Butterfly Dreams (14)

(A sequel to The Strange Story of Mr. Black and Ms Gray.)

They had died when helping thwart a plan to undermine the government of the United States. Now Ben and Susan have returned from the dead and they must bring that government down. Standing in their way are Michael Black and Michelle Gray, the bodies of whom they now occupy.

-(The Story begins HERE)-

Into the Labyrinth
Michelle grimaced and shifted in her chair. I studied her face for a moment to see if she was trying to signal me with her eyes. She was staring off into space.

Ever since our minds had been transferred into those bodies, mine into Michael and hers into Michelle, we had gained a limited ability to sense what the other was thinking. I picked up something but it wasn't thoughts.

"Oh!" she murmured. Her eyes closed and she began to tremble.

Moving to her side I placed my hand on her shoulder, "Michelle! What's wrong?"

"It's ...so cold," she shivered.

It wasn't her thoughts, but rather an icy aura I'd sensed. I realized that she must be experiencing that recurring dream, the same one she'd had that very morning.

When I touched her cheek she recoiled and opened her eyes. She placed her arms across her chest and clutched hard her shoulders. Still shivering she whispered, "I'm okay. I just had a sudden chill." Dropping her arms to her lap she added, "I hope I'm not coming down with something."

"You didn't look so hot a moment ago," O'Day offered. He nodded in my direction and said, "I think your husband should take you home for some rest and some TLC."

Hiding her indignation she responded, "No, I'll be alright. Whatever it was, it has passed."

I pushed myself away from the table, "Well, it would appear that our colloguing has produced little in the way of answers. Perhaps those answers lie with one Professor Bernard Jordan."

At that moment Brock's phone chimed. He glanced at the screen before speaking, "Yeah, McNeal." He listened for a moment and spoke again, "Provincial Bank, Water Street branch ... I'm two blocks from there now. On my way!"

"Trouble?" Michelle queried.

"Bank robbery in progress," he belched. He arose from the table and pointed to us in turn, "If you find Jordan, contact me. Don't leave me out of the loop!" He turned and trotted off to his cruiser parked nearby.

Michelle looked at me and answered my question before I could form the words. "Yes, it was the dream, the same dream! It's the first time I've had it while awake." She cupped her hands to the side of her face, "It was so intense this time. Like before, I'm cold and naked in a street. The images are the same ... Route 66, the motel and the swarm of blue butterflies ... It all seems so real!"

"Honey," I said leaning closer to her, "hear me out on this. Has it dawned on you that the first of the dreams, the disturbance of the graves, and the appearance of Ben and Susan at the bar have all taken place at relatively the same time?"

She gasped, "No, but now that you've mentioned it, I had that dream this morning. Then we received the call that mother ... Rosie was gone. Ben and Susan took her. Then the Feds showed up."

I nodded, "Then of course in the meantime, there were all of those accidents on the expressway."

She stood up and noted, "...And this time, O'Day gets called to a bank robbery!" She faced me, "Coincidence? I think not."


Fifteen minutes later Michelle pulled her car up to the curb a block away from the campus of Northeastern University. We had decided that our search for the professor would begin there. With so many people looking for him it was doubtful that he would seek asylum at such a logical location, but we reasoned that it was possible we might find a clue to his whereabouts.

As we strolled across the campus quad we were soon immersed in a sea of bodies. I remembered reading that NU had an enrollment of fifteen thousand undergraduates and over five thousand post grads. If Jordan had in fact returned to the university, it would be easy enough to hide out in the open amidst all of those students.

We observed with casual interest the myriad of students we passed on our way to the main science building. Men and women of all sizes and shapes, nationalities, religious beliefs and backgrounds paraded past us. Some of them were ambling along at a leisurely pace while others seemed more hurried. Several zipped past us on inline skates and skateboards, while others were astride bicycles.

I became conscious of our appearance and said to Michelle, "You know, we don't exactly blend in with the population in these business suits."

She nodded and replied, "You're right. We're probably dressed better than the instructors."

I craned my neck and scanned the outer edges of the campus. "We aren't the only ones. Check out those three over there," I said motioning across the campus in the direction of a large oak tree.

Following my line of vision she noted, "Feds. Do you suppose they've been following us?"

"Maybe," I stated, "or they're looking for the professor too." On a sudden impulse I grabbed her hand and began to jog pulling her after me, "Let's see if we get their attention."

She glanced back over her shoulder and announced, "It did. They're coming in our direction."

After twenty yards I steered her toward the closest building. "In here," I shouted.

"The Student Union Hall? Why there?" she asked trying to keep up with my pace.

"I don't know," I replied, "it just seems like the right place to go."

After we passed through the large glass doors I stopped for a moment inside the entryway and looked to see if our pursuers were in sight. Sure enough, they were not fifty yards away and fast closing the distance.

It was Michelle who led the way pulling me along by my arm. She pointed at a door marked 'Maintenance' and said, "Quick, in there."

Through the crack of the closing door I could see the three suited men barging through the doors. "Hell," I swore, "they're in the lobby and we're trapped in this closet."

Behind me Michelle was running her hands along the back wall. "I know it's here somewhere," she whispered.

Turning I responded, "Yes, you're right." I pointed to a spot near her hand, "The coat hook ... turn it to the left."

A section of paneling swished open to reveal a steep staircase which descended into the darkened depths of a basement. I didn't know how I knew it was there, but I grabbed a flashlight hanging from a nail next to the stair railing. Without hesitation, we stepped through the entrance.

Once we were both standing on a concrete landing just large enough for two people, the panel closed behind us. The beacon of the flashlight guiding us, we descended into the dank bowels of the building.

