Saturday, July 31, 2010

Summer's Bummers

Ahh ... Summer !
No school - vacations - the beach - swimming pools -
nice weather - ice cold beer - iced tea - ice cream - etc.
There are a lot of things that we all love about summer. Alas, summer does have its drawbacks too! There are are those things that can make ...

summer a bummer!

⌂ - Electric bills from running air conditioners
⌂ - Mosquitoes
⌂ - Ants
⌂ - Sand in your bathing suit
⌂ - Cleaning the grill
⌂ - Women wearing bikinis who shouldn't ~~>
⌂ - Sunburns
⌂ - Burnt grass
⌂ - Music from ice cream trucks
⌂ - Men wearing speedos who shouldn't
⌂ - Any man wearing speedos
⌂ - Pedicure maintenance
⌂ - Idiotic summer TV fare; i.e. "Big Brother"
⌂ - Lawn watering bans
⌂ - Orange tans
⌂ - Bicycle riders who don't obey the rules of the road
⌂ - Neighbors who mow their lawns the moment the sun rises
⌂ - Raccoons, skunks, dogs and cats in your trash
⌂ - <~~ Weddings on hot, hot days
⌂ - Yard work
⌂ - Ultra-fast ripening bananas
⌂ - Noisy late partying neighbors
⌂ - Empty propane tank for BBQ party
⌂ - Tourists
⌂ - Jaywalkers pushing baby carriages
⌂ - People wearing socks with sandals
⌂ - Flip Flops on men in stores
⌂ - Sudden thunderstorm and your car windows are open
⌂ - "Raccoon eyes" from tan lines around sunglasses
⌂ - Frizzy hair
⌂ - Shedding pet hair
⌂ - School supplies stocked on store shelves in July
⌂ - A/C too high for women in public places ~~>
⌂ - Same A/C temp just right for men ☺ ~~>
⌂ - Smoke from the neighbor's barbecue
⌂ - Hawaiian shirts and plaid shorts
⌂ - Watermelon seeds
⌂ - Won't use oven until September
⌂ - Scantily clad neighbors you don't want to look at
⌂ - Bees, hornets and wasps
⌂ - Insect repellent
⌂ - Fruit Flies
⌂ - Beach sand in your car
⌂ - Weeds
⌂ - Lawn watering bans
⌂ - Summer reruns on TV
⌂ - Summer replacement shows
⌂ - Moldy bread bought day before
⌂ - Warm beer
⌂ - Picking ticks off pets
⌂ - Unwaxed bikini areas
⌂ - Unserviced porta-potties at beaches
⌂ - Lawn mower running out of gas
⌂ - Long lines at the Dairy Queen
⌂ - Running out of ice
⌂ - Seniors in bikinis and speedos

⌂ - Realizing that the summer will eventually come to an end.


Friday, July 30, 2010

It's About the Size of It!

Doggone Funny!
The Skin Graft

There was a married couple who were in a terrible accident. The woman's face was burned severely. The doctor told the husband they couldn't graft any skin from her body because she was so thin. The husband then donated some of his skin...

However, the only place suitable to the doctor was from his buttocks. The husband requested that no one, including his wife, be told of this, because after all this was a very delicate matter!

After the surgery was completed, everyone was astounded at the woman's new beauty. She looked more beautiful than she ever did before! All her friends and relatives just ranted and raved at her youthful beauty!

She was alone with her husband one day and she wanted to thank him for what he did. She said, "Dear, I just want to thank you for everything you did for me! There is no way I could ever repay you!!!

He replied, "Oh don't worry, Honey, I'll get plenty thanks enough every time your mother comes over and kisses you on your cheek!!"

 What's It's Name?

This guy walks into a bar and two steps in, he realizes it's a gay bar. "But what the heck," he says, "I really want a drink."

When the gay waiter approaches, he says to the customer, "What's the name of your penis?"

The customer says, "Look, I'm not into any of that. All I want is a drink."

The gay waiter says, "I'm sorry but I can't serve you until you tell me the name of your penis. Mine for instance is called 'Nike,' for the slogan, 'Just Do It.' That guy down at the end of the bar calls his 'Snickers,' because 'It really Satisfies."

The customer looks dumbfounded so the bartender tells him he will give him a second to think it over. The customer asks the man sitting to his left, who is sipping on a beer, "Hey bud, what's the name of your penis?"

The man looks back and says with a smile, "TIMEX."
The thirsty customer asks, "Why Timex?"

The fella proudly replies, "Cause it takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin!"

A little shaken, the customer turns to the fella on his right, who is sipping a fruity Margarita and says, "So, what do you call your penis?"

The man turns to him and proudly exclaims, "FORD, because 'Quality is Job 1.' " Then he adds, "Have you driven a Ford, lately?"

Even more shaken, the customer has to think for a moment before he comes up with a name for his penis. Finally, he turns to the bartender and exclaims, "The name of my penis is 'Secret.' Now give me my beer."

The bartender begins to pour the customer a beer, but with a puzzled look asks, "Why Secret?"

The customer says, "Because it's STRONG ENOUGH FOR A MAN, BUT MADE FOR A WOMAN!"


A chicken farmer went to a local bar...sat next to a woman and ordered a glass of champagne.

The woman perks up and says "How about that? I just ordered a glass of champagne, too!"

"What a coincidence," the farmer says, "this is a special day for me I am celebrating."

"This is a special day for me too, I am also celebrating!" says the woman.

"What a coincidence!" says the farmer.

As they clinked glasses the man asked, "What are you celebrating?"

"My husband and I have been trying to have a child and today my gynecologist told me that I am pregnant!"

"What a coincidence," says the man."I'm a chicken farmer and for years all of my hens were infertile, but today they are all laying fertilized eggs."

"That's great!" says the woman, "How did your chickens become fertile?"

"I used a different cock," he replied.

The woman smiled and said, "What a coincidence!"

 Redneck Vasectomy

After having their 11th child, an Alabama couple decided that was enough (they could not afford a larger double wide) So, the husband went to his doctor (who also treated mules) and told him that he and his wife/cousin didn't want to have any more children. The doctor told him that there was a procedure called a vasectomy that could fix the problem.

The doctor instructed him to go home, get a cherry bomb (fireworks are legal in Alabama), light it, put it in a beer can, then hold the can up to his ear and count to 10.

The Alabamian said to the doctor, "I may not be the smartest man, but I don't see how putting a cherry bomb in a beer can next to my ear is going to help me -- I don't want to go deaf!"

So, the couple drove to Georgia to get a second opinion. The Georgia physician was just about to tell them about the procedure for a vasectomy when he noticed that they were from Alabama. This doctor instead told the man to go home and get a cherry bomb, light it, place it in a beer can, hold it to his ear and count to 10.

Figuring that both learned physicians couldn't be wrong, the man went home, lit a cherry bomb and put it in a beer can.

He held the can up to his ear and began to count, "1, 2, 3, 4, 5 . . .", at which point he paused, placed the beer can between his legs and resumed counting on his other hand . . .

