30 January 2007


A single red light bulb washed the room with a sickly glow. It was impossible to tell the color of the featureless walls. They were hard, textured. My head ached, apparently from leaning back against one of those walls. I groggily noted that I was nude. My ass ached too, from the cold floor. I could hardly feel it. I’m having trouble focusing. It feels as if I’m having double vision, but it’s hard to tell with the washed out quality of the light. I squeeze my eyelids together in an attempt to clear my head, to focus on something. My body feels sluggish, drugged. I force them open, again. Peer between my legs. There’s a note on the floor. It seems to be written in red ink, the difference in the paper and the writing barely noticeable. I concentrate. Put my hand over it for some shade. I can see it better, now.

You will die here. The only way to save yourself is to remove two of the following six items from your body.






Genitals –you have 30 seconds to choose, and five minutes to finish.

I lay my head back in shock, and notice for the first time that hanging on the wall above my head are an ice pick, a razor blade, and a hand axe.

I can feel the seconds ticking away. Somehow, I know this note is truth. What order, what order? I reach up, grabbing the ice pick. A tear rolls down my face. I jam it in, swirling it around and scrambling the area. A million nails are pounding in to my head, so I switch hands, repeat the action on the other side. I’m screaming, hysterical, and still working the pick around. Quickly, before I lose too much blood, and my nerve, I reach and grab the axe with a bloody hand. The blood looks black in this light. I try to get a good grip, but blood flows down my face, and it’s so hard to grasp it. I bring it down with a resounding bang. Sparks flash as it cleaves completely through. The pain is too much. Too much. I feel consciousness flowing like the blood from my body. My last thought is that I didn’t get the other one. I’m a dead man.

Awareness snuck back. I breathed the smell of clean. The smell of hospital. My eyes open almost involuntarily. There is a deadness around me – ah, no sound. And worse – I can still feel my left foot.

So thanks to Susan for that one. Q, yours is next.


29 January 2007

Down With The Tax Man

Mission Briefing: The IRS arrived at Subject’s house and entered the premises. After unrolling the 10’ long scroll listing all tax violations, delinquencies, moral turpitude, and sexual deviance of Subject, they proceeded to strip the place. They took the furniture. They took the books. They took the electronics. They took the dishes AND the food. After taking one last look through the place, one intuitive agent located the hidden panel in the closet. He called HQ and told them the mission was completed. He called UHaul and had them drop off a small trailer. He proceeded to open the panel, and empty the hidden study of every scrap of leather, handcuffs, magazines, home video, and DVD’s. He proceeded to fill that trailer. He hooked that Uhaul to his government vehicle and prepared to head home. As he walked out the door with the last of the Playboy first editions, five $100 bills fell from the August Issue, swirled in the wind, and blew back into the garage.

Your Mission:

The Subject retains Clothes (damn it, if they had taken them, I could write them off at tax time next year and get a new wardrobe!), his family (I offered to pay if he’d take my mother in that van), his job (what luck – I don’t even get six weeks vacation on unemployment, but I do get to ride the effing bus to work now that the car is gone), and the $500.00.

The Challenge: What do you replace first?

The Answer: Clearly, clearly, you MUST replace the Porn first and foremost. The Sigo and family will either put up with the temporary setback or leave, and there won’t be much to do to stop them. The electronics are no good without power to run them, or to charge their batteries. That money won’t go far towards keeping the power on. The furniture – sorry folks, but why in the hell would you need a couch to lie on if you can’t watch TV. Who needs a desk if you can’t have the computer on it. Who needs a bed when you aren’t getting laid? Ha ha ha ha ha. Yeah. Dishes are highly overrated. If you replace the food, then you have to replace the dishes, then you have to pay to keep the water on in order to wash the dishes, then you have to buy the furniture to keep the dishes in, and then on top of that, you have to buy more furniture to sit and eat on from the dishes. I’m tellin’ ya. DON’T Ever replace the dishes first. It’s a vicious cycle leading only to misery, debt, and tax fraud.

Summary: Thanks for the Idea, BD. But I think it was a rhetorical question. There is only one possible answer. I can’t believe that I let you dupe me into actually exercising brain cells on that. Too much like work. I should have just led off and let the little head do the thinking. So you got me. Here’s the ten spot I owe ya.


26 January 2007

Truth or Dare?

Since everyone in our local blogosphere seems to be undergoing some kind of writers block, lately, I’m going to have to resort to the Road Chick / Fringes patented “Buy a Subject” from the readers. So, at your convenience, in the comments, please list anything you’re interested in reading my bit on. This narrowly limits the subjects to sex, flogs, depression, and stomach flu, if you want real answers, but I am more than happy to take a stab about anything else anyone is actually interested in.