At the foot of the stairway Michelle faced me. Her confused expression was mirrored on my own face. She said, "This building, the maintenance room, the coat hook, the flashlight and those stairs ... how did we know?"

I shook my head, "I've been bouncing that one around inside of my skull. I..."

My words were interrupted by a rapping sound behind and above us. The three men must have been inspecting the maintenance closet. On cue I followed Michelle's lead down a long narrow hallway.

"We take the next corridor to the right," she announced.

"Yes, then a left for about a hundred yards and ... another left," I added.

I couldn't help but think that we were somehow being guided through the maze of underground tunnels. There could be no other explanation for the seemingly instinctive knowledge of the labyrinth in which we found ourselves. I knew Michelle had to have been thinking along the same lines.

Taking the perceived second left turn we came face to face with a solid wall. "Uh oh ... dead end," Michelle exclaimed.

I twisted my head in the direction we'd come, "I hear footsteps somewhere back there." I took a deep breath and exhaled, "I fear we've cornered ourselves."

"No," Michelle whispered, "we went the right way. I know it." She grabbed the flashlight from my hand and shone it above us.

There was a glint of light on something metal. "Yes. There's the ladder," I exclaimed. I grabbed the bottom rung and pulled the retractable fixture to the floor. I stepped aside and motioned for my wife to start climbing.

At the top of the ladder she said, "There's a trapdoor in the ceiling." When she pushed upon its surface it sprung open and we were bathed in a sudden stream of light from above.

Michelle scrambled through the portal and disappeared from view. Pulling myself up behind her I peered over the edge of the floor and called for her, "Michelle?"

Her reply sounded muffled and I sensed something was amiss. Pulling myself through the opening I found myself staring into the muzzle of a gun.

I mumbled under my breath, "Step into my parlor said the spider to the fly."

( To be continued with ...

Jordan's Cocoon )
№ 1965

Baby, It's Cold Outside !

At 8:30 this morning I was dressed in slippers, a pair of pants and a tee-shirt when I stepped outside to carry a bag of trash to the garage!

Aaarrghh !
It was only 35 degrees! I felt that maybe I should double check the calendar. When I went to bed last night, wasn't it the last week of April?

Northern Vermont, New Hampshire and parts of Maine were hit with six to eight inches of heavy wet snow! It is the last week of April, isn't it?

To Al Gore I say: "Take your global warming and shove it where only your constituents will kiss you!"

Of course here in New England there is always some wisenheimer (sp?) who's gonna come out with "If you don't like the weather in New England, wait a minute."

I seemed to remember that comedian Jeff Foxworthy once came up with some quips for New England using his 'you might be a redneck if..' routine.

You might be from New England if ...
If you've worn shorts and a parka at the same time.

If you've switched from 'heat' to 'A/C' and back again in the same day.

If you know all four seasons: almost winter, winter, still winter and road construction.

If you have more miles on your snow blower than your car.

If you find '10 degrees' a little chilly.

If driving is better in winter because the potholes are filled with snow.

If you design your kid's Halloween costume to fit over a snowsuit.

If going south to escape the winter means anywhere on the map below New York City.

If there's a Dunkin' Donuts on every other corner.

Wait a minute! Imagine that!
It's going to be in the 60's tomorrow and in the 80's for the weekend.

№ 1964

Blouse Them Volcanoes

Newsflash: Prior to this posting an earthquake measuring 6.9 on the richter scale had struck near Taiwan.

Sheik Your Booby
"Many women who do not dress modestly ... lead young men astray, corrupting their chastity and spread adultery in society, which (consequently) increases earthquakes," Hojatoleslam Kazem Sedighi was quoted last week as saying by Iranian media.

A college student decided to challenge his remarks in her blog, Blag Hag , which in turn created tremors all over the web, including Facebook, when thousands of women exposed their cleavage in defiant protest.

Boobwash! say tens of thousands of women who refuse to believe flaunting their breasts is triggering a world-wide Boobageddon. Led by Purdue University student Jen McCreight they staged a 24-hour protest Monday.

Dubbed Boobquake, McCreight encouraged women around the world to flaunt their breasts and their cleavage to prove the Iranian clerics wrong. She even came up with some cleavage-flaunting T-shirts that she was selling for charity with messages that read: “Boobquake 2010: Who says science has to be boring?” and “Boobquake 2010: Did the Earth move for you?”

From Boobquake on Facebook the results of the Boobquake experiment: So, sorry Sedighi. To quote something that was floating around twitter - women can move mountains, but they don't cause earthquakes.

In the photo at right, three women in Washington D.C. show that they have the 'right stuff.'

It took me a little while to cull through the many links and news stories (and photos) to piece together this post. It was a tough job, but someone had to do it.

Surprisingly, there really weren't many interesting pics of those deadly "mounds of doom" out there. I thought maybe some sexy nurses or teachers might have joined the seismic exposure parade. I found a pic of a teacher and a nurse showing some cleavage, but they came from sites completely unrelated to the Boobquake experiment. (Then again, maybe those two aren't really a teacher or a nurse.)

When you get down to it, one can see cleavage anytime and anywhere, well, maybe not in Iran.

I've never felt a tremor, much less an earthquake when viewing a woman's open blouse or vee-neck t-shirt. Oh, I've seen some shaking and jiggling, but I am confident in saying that it was not the result of moving tectonic plates. I never saw a volcanic plume on the horizon either.

I guess the only really danger from exposing cleavage just might be a sudden eruption!

Then again, I've never witnessed an eruption either!

№ 1963

Let's Play Ball !