Lesson: Stimulation

The 6th grade science teacher, Mrs. Parks, asked her class, "Which human body part increases to 10 times its size when stimulated?"

No one answered until little Mary stood up, angry, and said, "You should not be asking 6th graders a question like that! I'm going to tell my parents, and they will go and tell the principal, who will then fire you!" With a sneer on her face, she then sat back down.

Mrs. Parks ignored her and asked the question again, "Which body part increases to 10 times its size when stimulated?" Little Mary's mouth fell open; then she said to those around her, "Boy, is she gonna get in big trouble!"

The teacher continued to ignore her and said to the class, "Anybody?"

Finally, Billy stood up, looked around nervously, and said, "The body part that increases 10 times its size when stimulated is the pupil of the eye."

Mrs. Parks said, "Very good, Billy,"  she then turned to Mary and continued, "As for you, young lady, I have three things to say:

One, you have a dirty mind; two, you didn't read your homework assignment; and three, one day you are going to be very, very disappointed."

The X-Files:  The Truth Is Down There

FBI agents, Scully and Muldar are sharing a motel room in a small Midwestern town. They are undercover as man and wife to investigate an X-File lead.

This was not the first time they had posed as man and wife, but as usual Muldar was getting horny. She pretended not to notice that he'd been ogling her. She ignored his furtive glances as he tried to get a pantie shot every time she crossed and uncrossed her legs. On this case she'd considered wearing no panties, just to see him go crazy and then disappear into the bathroom for several minutes.

However, she had a better idea. Since they had to change to get ready for a town meeting in twenty minutes, she was going to put on a show he'd never forget. Then to teach him a lesson, she would not leave him enough time for him to disappear to relieve himself.

When there was only ten minutes before the meeting, she slipped into the bathroom to change. She deliberately left the door ajar. She called out to him, "Muldar, we have to leave soon. I'm getting dressed now!"

Pretending not to notice he was already by the door, she was posing in front of the mirror wearing only a skimpy thong and an unbuttoned blouse. She cupped her large breasts and made some moaning sounds. She then adjusted the thong by pulling it tight and stretching the material until there was little left to the imagination. She could hear his heavy breathing behind the door. She then stepped into a skirt and called out, "Muldar, I'm just about ready. Are you dressed?"

Muldar moved quickly, but stiffly away from the door. "Just about," he replied. He was struggling however to get his tight slacks fastened. There was an obvious bulge in his pants hampering his efforts. He unzipped the fly to relieve the pressure and turned his back to the bathroom as Scully emerged.

He held his jacket over his arm to allow it to drape enough to hide his condition. He moved slowly toward the door and said, "Let's go."

It was all she could do not to break out in laughter. She decided to have a little more fun at Muldar's expense. "Fox Muldar! Your barracks door is wide open!"

He was a little confused at first. That was not a phrase men usually used to describe this particular wardrobe malfunction. Biding for time in hopes that his condition would improve he answered, "Barracks door?"

"Your fly, Muldar," she said pointing. "Your fly is unzipped."

By that time his aroused state had finally abated, so he pulled up the zipper and smiled sheepishly at his partner. They left their room and proceeded to their car outside.

Thinking it would make the best of the situation and ease the tension between them, Muldar turned to Scully and whispered, "When you saw the barracks door open did you see a soldier in there standing at attention?"

Scully paused for a moment, grinned and replied, "No, no I didn't. All I saw was a disabled veteran sitting on two duffel bags!"

What Is it?

This useful tool, commonly found in the range of 6 to 8 inches long, the functioning of which is enjoyed by members of both sexes. Is usually found hung, dangling loosely, ready for instant action. It boasts of a clump of little hairy things at one end and a small hole at the other.

In use, it is inserted, almost always willingly, sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly, into a warm, fleshy, moist opening where it is thrust in and drawn out again and again many times in succession, often quickly and accompanied by squirming bodily movements.

Anyone found listening in will most surely recognise the rhythmic, pulsing sound, resulting from the well lubricated movements. When finally withdrawn, it leaves behind a juicy, frothy, sticky white substance, some of which will need cleaning from the outer surfaces of the opening and some from its long glistening shaft.

After the activity has ceased, it is returned to its freely hanging state of rest, ready for yet another bit of action, hopefully reaching its bristling climax twice or three times a day, but often much less. What is it?

As most of you may have already guessed, the answer to the riddle is none other than your very own - toothbrush!


Thursday, July 29, 2010

Peens and Pearls

For over five years the hammer in my profile avatar has been relentless in its efforts to beat senseless the defiant nail.

Recently while touring my blog roll I came across the following cartoon. I can only hope that the nail doesn't try this to confound the hammer.

The above cartoon was lifted from Bubbleman.

Some Pearls of Wisdom

When looking for faults, use a mirror, not a telescope.

A closed mouth gathers no foot.

You don't have to attend every argument you're invited to.

There is no luggage rack on a hearse.

People come in a lot of varieties, but perfect isn't one of them.

Never trust a psychic who has caller ID.

Experience is what you get when you're expecting something else.

Most advice is free. You only pay for those you don't use.


Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Dumber and Dumberer

If mankind knew what was going to happen before it happened, he would still manage to screw it up!

God speaking to St. Francis:

Francis, you know all about gardens and nature. What in the world is going on down there? What happened to the dandelions, violets, thistle and stuff I started eons ago? I had a perfect,no-maintenance garden plan.  Those plants grow in any type of soil, withstand drought and multiply with abandon. The nectar from the long lasting blossoms attracts butterflies honeybees and flocks of songbirds. I expected to see a vast garden of colors by now. But all I see are these green rectangles.

St. Francis: It's the tribes that settled there, Lord. The Suburbanites. They started calling your flowers "weeds" and went to great lengths to kill them and replace them with grass.

God: Grass? But it's so boring. It's not colorful. It doesn't attract butterflies, birds and bees, only grubs and sod worms. It's temperamental with temperatures. Do these Suburbanites really want all that grass growing there?

St. Francis: Apparently so, Lord. They go to great pains to grow it and keep it green. They begin each spring by fertilizing grass and poisoning any other plants that crop up in the lawn.

God: The spring rains and warm weather probably make grass grow really fast. That must make the Suburbanites happy.

St. Francis: Apparently not, Lord. As soon as it grows a little, they cut it... sometimes twice a week.

God: They cut it? Do they then bail it like hay?

St. Francis: Not exactly, Lord. Most of them rake it up and put it in bags.

God: They bag it? Why? Is it a cash crop? Do they sell it?

St. Francis: No, Sir. Just the opposite. They pay to throw it away.

God: Now let me get this straight. They fertilize grass so when it does grow, they cut it off and pay to throw it away?

St. Francis: Yes, Sir.

God: These Suburbanites must be relieved in the summer when we cut back on the rain and turn up the heat. That surely slows the growth and saves them a lot of work.

St. Francis: You aren't going to believe this Lord. When the grass stops growing so fast, they drag out hoses and pay more money to water it so they can continue to mow it and pay to get rid of it.