Being that it has been that kind of week, though, It’d probably be in your best interest to ask only what you want to actually have answered, as I’m very liable to develop diarrhea of the mouth in addition to the points South area that has been worked to death this week. Loaded questions are legal, as well as those intended to throw me under the bus about some of our regulars, or in front of them, so to speak. A Blogosphere Truth or Dare, so to speak. Although we’re saving the Dares until at least 3 of us are partying together (any combo acceptable). Unless someone wants to start Dares with photo proof, and then I’ll go for it as long as everyone plays by the rules, Star Chamber Honor Code in effect. And if anyone sees Gyuss or Q on their blog, invite them over to play too. They are just crazy enough to make this interesting.

Truth or Dare?


22 January 2007


Have you ever seen a ghoul come crawling out of bed, skin flaking away, traces of drool flying this way and that, unable to stand, barely able to crawl, almost belly crawling like a snake towards the Great Porcelain Idol? Yes indeed, that was me this weekend. I truly thank my loving three year old daughter for passing on the kind of debilitating stomach flu that leaves a kid lifeless like a wet noodle and blows past a so called flu shot like a junkie snorting a line of coke through a rolled dollar bill, taking down both Sigo and myself within hours of each other. Then, after playing all morning without a care in the world, my five year old son goes from full of energy to another lifeless noodle in the space of only half an hour. This stuff was incredible. If onset hadn’t happened on three separate days, I would have admitted all of us for food poisoning. Absolutely insane. Screaming from both ends, the kids couldn’t take but about a dropper full of pedialite without losing it all. So I spent Friday evening to Sunday morning either on my back near the bathroom, or downstairs when it was my turn to crawl down there and watch the kids. So I’m behind on posting. My stats show it. Everyone has their bloglines or their livebookmarks set these days, so most people don’t even show up unless a new one pops up or they’ve commented on an old one. So be it, I can’t care right now. Not in me. This physical set back was not good timing in conjunction with other things going on. My one concern right now is getting back home, crawling into recliner, and watching season opener of Heroes and DVR of 24. I’ll be back eventually. I haven’t dropped off face of earth yet. I just feel that way. Or wish I had.


Photo Credit - "Silent Hill" Konami

16 January 2007

New Year's Humor Break 16JAN2007


If you read this without laughing out loud, there is something wrong with you. This is dedicated to everyone who ever attempted to get into a regular workout routine.

Dear Diary,

For my sixty-fifth birthday this year, my wife (the dear) purchased a week of personal training at the local health club for me. Although I am still in great shape since playing on my college football team 45 years ago, I decided it would be a good idea to go ahead and give it a try.

I called the club and made my reservations with a personal trainer named Belinda, who identified herself as a 26-year-old aerobics instructor and model for athletic clothing and swim wear. My wife seemed pleased with my enthusiasm to get started! The club encouraged me to keep a diary to chart my progress . . .


Started my day at 6:00 a.m.

Tough to get out of bed, but found it was well worth it when I arrived at the health club to find Belinda waiting for me. She is something of a Greek goddess -- with blond hair, dancing eyes and a dazzling white smile. Woo Hoo!! Belinda gave me a tour and showed me the machines.

She took my pulse after five minutes on the treadmill. She was alarmed that my pulse was so fast, but I attribute it to standing next to her in her Lycra aerobic outfit. I enjoyed watching the skillful way in which she conducted her aerobics class after my workout today. Very inspiring.

Belinda was encouraging as I did my sit-ups, all though my gut was already aching from holding it in the whole time she was around. This is going to be a FANTASTIC week!!


I drank a whole pot of coffee, but I finally made it out the door. Belinda made me lie on my back and push a heavy iron bar into the air then she put weights on it! My legs were a little wobbly on the treadmill, but I made the full mile. Belinda's rewarding smile made it all worthwhile. I feel GREAT!!

It's a whole new life for me.


The only way I can brush my teeth is by laying on the toothbrush on the counter and moving my mouth back and forth over it. I believe I have a hernia in both pectorals. Driving was OK as long as I didn't try to steer or stop. I parked on top of a GEO in the club parking lot. Belinda was impatient with me, insisting that my screams bothered other Club members.

Her voice is a little too perky for early in the morning and when she scolds, She gets this nasally whine that is VERY annoying. My chest hurt when I got on the treadmill, so Belinda put me on the stair monster. Why the hell would anyone invent a machine to simulate an activity rendered obsolete by elevators? Belinda told me it would help me get in shape and enjoy life.

She said some other shit too.


Belinda was waiting for me with her vampire-like teeth exposed as her thin, cruel lips were pulled back in a full snarl. I couldn't help being a half an hour late, it took me that long to tie my shoes. Belinda took me to work out with dumbbells. When she was not looking, I ran and hid in the men's room.

She sent Lars to find me. Then, as punishment,

she put me on the rowing machine -- which I sank.