A doctor at an insane asylum decided to take his patients to a baseball game.

For weeks in advance, he coached his patients to respond to his commands.

When the day of the game arrived, everything seemed to be going well. As the National Anthem started.......the doctor yelled, "Up Nuts," and the patients complied by standing up.

After the anthem ...he yelled, "Down Nuts," and they all sat back down in their seats.

After a home run was hit, the doctor yelled, "Cheer Nuts." They all broke out into applause and cheered.

When the umpire made a particularly bad call against the star of the home team, the Doctor yelled, "Booooo Nuts!!!" They all started booing and cat calling.

Thinking things were going very well. The doctor decided to go get a beer and a hot dog, leaving his assistant in charge.

When he returned, there was a riot in progress. Finding his assistant, the doctor asked,"What in the world happened? "

The assistant replied, "Well, everything was going just fine till a vendor passed by and yelled 'PEANUTS'!"

Baseball Dawg
A man walks into a bar with a dog. The bartender says, "You can't bring that dog in here."

"You don't understand," says the man. "This is no regular dog, he can talk."

"Listen, pal," says the bartender. "If that dog can talk, I'll give you a hundred bucks."

The man puts the dog on a stool, and asks him, "What's on top of a house?"

"Roof!"

"Right. And what's on the outside of a tree?"

"Bark!"

"And who's the greatest baseball player of all time?"

"Ruth!"

"I guess you've heard enough," says the man. "I'll take the hundred in twenties."

The bartender is furious. "Listen, pal," he says, "get out of here before I belt you."

As soon as they're on the street, the dog turns to the man and says, "Do you think I should have said 'DiMaggio'?"

Barack at the Bat
President Obama was seen with his two daughters on the White House lawn. He was wearing a baseball cap and toting a ball and bat, "I'm the greatest hitter in the world," he announced.

Then, he tossed the ball into the air, swung at it, and missed.

"Strike One!" his daughters said in unison.

Undaunted, he picked up the ball and said again, "I'm the greatest hitter in the world!"

He tossed the ball into the air. When it came down he swung again and missed.

"Strike Two!" the girls cried.

He then paused a moment to examine his bat and ball carefully. He spit on his hands and rubbed them together. He straightened his cap and said once more, "I'm the greatest hitter in the world!"

Again he tossed the ball up in the air and swung at it. He missed.

"Strike Three!" his daughters exclaimed.

"Wow!" he exclaimed. "I'm the greatest pitcher in the world."

Sportsmanship
Coach Jones called the young lad in from center field during a Little League game for a conference.

"See here Larry," said the coach, "you know the principles of good sportsmanship that the Little League practices. You also know we don't tolerate temper tantrums, shouting at the umpire, or abusive language. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," replied Larry.

"Well, then Larry," sighed Coach Jones, "would you please try to explain it to your mother?"

That Caps It
Three baseball fans leave the stadium after a game and come across an unconscious, naked woman lying in the middle of the street. After they call the cops, they each take off their baseball caps and place them on the passed out woman out of respect and to cover her private parts until the cops arrive.

The first fan places his Boston Red Sox cap over her left breast, the second places his Phillies cap on her right breast and the third fan places his Yankees cap on her pubic area.

The cops finally arrive, and the officers take statements from the fans to find out what happened. After explaining that they found her naked and covered her up with their caps, the cop went over to examine the body.

He briefly lifted the Red Sox cap, and quickly replaced it; then he lifted the Phillies cap, and also quickly replaced it. However, when he lifted the Yankees cap, he stared and stared for what seemed to be two or three minutes. Finally, he let the cap drop, walked away, wrote in his notebook, then returned and lifted the Yankees cap once again and stared for a long time.

As he was walking away the second time, the fans were curious and stopped him and asked him why he spent so much time looking at the woman's genitalia, and he said, "It's the first time I've seen anything but an asshole under a Yankees cap."

Things That Sound Dirty In Baseball But Aren't
He's waving that big stick.

With a tighter grip you can whack harder.

The shortstop went deep into the hole.

He stroked it up the middle.

They caught him off the bag.

He uses a short, quick stroke.

He smacks one back up the box

He took that one for a ride

He was caught looking and was punched out.

Well hit balls carry well in hot, humid weather.

But he Sure Can Hit!
On the first day of Spring Training, a baseball scout brings a race horse with him to add to the starting lineup.

The coach asks, "What the heck did you bring that horse here for?"

The scout replies, "Wait until you see him bat."

All the players are laughing, until the horse comes to bat. At this point, the horse grabs the bat, and everyone quiets down. They stare at the horse.

The pitcher, just shrugs his shoulders, and throws the ball toward home plate, when astonishingly, the horse hits the ball deep in the outfield.

The horse just stands there and does not move. The manager then yells at the baseball scout to tell the horse to run to first base.

The scout looks back at the manager and yells back, "If he could run, he'd be at Belmont!"

№ 1962

Butterfly Dreams (13)

(A sequel to The Strange Story of Mr. Black and Ms Gray.)

They had died when helping thwart a plan to undermine the government of the United States. Now Ben and Susan have returned from the dead and they must bring that government down. Standing in their way are Michael Black and Michelle Gray, the bodies of whom they now occupy.

-(The Story begins HERE)-

Of Mind and Body
Sergeant O'Day studied us for a moment and although we appeared stunned by his revelations he noted, "None of this is really a surprise to the two of you, is it?"

I shook my head and responded, "No more than it was to you, Brock."

He raised his cup of coffee in front of his lips and blew across the rim. "Yeah, after seeing Ben and Susan on that security tape ...," his words trailed off as he drained the contents of the cup in one gulp. He crushed the Styrofoam cup in one hand and motioned to us with the other, "Look, I've got questions coming out of my ass, but I'm getting no answers. Please tell me you know something ... anything!"