God: What nonsense. At least they kept some of the trees. That was a sheer stroke of genius, if I do say so myself. The trees grow leaves in the spring to provide beauty and shade in the summer. In the autumn, they fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to keep moisture in the soil and protect the trees and bushes. Plus, as they rot, the leaves form compost to enhance the soil. It's a natural circle of life.

St. Francis: You had better sit down, Lord. The Suburbanites have drawn a new circle. As soon as the leaves fall, they rake them into great piles and pay to have them hauled away.

God: No! What do they do to protect the shrub and tree roots in the winter and to keep the soil moist and loose?

St. Francis: After throwing away the leaves, they go out and buy something which they call 'mulch'. They haul it home and spread it around in place of the leaves.

God: And where do they get this mulch?

St. Francis: They cut down trees and grind them up to make the mulch.

God: Enough! I don't want to think about this any more. St. Catherine, you're in charge of the arts. What movie have you scheduled for us tonight?

St. Catherine: 'Dumb and Dumber', Lord. It's a real stupid movie.

God: Never mind, I think I just heard that story from St. Francis.



Tuesday, July 27, 2010

I Nominate ...


Here we are, already discussing the future President of the United States , beginning with the Year 2012.

For those of you who would like THE VERY BEST choice for President, we have a solution: It is probably time we have a woman as President. One choice is a very special lady who has just about every answer to assist in helping us to solve our problems. No, it's not Sarah Palin, it's . . .

PLEASE give this a thought when you have a moment....


Very eloquently put...........don't you think?

Maxine on "Driver Safety": "I can't use the cell phone in the car. I have to keep my hands free for making gestures. ."......

Maxine on "Lawn Care": "The key to a nice-looking lawn is a good mower. I recommend one who is muscular and shirtless. "

Maxine on "The Perfect Man": "All I'm looking for is a guy who'll do what I want, when I want, for as long as I want, and then go away. Or wait nearby, like a Dust Buster, charged up and ready when needed."

Maxine on "Technology Revolution": "My idea of rebooting is kicking somebody in the butt twice."

Maxine on "Aging": "Take every birthday with a grain of salt. This works much better if the salt accompanies a Margarita."

"I'm telling you ... she's the perfect candidate."

"The only two things we do with greater frequency in middle age are urinate and attend funerals ."

"The trouble with bucket seats is that not everybody has the same size bucket."

"To err is human; to forgive, highly unlikely."

"Do you realize that in about forty years, we'll have millions of old ladies running around with tattoos and pierced navels?"

(Now that's scary!)

"Money can't buy happiness--but somehow it's more comfortable to cry in a Porsche than a Kia."

"After a certain age, if you don't wake up aching may be dead."


Monday, July 26, 2010

Butterfly Dreams (26)

(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)-
Interrogating the Dead

Perhaps to avoid both eye contact and idle chatter, Susan busied herself with a magazine lying on the coffee table. As she flipped through the pages it was obvious to me that she was troubled by what had, or had not, occurred between us.

I wondered what thoughts might be running through her mind. Then, of course, there was the question of just whose mind might be generating those thoughts. Was she even capable of independent thought? I shook my head to dispel that crazy notion. It was appalling to think that she might be a mindless automaton under their control.

Determined to get some answers I sat down in the chair opposite her. "Susan, can we talk? I need to ask you something."

She looked up from the magazine and nodded. Lowering her eyes again she replied, "Of course. I'll try to answer as best I can."

"Good. That's all I expect. But," I paused to clear my throat, "I need you to look me in the eyes."

It was with noticeable effort that she complied. "I'm sorry, but it's so hard for me to look at you. I don't know what came over me in that room. I'm so ashamed ..."

"Susan, you weren't yourself. I wasn't myself. Someone was in our heads," I said trying to allay her shame. "Nothing happened. Let's put it behind us."

She let the magazine fall onto the table and forced a smile, "Alright. If you can, I'll try to let it go too." She sat back in the sofa and said, "You said you wanted to ask me a question...?"

"Ah, yes," I said stunned by the sudden change in her demeanor. "On the ride here, you claimed you didn't know who you are. Why then are you answering to the name of Susan Parsons?"

"That's who they said I was. They showed me a driver's license with that name on it. It had my picture on it." She put her hands together and rested her chin on her thumbs, "But I have no memory of being her."

I leaned forward with peaked interest. "You said they. Who are they?"

She shook her head in obvious frustration, "I ... I don't know. Doctors, maybe? They were wearing white coats. They said I was suffering from trauma induced amnesia."

Induced indeed, I thought to myself. "Do you remember anything prior to that, before you were with these ... doctors?"

She lowered her eyes and stared at her hands resting palms-up in her lap. "No. Nothing."

I frowned, disappointed, but it was the answer I was expecting. I don't know how I would have reacted had she said her previous memory was of her waking up in a box! I decided to press on with the questions, but to avoid the delicate issues of death and resurrection.

"Was Ben there with you and the ... doctors?" I asked realizing that he had not been mentioned since our trip from New Hampshire.

"Yes, but we were in separate rooms. They said he was also suffering from amnesia," she responded. "They said we were in the same terrible accident."

"I see," I noted, "but they didn't reveal the nature of the accident or when it occurred, did they?" I didn't give her a chance to reply but answered it myself with a logical guess, "I can only assume they feared that the details of the event might have set back your recovery."

"I suppose so," she uttered. "They said it was more important that they restore our memories before the accident and only then would we be able to handle what caused us to lose our memories."

"Restore your memories?" I queried with raised eyebrows.

She smiled and nodded, "Yes. They put these strange looking headphones on our heads when we were resting. It was a strange feeling, but Ben and I could talk to each without moving our lips. It was while we were wearing them that we remembered we were lovers."

The neuro-headpieces, I thought. They weren't restoring memories, they were planting memories into their minds. I struggled to maintain a straight face while also patronizing her. "Interesting. These headphones ... they actually worked? What other memories did the devices awaken within you?"

She appeared to be reflecting as she spoke, "We remembered a quaint bar that we used to frequent. It was called The New Place. They even took us there. They said that anything or any place familiar to us would help our memories to return."

"That was two days ago, wasn't it?" Her head moved in assent even as I launched into another question. "Why did you and Ben go to the Sunny Dale Nursing Home this morning?"

Her smile broadened and a warm glow came to her face. "It was so wonderful to see my mother and to take her out of that awful place! She was sitting up in the bed waiting for us."

I strained to swallow the lump forming in my throat. In my mind I rehearsed my next question before uttering it aloud. "I'm so glad your mother is okay. Where is she now?"

"Someplace where she'll get the best of care. I'm going to visit her tomorrow." She tilted her head and asked, "Would you like to come along?"

I ran my fingers under the neck of my shirt. The proverbial leash was being tightened. I wasn't obtaining the answers to my questions, they were being spoon-fed to me.

Michelle and I had already come to the conclusion that we would ultimately have to go out west somewhere in the vicinity of Las Vegas. What we'd failed to realize was that all along we were being drawn there.

