He was all alone. So he undressed and got into the water.

After some delightful minutes of cool swimming, a pair of old ladies walked onto the shore in his direction. He panicked, got out of the water and grabbed a bucket lying
in the sand nearby. He held the bucket in front of his private area and sighed with relief.

The ladies got nearby and looked at him. He felt awkward and wanted to move. Then one of the ladies said: "You know, I have a special gift, I can read minds, and I know what you are thinking."

"Impossible", said the embarrassed man, "You really know what I think?"

"Yes", the lady replied, "Right now, I bet you think that the bucket you're holding has a bottom."

How Does Your Garden Grow?

A beautiful woman loved growing tomatoes, but couldn't seem to get her tomatoes to turn red. One day while taking a stroll she came upon a gentlemen neighbor who had the most beautiful garden full of huge red tomatoes.

The woman asked the gentlemen, "What do you do to get your tomatoes so red?"

The gentlemen responded, "Well, twice a day I stand in front of my tomato garden and expose myself, and my tomatoes turn red from blushing so much."

Well, the woman was so impressed, she decided to try doing the same thing to her tomato garden to see if it would work. So twice a day for two weeks she exposed herself to her garden hoping for the best.

One day the gentlemen was passing by and asked the woman, "By the way, how did you make out? Did your tomatoes turn red?"

"No" she replied, "but my cucumbers are enormous."

Two Priests In The Shower

One morning 2 priests head to the showers and it isn't until they are already in the shower they both realize they did not bring any soap.

Father Bob decides he'll run back for the soap, he checks out the hallway, no one is around so rather than get dressed he decides to make a run for it. He checks the
hall before heading back to the showers - all clear, so he makes a break for it.

Just as he turns the corner to the showers he spots three nuns walking towards him. With no where to go he stands perfectly still, holding the 2 bars of soap hoping the nuns will think he's a statue.

The nuns approach, "Oh my, look at that! Isn't that the most life like statue you've ever seen?" the first asks.

She steps up for a closer look, reaches out and gives a couple of tugs on the priest's tally whacker. Startled he drops the 1st bar of soap. "Oh heavens," she exclaims, "I got a bar of soap".

The 2nd nun amazed at how realistic the statue looked steps closer and again, a couple of tugs on the priest's tally whacker and he drops the other bar of soap "My
goodness, I got a bar of soap too". The nuns can't believe it.

The 3rd nun, overcome by the miracle statue, walks up to it and gives a couple of tugs, "My God this is amazing," she says, "I got hand soap!!"

Why do some women think that everything must match in a bedroom?

Q. Who is the most popular guy at a nudist colony?
A. The guy who can carry a cup of coffee and a dozen donuts.

Q. Who is the most popular girl at a nudist colony?
A. The girl who can eat the last donut.

The Bee Sting

Two women, a blonde and a brunette, are playing golf at a nudist resort one day. They had completed the first hole were walking to the second tee when the brunette was stung by a bee.

"Wow, that really hurts." she said to her friend, "I think I might be allergic."

"Let's go to the pro shop and see if they have anything that can help," said her friend, "We can come back and finish our round later."

As they entered the shop the local pro greeted them and asked if he could help.

"I just got stung by a bee out there on the course," said the brunette, "What should I do about it?"

"Where were you stung?" asked the pro.

"Between holes one and two." replied the woman.

"Well," said the pro, rubbing his chin, "you might want to start by closing your stance a bit."

What happens if you are a male posing nude for an art class when a sexy student gets your attention? Check out Marbles to find out. It's funny!