"Sergeant," Michelle said trying to add a voice of reason to our discussion, "somebody has set into motion a series of carefully orchestrated events, all of which I believe are part of their master plan."

"Diversions?" O'Day growled, "You're suggesting that all the shit, all of those things ... have been only diversions?" His brow furrowed and his countenance became pensive, "The best you can come up with are pronouns? Their master plan ... they ... them!"

"Brock," I said trying to soothe his frustration, "The Feds, the military, a covert agency that doesn't exist ... pick one." I shrugged and spread my arms in resignation and added, "Might I suggest ... all of the above?"

O'Day harrumphed, "The same players as last year."

Michelle raised her index finger and said, "Yes, but there seems to be a new player in the mix, one Professor Jordan."

"Jordan," O'Day mused rubbing his chin, "Bernard Jordan. I haven't given a thought to that old man in well over thirty years." He cast glances at the two of us and queried, "How does he figure in all of this?" He turned his attention to Michelle, "You went to meet with him but he never showed up. Any idea what he may have wanted?"

She shook her head, "No. I didn't speak with him directly. He left a message with our receptionist that it was imperative that I met him at the university quad grounds. She did say that he sounded rather agitated."

"I would say that he was desperate. He might not have shown up to meet with Michelle, but the professor was at the Globe to meet with Stu Jankowski and then he showed up in our garage waiting for me by my car."

O'Day sighed, "He was being followed. He knew it and he was on the run." He looked me in the eyes and noted, "That Army HumVee was on your tail as soon as you left the garage." He stared at the two of us for a moment as if looking for the answer to his question before he asked it, "What do suppose they want with him?"

Michelle's lips pursed before speaking, "Professor Jordan was the head of the Science department when Michael and I were conducting our research." She shook her head, "But, he wasn't involved with our work. Because of the security that King and the Feds had in place, and it was strictly enforced, he was not allowed access to any part of the research."

"...And yet, he told me he was responsible for the accident that inadvertently caused the transfer of ... our minds," I added glancing at Michelle, "into each other's bodies. I'd say that the professor knew a great deal more than he ever let on about our research."

"If you've come to that conclusion," O'Day asserted, "then I'd say that they must think the same thing."

"Sergeant," Michelle said, "there's something bothering me. It was something you said a few minutes ago about not thinking about that old man in over thirty years. What did you mean by that?"

He leaned back in the chair and locked his fingers behind his head. "Crap, I guess I just can't escape the past, can I? You know about our unit's mission in Vietnam ..."

I gasped and leaned forward, "Are you going to tell us that Jordan was there? He was a part of that operation? He was working for King and General Gates?"

"Yeah, he was there," O'Day replied. "Whatever happened inside those tents ... he was in charge. I remember that he and Gates came to loggerheads on more than one occasion."

"How so?" Michelle asked.

"Dr. Jordan, as we called him then, wanted no part of the Army presence there. He told old man Gates that he was keeping his nose out of the General's military business and that he wanted the General to leave the science and research to him. He said to Gates that while the military knew about fighting and killing, his expertise was about everything of mind and body."

"Interesting," I mused, "I wonder why the sudden interest in Jordan now? Why not a year ago?"

"Isn't it obvious?" O'Day said, "He knows too much."

"That means we have to find him before they find him."

( To be continued ...

Into the Labyrinth )
№ 1961

Economics Rhymes With Comics

This is recycled from the archives with some new entries added into the mix.

eekonomics - n., (eek-uh-nom-iks) the study of dwindling finances during a state of recession; usually accompanied by inconsolable screams.

The current state of the "eek-onomy" has the country in the deepest state of recession since the failure of Reaganomics. Some would even say that we are on the doorstep of a depression. I wouldn't go as far as taking that fatalistic approach, but I have to admit that it is depressing.

You know, the sad state of the "eek-onomy" can be felt by nearly everyone, but not everyone is affected in the same way or to the same degree. Not straying from that topic, I have come to the conclusion that our dictionaries should be updated to reflect the various degrees of "eek-onomic" stresses the populace faces.

I have already taken the liberty to add "eekonomics" and "eekonomy" as more accurate alternatives to the more familiar but now arcane words, 'economics' and 'economy.'

What follows is a list of some other new words and their definitions which are intended to reflect the varying degrees of how Americans are feeling the squeeze.

aerodynomics - n., (arrow-die-nom-iks) when the economy is down but the prices are in the stratosphere.

beakonomics - n.,(beek-uh-nom-iks) unable to afford food as one has been accustomed, hence eating like a bird.

birdienomics - n., (bird-ee-nom-iks) when eekonomy is so bad that a paycheck is better served lining the bird cage.

bleakonomics - n., (bleek-uh-nom-iks) the perception that the eekonomy will only worsen.

bleeponomics - n., (bleep-uh-nom-iks) a state when the eekonomy is so bad only expletives deleted can be used to describe it.

custernomics - n., (cuss-ter-nom-iks) when one's back is against the wall, besieged by so many creditors that it feels like the last stand.