It appeared that Michelle's recurring dream had been a harbinger of our fate. Was my ruse of booking a flight to Las Vegas my own conscious idea? In any event, we had played into their hands.

To be continued ...

Air Libido


Friday, July 23, 2010

Booty From Down Under

Summer Rendezvous

As I lay on my bed thinking about you, I feel this strong urge to grab you and squeeze you, because I can't forget last night.

You came to me unexpectedly during the balmy and calm night, and what happened in my bed still leaves a tingling sensation in me.

You appeared from nowhere and shamelessly, without any reservations, you lay on my naked body. You sensed my indifference, so you applied your hungry mouth to me without any guilt or humiliation, and you drove me near crazy while you drained me.

Finally I went to sleep.

Today when I woke up you were gone. I searched for you but to no avail. Only the sheets bore witness to last night's events.

My body still bears faint marks of your enthusiastic ravishings, making it harder to forget you.

Tonight I will remain awake waiting for you.... You f**king mosquito.

- Stolen from Phils Phun

This is for the over 50 generation:

I thought about the 30 year business I ran with 1800 employees, all without a Blackberry that played music, took videos, pictures and communicated with Facebook and Twitter.

I signed up under duress for Twitter and Facebook, so my seven kids, their spouses, 13 grandkids and 2 great grand kids could communicate with me in the modern way.

I figured I could handle something as simple as Twitter with only 140 characters of space.

That was before one of my grand kids hooked me up for Tweeter, Tweetree, Twhirl, Twitterfon, Tweetie and Twittererific Tweetdeck, Twitpix and something that sends every message to my cell phone and every other program within the texting world.

My phone was beeping every three minutes with the details of everything except the bowel movements of the entire next generation.

I am not ready to live like this.

I keep my cell phone in the garage in my golf bag.

The kids bought me a GPS for my last birthday because they say I get lost every now and then going over to the grocery store or library.

I keep that in a box under my tool bench with the Blue tooth [it's red] phone I am supposed to use when I drive. I wore it once and was standing in line at Barnes and Noble talking to my wife as everyone in the nearest 50 yards was glaring at me. Seems I have to take my hearing aid out to use it, and I got a little loud.

I mean the GPS looked pretty smart on my dash board, but the lady inside was the most annoying, rudest person I had run into in a long time.

Every 10 minutes, she would sarcastically say, "Re-calc-ul-ating". You would think that she could be nicer.

It was like she could barely tolerate me. She would let go with a deep sigh and then tell me to make a U-turn at the next light. Then when I would make a right turn instead, it was not good.

When I get really lost now, I call my wife and tell her the name of the cross streets and while she is starting to develop the same tone as Gypsy, the GPS lady, at least she loves me.

To be perfectly frank, I am still trying to learn how to use the cordless phones in our house. We have had them for 4 years, but I still haven't figured out how I can lose three phones all at once and have run around digging under chair cushions and checking bathrooms and the dirty laundry baskets when the phone rings.

The world is just getting too complex for me. They even mess me up every time I go to the grocery store.

You would think they could settle on something themselves but this sudden "Paper or Plastic?" every time I check out just knocks me for a loop. I bought some of those cloth reusable bags to avoid looking confused, but I never remember to take them in with me.

Now I toss it back to them. When they ask me, "Paper or Plastic?"
I just say, "Doesn't matter to me. I am bi-sacksual." Then it's their turn to stare at me with a blank look.

I was recently asked if I tweet. I answered, No, but I do toot a lot."

PS: I know some of you are not over 50; I posted it to you to allow you to forward it to those who are.

_ Thanks, Cathy

Two Mexicans

Jose and Carlos are both beggars. They beg in different areas of town.

Carlos begs for the same amount of time as Jose, but only collects about eight or nine dollars a day.

Every day, Jose brings home a suitcase full of ten dollar bills. He drives a Mercedes, lives in a mortgage-free house, and has lots of cash to spend.

"Hey, amigo," Carlos says to Jose, "I work just as long and hard as you do, so how come you bring home a suitcase full of ten dollar bills every day?"

Jose says, "Look at your sign, what does it say?"

Carlos' sign reads: I have no work, a wife and six kids to support. "What's wrong with that?" Carlos asks him.

"No wonder you only get eight or nine dollars a day!"

Carlos says, "Alright, so what does your sign say?"

Jose's sign reads:
I only need ten dollars to get back to Mexico.
- Stolen from Phils Phun


Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Oral Exam

<-- Oral B Sex

Grandma and Grandpa are sitting on the veranda of the old folks home rocking back and forth in their rocking chairs.

Grandpa rocks forward in his chair and says to Grandma, "F**k you!"

Grandma rocks forward in her chair and says to Grandpa, "F**k you too!"

Grandpa becomes very much excited and shouts, "F**ck you!" swinging more forward again.

Grandma remains graceful but leans forward and says, "F**k you again."

This goes on for some time. Finally Grandpa says, "You know something, Grandma, this oral sex thing ain't all it's cracked up to be."

Sex is like math. Add the bed, subtract the clothes, divide the legs and hope you don't multiply.

While making love to his wife a man said, "Let's do 68!

"What's that?" she asked.

The husband replied, "You give me head and I'll owe you one."

There was this guy who always went out drinking with his friends. He would always come home very late. One night, while he was at the bar he told them his secret for being able to sneak in late.

"When I walk in the house, before the wife can say anything, I lay her down, take off her panties, and give her the best oral sex she's ever had, until she has such an orgasm that she falls into a deep sleep. Then, I wash up and go to bed. By morning, she is so pleased, she doesn't care what time I came home."

One of his friends thinks this is a great idea. So he stays out late, comes home, sneaks into the bedroom, gives his wife the best oral sex she's ever had, and goes to wash up. His wife walks into the bathroom, obviously upset that he's home so late.

"Hey, why aren't you sleeping?" he asks.

"I was, but I came in to tell you that we've got to sleep on the couch tonight, 'cause my mother is sleeping in our bedroom."

A young minister prepares to go to bed with his bride on their wedding night. Upon entering the bedroom he sees her lying down on the bed. He hears her praying, "Please Lord, let me please my husband."

Ever conscious of his duties to the Lord, he exclaims, "Woman, don't you know that you should be on your knees?"

Her surprised reply: "Well, OK, if that's what you want. But I always get hiccups when I do it that way."

Larry gets home late one night and his wife, Linda, says, "Where in the hell have you been?"

Larry replies, "I was out getting a tattoo."

"A tattoo?" she frowned. "What kind of tattoo did you get?"

"I got a hundred dollar bill on my privates," he said proudly.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she said, shaking her head in disdain. "Why on earth would an accountant get a hundred Dollar bill tattooed on his privates?"

"Well, one, I like to watch my money grow. Two, once in a while I like to play with my money. Three, I like how money feels in my hand. And, lastly, instead of you going out shopping, you can stay right here at home and blow a hundred bucks anytime you want."

A little boy walks into his parents room to see his mom on top of his dad bouncing up and down. The mom sees her son and quickly dismounts, worried about what her son has seen. She dresses quickly and goes to find him. The son sees his mom and asks, "What were you and dad doing?"