DConomics - n., (dee-cee-uh-nom-iks) the Government's spin given on the state of the eekonomy, regardless of the conditions.

dekeonomics - n., (deek-uh-nom-iks) feigning, faking one's liquid assets, usually in attempt to keep up with the Joneses.

fleeconomics - n., (flee-kuh-nom-iks) moving operations to an area where less taxation exists, usually another country where cheap labor can be used (also known as outsourcing).

funnynomics - n., (fun-ee-nom-iks) when the value of the dollar is a near equivalent to that of the play money in a board game.

geekonomics - n., (geek-uh-nom-iks) regardless of credit card balances, maintaining only the best state-of-the-art electronic equipment.

greekonomics - n., (greek-uh-nom-iks) when the withholding taxes from a paycheck have payees feeling like they have just visited a proctologist.

hide-go-seek-onomics - n., (hyde-go-seek-uh-nom-iks)when deep in debt, the practice of not answering telephones, not answering doors and not responding to past-due bills in attempts to avoid creditors.

kittynomics - n., (kit-ee-nom-iks) similar to birdienomics; instead paycheck is shredded for use in cat's litter box.

life-of-riley-nomics - n., (life-uv-rye-lee-nom-iks) known only to those who are so f**king rich, they don't care what the eekonomy is like.

mikeynomics - n., (my-kee-nom-iks) when splurging for a fancy meal consists of Life cereal; you like it, but you can't afford it.

mothonomics - n., (mawth-oh-nom-iks) when one's wallet yields winged dollar signs flying away.

Obamanomics - n., (Oh-bomb-uh-nom-iks) waiting for the definition to be given from the Oval Office at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.

paternitynomics - n., (puh-turn-uh-tee-nom-iks) when child support payments paid out exceed the moneys coming in.

running-on-empty-nomics - n., (ruh-ning-awn-imp-tee-nom-iks) whether food in one's belly or gas in one's tank, you can't seem to get anywhere.

sara-lee-nomics - n., (sair-uh-lee-nom-iks) celebrating birthdays and anniversaries with cakes from the frozen foods case.

sealynomics - n., (see-lee-nom-iks) not trusting banks, thus keeping money under one's mattress.

sheikanomics - n., (sheek-uh-nom-iks) living in an oil-dependent eekonomy that allows fat men smoking water pipes (hookahs) to maintain posh harems.

shittynomics - n., (shit-ee-nom-iks) Kind of speaks for itself, doesn't it?

There you have it, a list of new words to describe the many sides of a recession. But wait, the government is still trying to put into effect - social-security-nomics:


№ 1960

I Wanna Be Trailer Trash

People talk about trailer trash like it's a bad thing!
Maybe they shouldn't be so quick to judge!

(A tip of the hat to my sister-in-law. Thanks Beverly.)

№ 1959

Pretty Good - Not So Good

Pretty Good

By: Charles Osgood

There once was a pretty good student,
Who sat in a pretty good class

And was taught by a pretty good teacher,
Who always let pretty good pass.

He wasn't terrific at reading,
He wasn't a whiz-bang at math;

But for him education was leading
Straight down a pretty good path.

He didn't find school too exciting,
But he wanted to do pretty well,

And he did have some trouble with writing
And nobody taught him to spell.

When doing arithmetic problems
Pretty good was regarded as fine.

Five plus five needn't always add up to be ten,
A pretty good answer was nine.

The pretty good class that he sat in
Was part of a pretty good school,

And the student was not an exception,
On the contrary, he was the rule.

The pretty good school that he went to
Was in a pretty good town.

And nobody seemed to notice
He could not tell a verb from a noun.

The pretty good student in fact was
Part of a pretty good mob.

And the first time he knew what he lacked was
When he looked for a pretty good job.

It was then, when he sought a position,
He discovered that life could be tough,

And he soon had a sneaky suspicion
Pretty good might not be good enough.

The pretty good town in our story
Was part of a pretty good state,

Which had pretty good aspirations,
And prayed for a pretty good fate.

There once was a pretty good nation,
Pretty proud of the greatness it had,

If you want to be great,
Pretty good is, in fact, pretty bad.

... Maybe if they recited the Pledge of Allegiance and prayed...
№ 1958

Butterfly Dreams (12)

(A sequel to The Strange Story of Mr. Black and Ms Gray.)

They had died when helping thwart a plan to undermine the government of the United States. Now Ben and Susan have returned from the dead and they must bring that government down. Standing in their way are Michael Black and Michelle Gray, the bodies of whom they now occupy.

-(The Story begins HERE)-

Where Butterflies Dare
The lab tests and X-rays came back negative and I was released from the hospital within an hour. The doctor was dismayed that I nixed his suggestion of an overnight stay for observations, but signed the release forms nonetheless.

To Michelle at my side on the elevator ride to the main floor I said, "I think you'll agree that we will be keeping certain ... ah ... delicate facts to ourselves."

"Michael, that goes without saying," she responded. "I don't think I can ever tell anyone that I was ... raped by a ghost."

I nodded, "It's bad enough that Brock O'Day saw that video at the nursing home. He doesn't need to know that we've been in ... contact with them."

Ten minutes later we were seated at an outdoor table of a nearby cafe. Sipping her latte and watching the passersby, I could tell that her mind was occupied with her recent ordeal. It seemed that she was reluctant to allow her eyes to meet mine.

I placed my hand on hers and offered, "Michelle, you know it's possible, as real as it seemed, that none of it really happened, that they were somehow messing with our minds."

Facing me she countered, "You're not actually convinced of that, are you?"

"I wasn't at first," I said with a shrug, "but the more I've thought about it ..."

"Michael," she said cutting short my words, "consider what happened to me. One moment I was sitting on a bench at Northeastern and then the next thing I knew I was in a darkened room ... naked and strapped to a bed. Then you ... I mean Ben ... was mounting me ... taking me." She shuddered and rested her arms on the table, "... And then I was sitting in my car in the garage beneath our office building."