The mother replies, "Well you know your dad has a big tummy and sometimes I have to get on top of it to help flatten it."

"You're wasting your time." says the boy.

"Why is that?" asked him mom, puzzled.

"Well when you go shopping the lady next door comes over and gets on her knees and blows it right back up."


Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Prismatic Post

May There Be Rainbows

Animated Gifs

Whither Thou Goest !


Monday, July 19, 2010

Butterfly Dreams (25)

(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)-
The Artifice

A moth drawn to a flame ... does it know that it will be consumed by that which attracts it? What drives the lemming to plunge to its death from a treacherous precipice?

I didn't know the answers to those questions, but I did know that a burning insatiable lust was in control of my psyche and driving my primal instincts. Stripped of resistance as well as clothing, I scooped her into my arms and carried her to the waiting bed.

Fueled by her searing lips and heated breath upon my neck, I could feel a fire within my brain. Centered behind my eyes, it was a burning passion, the likes of which I'd never felt before.

The moment was shattered by a sudden disembodied voice somewhere nearby, "Michael! What in the hell is going on?"

Much to her surprise, I dropped my naked freight onto the bed. "What are you doing?" she shrieked. She slid from the bed and landed on the floor with a thump.

Although I was in a daze, I ignored her protests and reached for the telephone on the end table next to the bed. So wrapped up in sexual rapture, I had not heard the phone ringing. It was Brock O'Day's voice on the answering machine ...

My God, I thought to myself. I'd forgotten about him. We'd left him in the back of the HumVee at the airport!

"Brock, I'm here," I said into the handset. "Where are you?"

"Logan airport!" he snapped. "...And don't ask me how I got here. I found myself in the backseat of a friggin' ... "

"HumVee. I know," I muttered completing his sentence.

"Sweet Jesus, you mind filling me in? The last thing I remember was loading our zombie friends into my car at the precinct."

"Brock, I'm going to have to get back to you on that matter," I gulped. "Uh ... something has come up ... something I must attend to ..."

"What?" he screamed even as I let the phone fall from my hand.

My attention was drawn to the floor and to Susan. She was kneeling before me, her eyes fixed on one thing and one thing only. Before she could touch me I grabbed her by the wrists and pulled her to her feet. Her eyes were glazed in wanton abandon.

"Susan!" I shouted. "Snap out of it!"

Struggling to free herself from my grasp she cried, "Don't you understand? I must do this."

"Listen to me," I said shouting again. "You're not in control. They're in your head!" In one motion I released one of her arms and slapped her with the freed hand.

Falling onto the bed she rubbed her smarting cheek and yelped, "Why did you hit me?" In the next instant a sudden change came over her. It was as if at only that moment she'd become aware of her nakedness. She positioned her arms and hands in a frantic effort to cover herself. I gathered up her pants and top and tossed them onto the bed next to her.

Aware of my own nudity and unchanged state, I turned and sought my own clothes. With my back to her I slipped into the trousers and suggested, "Why don't you get dressed, Susan? I'll be outside."

I leaned against the closed door and let out a sigh of relief. Because of my brush with infidelity, I was riddled pangs of guilt and shame. I knew however, that my actions and those of Susan were not solely of our own volition.

Somehow, someone had been inside both of our heads. Somehow, they had tweaked the pleasure centers of our brains and broken down the barriers of personal restraint. The floodgates of carnal desire had been thrust open. But why? What purpose would our act of copulation serve them?

Then I remembered the experiments of the real Michael Black and Michelle Gray. As incredible as it had seemed at the time, they had discovered that during the height of sexual intercourse they could actually "read" each others' thoughts. On a limited basis they had even able to communicate telepathically.

I shook my head at the possibility that someone had taken their research to another level. It would certainly explain the mass illusions we had witnessed at the cottage in New Hampshire. A cloud of gloom began to encompass me. If they were able to make us think that a helicopter had exploded, how would we ever be able to know what was and what wasn't?

My thoughts turned to Michelle. Had she and Ben been subjected to the same surreptitious incursions into their minds? Would she be able to overcome the irresistible sexual urges as I had done? I groaned and hung my head in resignation. If it hadn't been for Brock O'Day's phone call, I would have no doubt succumbed to the very same urges.

"That's it!" I voiced aloud snapping my fingers. It was the sex, or moreover, the heightened brain activity during the sex act itself! Someone was using Susan to get inside my head to "read" my thoughts. So too was Ben being used to channel Michelle's thoughts! There could be no other explanation.

The so-called guardian's plan - the artifice - was to pilfer our brains for something they needed. The burning question escaped my lips as a spoken question, "What was that something?

The guestroom door swung open and Susan emerged, her eyes avoiding mine. I studied her shapely form and had a sudden but insane thought. Was it possible that our sexually heightened brain activity could be used two ways?

( To be Continued ...

Interrogating the Dead )


Thursday, July 15, 2010

Commercial Break

When Is It NOT Miller Time?


New Wine for Seniors

California vintners in the Napa Valley area, which primarily produce Pinot Blanc, Pinot Noir and Pinot Grigio wines, have developed a new hybrid grape that acts as an anti-diuretic.

It is expected to reduce the number of trips older people 
have to make to the bathroom during the night.

The new wine will be marketed as



-(Thanks, Cathy)


One evening a husband, thinking he was being funny, said to his wife,

"Perhaps we should start washing your clothes in Slim Fast."

"Maybe it would take a few inches off of your butt!"

His wife was not amused, and decided that she simply couldn't let such a comment go unrewarded.

The next morning the husband took a pair of underwear out of his drawer.

What the heck is this? he said to himself as a little 'dust' cloud appeared when he shook them out..

"Honey", he hollered into the bathroom, "Why did you put talcum powder in my underwear?"

She replied with a snicker,

"It's not talcum powder; it's Miracle Grow!"

Guys just never learn ...

not to tick off the little woman.

-(Thanks again, Cathy)


do you 
when your 
feet stink?

-(Thanks, Gretchen)


Tuesday, July 13, 2010

E-Mail Dump

A 4-plex in South Los Angeles was recently destroyed by a fire.

A Mexican family of six, all welfare recipients and gang members lived on the first floor, they died.

An Islamic group of seven welfare cheats, all illegally in the country from Kenya , lived on the second floor, and they, too, all perished in the fire.

6 Hispanic Gang Bangers and ex-cons lived on the 3rd floor and they, too, died.

A lone white couple lived on the top floor. The couple survived the fire.

Jesse Jackson, John Burris and Al Sharpton were furious. They flew into LA and met with the fire chief, on camera. They loudly demanded to know why the Blacks, Muslims, and Hispanics all died in the fire and why only the white couple lived?

The fire chief said, "They were at work."



An illegal alien in Polk County Florida who got pulled over in a routine traffic stop ended up 'executing' the deputy who stopped him. The deputy was shot eight times, including once behind his right ear at close range. Another deputy was wounded and a police dog killed

A state-wide manhunt ensued.

The murderer was found hiding in a wooded area and as soon as he took a shot at the SWAT team, officers opened fire on him They hit the guy 68 times.

Naturally, the liberal media went nuts and asked why they had to shoot the poor undocumented immigrant 68 times.

Sheriff Grady Judd told the Orlando Sentinel:

'Because that's all the ammunition we had..'

Now, is that just about the all-time greatest answer or what? !

The Coroner also reported that the illegal alien died of natural causes. When asked by a reporter how that could be since there were 68 bullet wounds in his body, he simply replied "When you are shot 68 times you are naturally gonna die."


Do you know what happened 160 years ago this fall...back in 1850?

California became a state.

The people had no electricity.
The state had no money.
Almost everyone spoke Spanish.
There were gunfights in the streets.

So basically nothing has changed except
then the women had real breasts 
and the men didn't hold hands.


Monday, July 12, 2010

Butterfly Dreams (24)

(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)-
Following Michelle's Dream

There was no getting around it, we were allowing them to call the shots, and therein lie the dilemma. Just who were the ubiquitous them? That Federal agents of an unnamed covert agency and a free-lancing rogue unit of the military were working together by all accounts seemed absurd.

Yet, it was obvious to me that they were after the same thing. Both wanted exclusivity to a weapon of unimaginable power - the human mind. To that end, with seemingly unlimited resources, they had orchestrated a massive rush hour gridlock and had kidnapped Rosie, and possibly Stu Jankowski and David as well.

Then a thought, a terrible thought struck me like a ton of bricks. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel until my knuckles began to whiten. Once again, we had played into their hands! I let loose with a low but audible groan.

"Is something wrong, Michael?" Susan asked breaking our mutual silence.

I glanced at her and replied, "Yes, there is something wrong. The whole thing reeks of wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean we should not have allowed ourselves to be separated. Michelle and I are miles apart now. In a word, we are blind."

A confused look on her face she uttered, "But I thought that was why we paired up this way, I with you and Ben with Michelle. We would be able to pass along anything said by the guardian's thoughts in our heads."

I nodded and issued biting words, "...And when was the last time you heard anything from this so-called guardian?"

"Well," she replied becoming pensive, "it was the instructions for us to go to the airport ... for a flight to Las Vegas."

"That was several miles back there," I said thrusting my hand with an extended thumb over my shoulder. "There's been nothing since?"

"No, nothing. I guess the instructions were clear enough and there is no need for further contact."

"A reasonable assumption, but there is just one problem," I asserted, "we don't know if Ben received those instructions to pass on to Michelle."

"Oh ..." she whispered and then she lapsed into silence.

"Consider this, Susan," I said raising my voice, "if he did receive instructions, how do we know they were the same? What if different instructions were given him?"

"I don't know what he hears in his head," she shrugged. "All I know is that you were supposed to be the only ones who could help us."

"Help you? Michelle and I, help you?" I muttered with stinging sarcasm. "Enlighten me if you will, by whom were you led to believe this?"

She shook her head and turned her eyes to the passenger side window. Her sudden silence, whether deliberate or forced upon her by the mind of the unknown guardian, was troubling. Was she a willing partner in an undetermined allegiance, or a helpless pawn being manipulated by our enemies?

Who was she, or more precisely, I thought, what was she? Glancing at her I mused that for someone who only two days ago had been resurrected from the grave, she was very well preserved.

I grimaced and cursed myself in silent admonishment for my moment of morbid satire. It was not at all a joking matter. She was sitting there beside me - and very much alive. And very much Susan Parsons ... ?

I knew that Susan Parsons, the woman with whom I'd fallen in love, was no longer in that body. Yet, the young woman next to me possessed all of the attributes of the woman that had captured my heart over a year ago. My thoughts, rife with memories of the sexual tensions Susan and I had experienced then, were beginning to manifest themselves into a verboten desire for this woman.

I hadn't really noticed her attire until that moment. My eyes traced a path from the belt of her hip-hugging jeans to the expanse of her bare midriff. Her shirt tail was tied high above her navel beneath her breasts.

My eyes were on her d├ęcolletage when I realized she was looking in my direction. Diverting my eyes to the road ahead, the blush on my cheeks was undeniable. From the corner of my eye I could see a smile forming on her lips. She then looked down at her ample cleavage, shifted in the seat and methodically arched her back.

For the next fifteen miles we spoke not a word but kept our eyes on the road ahead. It was only when I began to veer to the right that I announced, "This exit will connect us to the airport."

One hour later, both frustrated and outraged, I stormed out of the terminal with Susan in tow. Our efforts had been for naught. So wrapped up in our rash plans to escape the soldiers and the Feds, Michelle and I had not given any thought to the flight schedules. The reservations I had made were for a three o'clock flight on the only direct flight to Vegas that day. It had lifted off three hours earlier.

"We'll have to wait until tomorrow morning and catch the nine a.m. flight," I growled.

"What are we going to do in the meantime?" Susan moaned.

"We're taking a taxi home," I said without thinking, but quickly elaborated, "My home, the home where I live with my wife Michelle."

Showing no reaction to the inference of my statement she asked, "What about the truck we came in?"

"Do you know know how hard it'll be trying to hide a HumVee in Boston? I'll let the military worry about retrieving it."

I hustled the woman into the back of the first cab in line and gave the driver the address to my apartment building in downtown Boston. Sensing my desire to refrain from idle conversation she settled back and watched the scenery as it passed by.

My thoughts were of Michelle and of her possible whereabouts. I could only hope that she was dealing with the presence of Ben with more dignity than I had displayed being in the company of Susan. Moreover, I was hoping that when she learned of the flight status, she too would proceed to our apartment.

Once we were in the apartment I wasted no time in showing her to the guest room. I turned on the light and familiarized her with the layout. "If you wish to freshen up, you'll find towels in that closet. In the closet over there you'll find some clothes ... pants ... blouses. You're just about Michelle's size."

I couldn't close the door to the guest room fast enough. I didn't want to talk to her. I didn't want to see her ... to look upon her. I tried to let go of the door knob but my grip tightened.

"She's not the woman I love," I muttered to myself. "She's not Susan!"

A sensuous voice in my head was calling out to me. "Ben, come to me. I need you. I want you."

I thrust open the door and stepped into the room. I gasped as I saw her standing naked by the window. I closed and locked the door and began unbuttoning my shirt. A guttural moan escaped my lips, "I want you too, Susan."

( To be continued ...

The Artifice )


Wednesday, July 07, 2010

Cyber Sex - His 1st Time

A nerdy and less than worldly young man decides to try "cyber sex" for the first time.  After much mulling about what to use for a screen name, he finally decides to use one that suggested that he was very much experienced, and one that would guarantee to attract the hottest girls.  He puffed out his chest as he signed in with the name "Wellhung."

What follows is the transcript of his first contact with a cyber babe.

Wellhung: Hello, Sweetheart. What do you look like?

Sweetheart: I am wearing a red silk blouse, a miniskirt and high heels. I work out every day, I'm toned and perfect. My measurements are 36-24-36. What do you look like?