I nodded in reaction to her reasoning, "So, somehow you were rendered unconscious which allowed someone to take you to that room. Then afterward you were placed in your car. Of course, you don't remember driving your car into the garage."

"Don't patronize me," she said turning away to face the street.

"That's not my intention, darling," I said. "Your assessment appears to be all too logical."

She glanced over her shoulder, "The same thing happened to you ... And yet, you sound unconvinced."

I rested my chin on my fist and asked, "Tell me, did you notice or experience any pain or discomfort in your neck?"

She reached up and rubbed her neck, "Why, yes. I felt an itchy numbness here. I forgot all about it."

"Butterfly Nectar," I mumbled.

A quizzical look on her face, she muttered, "Butterfly Nectar? I'm not liking the sound of this."

"After I crashed, an Army colonel told a sergeant to fetch the stuff. He then drew some of the blue liquid into a syringe and injected it into my neck. The next thing I knew I was naked and strapped in a chair." I took in deep gulp of air and slowly exhaled. "I was watching you ... not you ... Susan."

Having experienced a similar event she grimaced, "Then you found yourself back in your car. They must have removed you from the car and then took you to that room. When they were finished ... they brought you back to the car."

I shook my head and waved my hands in front of her. "No."

"No?" she said. "But it explains what must have happened to both of us."

"I guess Brock didn't tell you that they had to use the jaws-of-life to get me out of the car." I remained quiet for a moment as her jaw dropped in surprise. "I know it all seemed real to you, and it felt real for me also. Let us assume for the time being that we were both injected with some kind of hallucinogen and possibly given post-hypnotic commands."

Though a skeptical frown was apparent she nodded and said, "Okay, but where does that leave us?"

"We are left with one common denominator," I responded. "He was at the Globe to meet with Stu Jankowski. He wanted you to meet him at the university. Then he was waiting at my car in the garage. He was in the car with me when the accident took place." I shrugged and added, "Then he disappeared."

"Professor Jordan!" Michelle exclaimed. "How does he figure into all of this?"

There was a sudden screech of braking tires to our left. The door of the police cruiser flung open and out stepped Sgt. Brock O'Day.

"Michael, I'm glad to see that you are okay," he quipped giving a terse nod in Michelle's direction. "You'll excuse me if I skip any further amenities, but we really need to talk. All hell is breaking loose."

"Have a seat, Brock," I said motioning to one of the chairs. "I'll get you a cup of coffee. Black, right?"

Returning from inside the cafe I sat the cup down in front of him and said, "Something tells me you are not the bearer of good news."

He took a long sip of the steaming liquid and shook his head. "Let's see," he began, "I have some bad news, some worse news and some worst of all news. Which would you like to hear first?"

Michelle said, "Since none of it is good, why don't you start at the top with the bad."

He cleared his throat, "Here goes ... You were right, Michael, the deceased nurse at the nursing home sure enough had one of those butterfly tattoos and I don't have to tell you where. The cause of death was not a blow to the back of her head ...at least not externally."

I sat up straight and leaned forward, "What do you mean not externally?"

He shifted in his seat and lowered his voice, "There was a massive hemorrhage at the base of her skull. The coroner said that the damage was so extensive that if he didn't know better, he would have thought that it was caused by an explosion!"

"My God!" Michelle cried. "There were sketchy pieces of evidence that General Gates was overseeing the development of a nano-explosive that could be detonated by a remote radio signal."

I shook my head in despair, "Okay, the tattoo was the bad news and the cause of the nurse's death was the worse news. Dare I ask what the worst of all is?"

He removed two pieces of laminated paper from his breast pocket. He held them aloft and said, "These were found lying on the grave markers of both Ben Bering and Susan Parsons." He tossed them onto the table before us.

"Blue butterflies," I muttered without looking at them. "Professor Jordan showed me an identical one." I breathed a heavy sigh, "The threat is out there ... where butterflies dare."

Michelle spoke with concern, "That isn't all, is it, Sergeant?"

He shook his head and took another long drink of coffee. His tired bloodshot eyes moved from her to me before he answered. "Ben's and Susan's graves have been disturbed. From the fresh earth, I'd say the graves had been recently opened and covered back up ..."

( To be continued ...

Of Mind and Body )
№ 1957

Canny Trannies

(The following images are from e-mail from my Son-in-law. Thanks, Scott.)

Someone had a lot of cans lying around and an awful lot of free time.







№ 1956

Running On Empty

The past two weeks I feel like I've been running on fumes.

As in the past at this time of the year (from mid-March to mid-April) I never seem to have much in the tank.

I know it's redundant, but the two previous statements are rife with cliched banality.

This year, it seems it has been more difficult. My giddyup has gotten up and went without me.

I've never been one given to depression, but I think this is the closest I've come. Yep, this normally funny guy is a little in the dumps. One thing is keeping me afloat though - and that's knowing that I am not alone.

In a word - I'm so broke I can barely pay attention.

The Northeast, like a lot of the Eastern seaboard was deluged with seemingly non-stop rain a few weeks ago. I was fortunate in that I suffered no flood damage, but my job requires a lot of driving and I had to be out in the downpours and had to navigate flooded streets for several days. Understandably, a lot of rain can depress anyone, so I repeat, I wasn't alone.

March is also the month in which I am due for my vehicle to be tested for the State Inspection sticker. For the first time since I've owned it, my '98 GMC Sonoma pickup truck flunked! (There was a small leak in the exhaust system.) It used to be that in Massachusetts we had 30 days to get it fixed.

Not so nowadays! It "must" be taken care right away! One can even be pulled over by the police as you drive away from the place where you just flunked the inspection! The law has the right to make you get out of the vehicle and have it towed.