Wellhung: I'm 6'3" and about 250 pounds.I wear glasses and I have on a pair of blue sweat pants I just bought from Walmart.I'm also wearing a T-shirt with a few spots of barbecue sauce on it from smells funny.

Sweetheart: I want you.Would you like to screw me?

Wellhung: OK

Sweetheart: We're in my bedroom.There's soft music playing on the stereo and candles on my dresser and night table.I'm looking up into your eyes, smiling. My hand works its way down to your crotch and begins to fondle your huge, swelling bulge.

Wellhung: I'm gulping, I'm beginning to sweat.

Sweetheart: I'm pulling up your shirt and kissing your chest.

Wellhung: Now I'm unbuttoning your blouse.My hands are trembling.

Sweetheart: I'm moaning softly.

Wellhung: I'm taking hold of your blouse and sliding it off slowly.

Sweetheart: I'm throwing my head back in pleasure.The cool silk slides off my warm skin.I'm rubbing your bulge faster, pulling and rubbing.

Wellhung: My hand suddenly jerks spastically and accidentally rips a hole in your blouse.I'm sorry.

Sweetheart: That's OK, it wasn't really too expensive.

Wellhung: I'll pay for it.

Sweetheart: Don't worry about it.I'm wearing a lacy black bra.My soft breasts are rising and falling, as I breath harder and harder.

Wellhung: I'm fumbling with the clasp on your bra.I think it's stuck. Do you have any scissors?

Sweetheart: I take your hand and kiss it softly.I'm reaching back undoing the clasp. The bra slides off my body. The air caresses my breasts. My nipples are erect for you.

Wellhung: How did you do that? I'm picking up the bra and inspecting the clasp.

Sweetheart: I'm arching my back. Oh baby. I just want to feel your tongue all over me.

Wellhung: I'm dropping the bra. Now I'm licking your, you know, breasts. They're neat!

Sweetheart: I'm running my fingers through your hair. Now I'm nibbling your ear.

Wellhung: I suddenly sneeze. Your breasts are covered with spit and phlegm.

Sweetheart: What?

Wellhung: I'm so sorry. Really.

Sweetheart: I'm wiping your phlegm off my breasts with the remains of my blouse.

Wellhung: I'm taking the sopping wet blouse from you. I drop it with a plop.

Sweetheart: OK. I'm pulling your sweat pants down and rubbing your hard tool.

Wellhung: I'm screaming like a woman. Your hands are cold! Yeeee!

Sweetheart: I'm pulling up my miniskirt. Take off my panties.

Wellhung: I'm pulling off your panties. My tongue is going all over, in and out nibbling on you...umm... wait a minute.

Sweetheart: What's the matter?

Wellhung: I've got a pubic hair caught in my throat. I'm choking.

Sweetheart: Are you OK?

Wellhung: I'm having a coughing fit. I'm turning all red.

Sweetheart: Can I help?

Wellhung: I'm running to the kitchen, choking wildly. I'm fumbling through the cabinets, looking for a cup. Where do you keep your cups?

Sweetheart: In the cabinet to the right of the sink.

Wellhung: I'm drinking a cup of water. There, that's better.

Sweetheart: Come back to me, lover.

Wellhung: I'm washing the cup now.

Sweetheart: I'm on the bed arching for you.

Wellhung: I'm drying the cup. Now I'm putting it back in the cabinet. And now I'm walking back to the bedroom. Wait, it's dark, I'm lost. Where's the bedroom?

Sweetheart: Last door on the left at the end of the hall.

Wellhung: I found it.

Sweetheart: I'm tuggin' off your pants. I'm moaning. I want you so badly.

Wellhung: Me too.

Sweetheart: Your pants are off. I kiss you passionately-our naked bodies pressing each other.

Wellhung: Your face is pushing my glasses into my face. It hurts.

Sweetheart: Why don't you take off your glasses?

Wellhung: OK, but I can't see very well without them. I place the glasses on the night table.

Sweetheart: I'm bending over the bed. Give it to me, baby!

Wellhung: I have to pee. I'm fumbling my way blindly across the room and toward the bathroom.

Sweetheart: Hurry back, lover.

Wellhung: I find the bathroom and it's dark. I'm feeling around for the toilet. I lift the lid.

Sweetheart: I'm waiting eagerly for your return.

Wellhung: I'm done going. I'm feeling around for the flush handle, but I can't find it. Uh-oh!

Sweetheart: What's the matter now?

Wellhung: I've realized that I've peed into your laundry hamper. Sorry again. I'm walking back to the bedroom now, blindly feeling my way.

Sweetheart: Mmm, yes. Come on.

Wellhung: OK, now I'm going to put know know...woman's thing.

Sweetheart: Yes! Do it, baby! Do it!

Wellhung: I'm touching your smooth butt. It feels so nice. I kiss your neck. Umm, I'm having a little trouble here.

Sweetheart: I'm moving my ass back and forth, moaning. I can't stand it another second! Slide in! Screw me now!

Wellhung: I'm flaccid.

Sweetheart: What?

Wellhung: I'm limp. I can't sustain an erection.

Sweetheart: I'm standing up and turning around; an incredulous look on my face.

Wellhung: I'm shrugging with a sad look on my face, my weiner all floppy. I'm going to get my glasses and see what's wrong.

Sweetheart: No, never mind. I'm getting dressed. I'm putting on my underwear. Now I'm putting on my wet nasty blouse.

Wellhung: No wait! Now I'm squinting, trying to find the night table. I'm feeling along the dresser, knocking over cans of hair spray, picture frames and your candles.

Sweetheart: I'm buttoning my blouse. Now I'm putting on my shoes.

Wellhung: I've found my glasses. I'm putting them on. My God! One of our candles fell on the curtain. The curtain is on fire! I'm pointing at it, a shocked look on my face.

Sweetheart: Go to hell. I'm logging off, you loser!

Wellhung: Now the carpet is on fire! Oh noooo!

Sweetheart: (logged off)


Tuesday, July 06, 2010

Voices In My Head

Sometimes you never know where or when an idea will pop into your head, or what stimuli might spawn it. As an example of this, I have resurrected this piece originally posted in March of 2005 from my archives.

Imagine sitting in your vehicle about to go to work one morning, when suddenly you hear the voice of Vic Perrin in your head. You can only wonder if it is a dream, indeed you hope so, otherwise you need to get your money back from that shrink. If it is not a dream, you begin to fear what may lie ahead for you.

Just who in the heck is Vic Perrin anyway, you ask?

Well, it happened to me this past Monday! My mind drifted back in time, searching memories that had become fragmented, scattered within the recesses of my mind. Then there it was, a recollection of the voice. Though the name was not one I would ordinarily remember, his distinctive voice reciting the all too familiar narrative gave me cause to feel dread.

"There is nothing wrong with your television set. Do not attempt to adjust the picture. We are controlling the transmission. If we wish to make it louder, we will bring up the volume. If we wish to make it softer, we will tune it to a whisper. We will control the horizontal. We will control the vertical. We can roll the image, make it flutter. We can change the focus to a soft blur or sharpen it to crystal clarity. For the next hour sit quietly and we will control all that you see and hear. We repeat: there is nothing wrong with your television set. You are about to participate in a great adventure. You are about to experience the awe and mystery which reaches from the inner mind to...The Outer Limits."
I began to wonder just what was in store for me that day. Was I the only one hearing the Control Voice? Were there others who would be acting out same scenario with me? Incapsulated images of that TV program were flashing from behind my eyes, yet I could see them clearly. Then it dawned upon me that I was seeing pieces of episodes that aired four decades ago. How was it that I was recalling the details of each individual episode?

A long gaping yawn that came over me, reminding me of the sleep I had lost the night before. Why had I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning knowing I had to get to work the next morning? What was it I was watching on TV last night? Like a bolt out of the blue, it hit me. There had been a televised marathon of The Outer Limits over the weekend.

I was relieved that it all made sense. I wasn't about to live a day of suspense or terror. No alien beings or spirits were going to besiege me. No vortexes disrupting the space-time continuum were going to whisk me off into the midst of the Battle of Little Big Horn. My brain was just simply draining some of the overload absorbed from the twelve hours of television.

The tension abated, I engaged the transmission and left my driveway to face my obligated day of work. The Outer Limits a fading memory, I was about to turn onto the main drag when a strange series of musical notes began to play somewhere nearby. A few quick glances in the rear and side mirrors gave me nothing to dread. An ice cream truck warming up in a driveway, was playing its melody.

I made my left hand turn, but had traversed only about a hundred feet when I slammed on my brakes. In spite being out of earshot of the ice cream truck, I heard the notes louder than before. Then there was a voice, a different voice this time, but also a familiar one.

"You are entering a dimension not of sight or sound, but of the mind...."
When originally posted, this was appropriately enough titled "The Outer Limits."


Monday, July 05, 2010

Butterfly Dreams (23)

(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)-
The Guardian

When we rounded the corner of the cottage I stopped to survey the driveway and surrounding grounds. Sitting upright and unattended was the HumVee that we had visualized being tipped onto its side by the force of the exploding helicopter. Gone were the soldiers and agents whose bodies had lay strewn about the driveway. Gone too was the helicopter.

Michelle slipped past me and shouted, "Over there - a body!" She rushed to the unmoving form and knelt by it. She cast a glance at me as I approached and announced, "It's Sergeant O'Day."

"Brock? Is he alive?" I asked with a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach. I held my breath and watched as she placed her finger tip against his neck.

"Yes, he's alive," she nodded with visible relief on her countenance. "But he's unresponsive."

I exhaled and said, "He's been drugged. They said he'd be out for several hours." Placing my hands under the sergeant's arms I peered up at Ben and pointed to Brock's legs, "Let's carry him inside."

"No," he protested. "We cannot stay here."

"He's right," Susan chimed in excitedly. For a moment her eyes appeared glazed and she tilted her head in the direction of the highway. "They are on their way back."

It was obvious to me that their remarks were the product of projected thoughts, no doubt from our so called guardian. Having experienced similar broadcast thoughts the year before, I had no reason to question their perceived clairvoyance. Why only they were receiving those thoughts was a question we'd have to deal with later.

To Ben I said, "We'll put Brock in the HumVee." Before lifting him from the ground I turned to Michelle, "We need to split up ..."

She nodded and responded, "Yes, I agree. We'll leave in different directions, one to the north and the other vehicle should head south."

With Brock positioned upright in the back seat and secured with the seat and shoulder belts, Ben offered, "I think Susan should ride with you ... and I should go with Michelle."

Michelle let loose an audible gasp. Clearing her throat she waved for me to come over to her. "He's right, of course. But ..."

"I know. I know what you're feeling. Looking at them, it's like looking into a mirror at ourselves. I'm not comfortable with it either," I said, "but we can't let them out of our sight."

"We'll have to trust our emotions and try to remember just who our passengers are." She kissed my cheek and mused, "Whoever they really are!"

I held onto her for a moment and asked, "Where should we rendezvous?"

"I have a feeling that our two friends will be determining that with their special GPS," she opined.


Grinning she whispered, "Guardian Positioning System, what else?"

We glanced around to see that the pair had already planted themselves into the respective vehicles, Ben in the passenger seat of Michelle's car and Susan in the HumVee. It seemed that we had no choice but to put ourselves into the hands of our resurrected bodies and an unseen guardian.

Two minutes later I watched as Michelle turned left opting for the northerly route. I floored the HumVee and veered to the right. From the rear view mirror I saw her car disappear around a bend in the road.

I could feel Susan's eyes on me. It was troubling to look upon her so I kept my eyes on the road ahead. I could imagine that Michelle was experience similar discomfort.

I cleared my throat and spoke, "I think I should avoid the highway and take this back road coming up on the right."

Her hand reached out and landed upon my arm, "No. They are on that road. You must take the highway."

The entrance ramp for Interstate 95 South was a hundred yards ahead. I stepped on the gas. The inertia of my wild turn onto the looping ramp sent the woman sideways against me. Her hand that had been on my arm landed on my leg, high up on my thigh.

Glancing to the right and past her head I saw the other HumVee emerging from the road I had wanted to take. If I had followed my own judgment we would have ran right into them. Hidden by the craggy rocks lining the ramp we merged onto the highway unseen by our pursuers.

I eased up on the gas until we were traveling within the posted speed limit. Feeling secure on the open road I became more aware of her shoulders against me and her hand on my thigh.

"Ahem, are you trying to see if I'm glad to see you?" I said with nervous sarcasm.

"Oh?" she cried pulling her hand away and pushing herself upright in the passenger seat. "I ... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ..."

"No problem," I said. To erase the awkward moment I asked, "What's our destination? Any more from our ... guardian?"

She nodded, "Yes, but I don't understand why we must go there."

"Go where?"

"To the airport. You made reservations for a flight to Las Vegas," she replied with a shrug.

"Whoa, wait a minute!" I exclaimed. I slowed down and pulled over into the breakdown lane. I turned and faced her, "That was only a part of our plan to get you and Ben out of Boston. It was to throw off the Feds."

She blinked her eyes and a glazed appearance came over them. It was apparent that she was straining to receive a mental communique. She lifted her hands up to her temples and muttered, "Sometimes it ... it hurts."

Moments later she gathered her composure and said, "It is imperative that we go there. The guardian is there waiting for us." She looked up at me and shook her head, "The voice is gone. There was nothing more."

I groaned and pushed my head against the headrest. "Can I at least assume that Ben has gotten the same instructions?"

"I ... I guess so."

"Just who's the puppet and who's the puppeteer?" I mumbled. I slammed my fists upon the steering wheel. I spun around to face her and shouted, "Who are you?"

Tears were welling up in the corners of her eyes and she began to sob. "I ... I don't know ... I don't know!" she screeched.

I floored the accelerator and moaned in resignation, "Swell, just swell."

( To be continued ...

Following Michelle's Dream )