Well, that took place on a Tuesday and I took my chances until Friday (pay day) morning. Two hours and $185 later it was repaired and I was given a passing sticker.

On my job I get paid every two weeks per my visits to a list of scheduled elderly clients. I don't get paid if I don't visit them. (I don't get paid for my gas either.) If the economy wasn't bad enough the State has cut back on funds for elderly care. To make matter worse, three of my regular clients are currently in the hospital, one is in the process of moving, and still another has gone to Florida for a month.

Translation: My hours are down and the bills are status quo!

...And oh by the way, April the 15th is only three days away! Yep, you guessed it - I OWE!

Bang! Bang! Maxwell's silver hammer came crashing down upon his head ...

Sorry for the less than cheerful post, but I feel better now that I jotted down all the above in this forum.

Hopefully within a week I'll feel spirited enough to go culling through the web to harvest some jokes. By then I should be able to get the creative juices flowing to come up with some original humor also.

Thanks for "listening," I needed to let off a little steam. Even if it is personal, it does feel good to vent and to rant.

№ 1955

Random Thoughts of Randomness (2)

Where's The Bun?
Weapon of Mass (in)Digestion:

KFC unveils the Double Down sandwich. Cheese, bacon and mayonnaise layered between two fried chicken breasts!

I saw a commercial for this sandwich (?) tonight and within seconds my arteries began to harden. It has more calories, more sodium and more fat than a Big Mac! Ah, but take heart, without the bun it has less carbs!

Randomness

I can't wait to procrastinate!

Been there, done that -- but I can't remember any of it!

Tell Barack I'm Baroke!

I once gave up smoking, women and drinking. It was the worst 15 minutes of my life!

If it weren't for the gutter, my mind would be homeless!

I know I should lift weights, but those things are HEAVY!

Lead us not into temptation ~~ Just tell us where it is!

Save the trees, wipe your ass with a Spotted Owl!

Random Thoughts
What did you think of that new Tiger Woods commercial sponsored by Nike?

It inspired me to buy a pair of Nikes. Then I cheated on them and slipped my feet into a pair of New Balance. :o}




<-- Some days ...


I can't avoid them ...


But on rare occasions they're easier to deal with ...



№ 1954

Butterfly Dreams (11)

(A sequel to The Strange Story of Mr. Black and Ms Gray.)

They had died when helping thwart a plan to undermine the government of the United States. Now Ben and Susan have returned from the dead and they must bring that government down. Standing in their way are Michael Black and Michelle Gray, the bodies of whom they now occupy.

-(The Story begins HERE)-

Nets of Wonder
At first there were a series of faint clicking sounds. My head felt weighted, my chin pressed against my chest. The clicks were growing louder as if the source were moving closer to me.

I forced my eye lids open and through narrow slits I gazed in shock upon myself. My chest, lap and legs were bare. Instinctively I tried to cover myself, but my arms remained frozen. My wrists were strapped to the armrests of the chair.

The source of the clicking sounds came into my line of vision. A pair of red shoes with stiletto heels came to rest on the floor before me. The one to the left rose from the floor and came to rest on the edge of the chair inches from my exposed loins.

Straining to move my head, my eyes followed a path from the ankle and up the long black-nylon-stockinged leg. At the point where nylon gave way to an expanse of milky white flesh, a taut garter disappeared beneath what appeared to be a black satin loin cloth. Strategically draped, the material had been intended to both hide and to leave little to the imagination of what lie beneath it. It was quite effective.

The woman's arm, sheathed in black elbow-length gloves hovered for a moment above my exposed thighs. Mesmerized, I watched as her fingers deftly unsnapped the garter from the stockings.

"Who are you?" I muttered with dry mouth. "What do you want of me?"

There was no response as her foot slid from the seat edge only to be replaced by the other. As before, she released that garter's grip on the nylon material. Despite forced thoughts of elsewhere my will power could not stem the stirrings of arousal.

She reached forth and ran her fingers through the hair atop my head. I grimaced in pain when she pulled on the hair and forcibly yanked my head backward. She backed away and stood before me with her fists on her hips. Her stance was defiant and menacing and yet, alluring.

I gasped as I gazed upon her. Her face, except for her lower lip and chin were hidden behind a black veil. Her breasts, like her loins were covered by the same material.

I attempted to display similar defiance and said to her, "You seem to have me at a disadvantage. Perhaps a more formal introduction is in order ..."

The force of her backhand against my face twisted my head to the right. A tripod stand towered above me, a camera at its apex. It was apparent that my tormentor was recording the proceedings. I swallowed hard and realized that if I were to survive that ordeal, there would be damning footage out there in someone's hands.

I turned to face the woman's movements. She tore the material from her breasts and let it drift like a leaf to the floor. Without a hint of inhibition the loin cloth met the same fate. Her charms were fully exposed but her facial features remained hidden. She stepped forth, her unseen eyes trained upon a certain prominence.

She spoke for the first time, her voice vaguely familiar, "Our nets were laid out and we've caught our fish." She pointed to the camera and added, "We've decided to make a movie to document our successes. We were thinking that we should give it the title, Nets of Wonder."

"Blackmail, no doubt!" I snapped. I strained my arms and legs in a fruitless attempt to free them from the restraints. My helplessness gave way to anger and I snarled, "Fuck you!"

She tossed her head backward and laughed. She then maneuvered her legs on either side of mine and hovered above my lap. As she lowered herself she cooed, "That's exactly what I'm going to do."

Tensing I stared at her and said, "Why, why are you doing this?"

She laughed again and replied, "Let's just say that it's for old time's sake."

Unwanted pangs of pleasure shot through me as she allowed her full weight to come to rest upon me. She gently patted my cheek with one hand while the other pulled the veil from her face.

I was jolted with simultaneous desire and shock. "Susan!"


Annoyed by the hand tapping at my face I struggled to escape the onslaught. Shame and anger dominating my thoughts, at first I didn't hear another voice calling out to me.

"Michael! Michael, snap out of it," bellowed a gruff male voice.

The police officer's face came into focus and I barked, "Brock! How did you find me?"

"How did I find you?" he remarked with a puzzled frown. "You were in an accident. You plowed into a utility pole. You knocked out the power for three square blocks in Post Office Square."

Dazed, I queried, "Did you catch her?" His silence and blank stare were his only responses. Dismayed I sighed, "She got away?"

"She? There was no one with you. You were trapped in your car ... alone and unconscious."

I shook my head which resulted in sharp pain across my brow, "No. I wasn't in the car."

He raised and waved his hand, "Michael, I was there. I supervised your rescue. They had to use the jaws-of-life to get you out of the car."

I became aware of the strange surroundings and tried to sit up. "Where am I?"

"You're in Mass General Hospital." He pushed gently on my chest, "You have a nasty contusion on your forehead. The doctors are trying to determine if you've suffered a concussion."

I eased my head onto the pillow and tried to will my muddled thoughts to coalesce. I decided, whether hallucinatory or not, not to make any further mention of the woman. I rubbed the spot on my neck where I was certain that a syringe had penetrated. It was possible that the vivid images of my bondage and the presence of Susan had been drug induced.

Ignoring his raised hand I positioned myself on my elbows and implored, "Michelle! Has anyone heard from her?"

O'Day nodded, "I was talking to her not five minutes ago. She knows about your accident and I assured her that you were okay. She's on her way here as we speak."

Relieved, I eased my head back onto the pillow, "...And Professor Jordan? Has any one seen or heard from him?"

O'Day sat up straight and leaned toward me, "Jordan? You were in contact with him too? It seems the professor has had a very busy day."

I hoisted myself onto my elbows again. "Besides Stu Jankowski and myself, who else has he contacted?"

"Your wife, Michelle," he replied. "She said he asked her to meet him on the quad at Northeastern. According to her, he never showed up."

At that moment Michelle walked through the door. "Michael. You're okay? I got here as fast as I could." She leaned over me and kissed my cheek. Worry etched upon her face she asked, "What happened?"

Brock O'Day rose from the chair next to the bed, nodded in Michelle's direction and declared, "I'll leave you two alone. We'll talk later." He turned and headed for the door but paused for a moment and added, "There's a lot we need to discuss."

Once he had disappeared into the hallway I addressed Michelle, "I'll tell you about the accident later. Tell me, did anything ... ah ... unusual happen to you? I mean, something that felt real ... but wasn't ... but maybe it was ..."

There was a slight flush in her cheeks and she lowered her head. "My God, it happened to you too!" she exclaimed. "I feel so dirty and violated. I was naked, my feet and hands strapped to the bed posts." She looked at me before continuing, " He took me. He raped me! I couldn't do anything about it!" She sat down upon the edge of the bed and buried her face in her hands. "Michael, it was him. It was Ben!"

( To be continued 4/16 with ...

Where Butterflies Dare )
№ 1953

It Makes Census

Wake Up Out There!
Get With The Program!
Have you filled out your Census form and put in the mailbox?

NO? Why The Hell Not?
Don't you realize that there are millions of illegal immigrants depending on you?

A new report by the U.S. Census Bureau that puts the number of "unauthorized and quasi-legal" immigrants in the United States at about 8.7 million - double the previous decade's number - has spurred calls by immigration reform groups for tighter immigration controls.

Wait A Minute!
It's The Illegals Who Aren't Filling Out The Form!
On the local evening news I saw a reporter interviewing people about the 2010 Census form. She was talking to people in an area of a city known to be a haven for illegal aliens.

Reporter: Have you mailed in your Census form?
Woman: No!
Reporter: Why not?
Woman: I don't know what it is for?
Reporter: The government wants to know how many people live in America and where they are located.
Woman: No hablas Anglese.
Reporter: If the government knows how many people there are, then they can allot more money and aid to those who need it.
Woman: More money? How much more money for me?
Reporter: That depends on how many people fill out the form and list how many people live in the household.

Woman: Let me get this straight, if I fill out the form and say how many people live with me in my house, I can get more money?
Reporter: Well, yes, if you are a citizen and meet the government's requirements.
Woman: No hablas Anglese!

After that woman slammed the door in her face, the reporter next spoke to some of the people on the street. If they spoke to her at all, the questions and answers pretty much went the same way.

In wrapping up her story, she summed it up with the conclusion that the illegal aliens/immigrants do not trust the U.S. government. They fear deportation if they were to stand up and be counted. They fear that they might lose some of the misbegotten benefits they are currently receiving. They fear being evicted because more people other than their extended families are living in their domiciles than permitted by the city laws. They fear that they will have to pay taxes. They fear having to pay for anything that they are currently getting for nothing.

They have become masters of hiding in plain sight! Filling out the Census forms would jeopardize their right to do so. If they'd wanted to be held accountable, they would have remained in their own countries.

Of course, they have aces up their sleeves! Can you say "A.C.L.U."? The Aliens Civil Liberty Union have their backs. Yes, Sharpton and his minions will stand up for them and fight for the rights for which they are not entitled.

They are here (in this country) illegally and we have to accept that fact.

Wake Up Out There!
At least stand up and be counted!
№ 1952