I hate that bitch Belinda more than any human being has ever hated any other human being in the history of the world. Stupid, skinny, anemic little

cheerleader. If there was a part of my body I could move without

unbearable pain, I would beat her with it. Belinda wanted me to work on my triceps. I don't have any triceps! And if you don't want dents

In the floor, don't hand me the darn barbells or anything that weighs more

than a sandwich. The treadmill flung me off and I landed on a health and

nutrition teacher. Why couldn't it have been someone softer, like the drama coach or the choir director?


Belinda left a message on my answering machine in her grating, shrilly voice wondering why I did not show up today. Just hearing her made me want to smash the machine with my planner. However, I lacked the strength to even use the TV remote and ended up catching eleven straight hours of the Weather Channel.


I'm having the Church van pick me up for services today so I can go and thank GOD that this week is over. I will also pray that next year my wife will choose a gift for me that is fun -- like a root canal or a vasectomy.

Severe Weather and Traffic Warning

My sympathies go out to all of you that were or may be affected by this wicked storm that is ravishing the country right now. Being me, however, I could manage to find some humor in a rotten corpse. So here’s some news flashes for those of you that that live above the 30th Parallel north of Houston, TX.

The various school districts just north of Houston made the decision last night to close schools this morning in order to avoid the projected ice storm that DIDN”T happen. Streets throughout Houston and to the north are clear and dry this morning, though it’s bite ass cold for those of us that are used to 45 – 50 degrees being very cold here. This was all done, I would suspect, to avoid traffic snarls, and to keep our children as safe as possible in the event that the dangerous conditions actually occurred.

Has any single person of responsibility in this matter bothered to drive through morning rush hour traffic around here? If we’re trying to keep the kids safe, they’ll have to be home schooled, as allowing them to enter a vehicle that intends to brave this traffic is like handing them a pistol with which to play Russian Roulette. Which brings me to the other point – Traffic is bad everywhere, an all major cities and even some minor ones. No one sixty or seventy years ago ever planned on the population that is driving on our highways and byways. Now you can’t fix it with other than frequent and dollar consuming Imminent Domain property grabs. So we’re all in the same boat. So here are my issues of the day – and I hope that SOMEONE out there feels the same.

1. A new driving test needs to be instituted – new drivers and, starting at age 40, drivers who wish to renew their license must be able to demonstrate, on a heavy traffic road, the ability to drive with the flow of traffic, no matter how fast that traffic is going. If that means Grandma doesn’t get a license anymore because she’s more of a hazard to commuters around her with her slow ass driving, then she needs to find alternate transportation.

2. Cops should concentrate more on those blocking the flow of traffic than on those exceeding the speed limits. And stay the hell out of the fast lane if you intend to drive the speed limit. Here’s your first clue, dumb ass. When you are in Rush hour traffic, in the left or fastest lane, and there are 300 plus yards of empty road in front of you, and very irritated looking drivers keep passing you on the right, NEWS FLASH! You are the effing traffic jamb! Get the hell out of the way, you stupid f**k!

3. More road rage is caused by those hypocritical “defensive drivers” who delight in following every speed limit to the tenth of a mile an hour than was EVER caused by speeders. You pride yourself on your driving, yet you are causing more road rage and accidents around you from frustrated motorists trying desperately to get around you than if you stood on your hood in the middle of downtown and started flipping the bird to everyone. Get an effing clue.

4. Keep pulling out in front of me and moseying along at 30 miles under the speed I am driving as I approach you. Some day I’m not going to screech on my brakes to cover your ignorance. Some day I’m just going to tap my brakes and put my entire front end through your side wall. Everyone behind me will see the brake lights. They will not see my other foot on the gas, accelerating. I will effing maim you in the process if I don’t crush you outright. It’s called natural selection. Retarded idiots like you will never learn. Natural selection will weed you out. Your bullshit will get you killed. With any luck before you can further damage the human race by having offspring.

5. If you do something to endanger my children while they are in the car, do not be surprised when I get out at the next light and put a .45 round through your left temple. I am merely doing a service to the community by keeping their children safe, too.

6. While you are merging into one lane, or entering the freeway, and there is space behind me, do not attempt to speed up and cut in front of me. I will not swerve. I will not slow down to let you in. I will speed up enough to eliminate that option. I will not move over simply because you are in an SOV and think you can inch over a bit at a time and that I will finally give way. In a merge situation, I will let one vehicle merge in front of me, like it is supposed to happen. I will look on in complete mirth and satisfaction while you hit the traffic barrier or go over the edge into the river. Such rudeness deserves only one answer – and that is to put a stop to it at every opportunity. If you die in the process, then natural selection has succeeded once again, and the roads are on their way to being more safe.

7. For those of you out there that are constantly guilty of the above transgressions – you should be shot on site, period. It makes the roads safer, eases the environmental burden, and does self handling on population control. The only deterrent to increasing rudeness and stupidity in drivers is instant and unequivocal justice at the business end of a large caliber firearm. So keep f**king with me, a$$holes. Some day I will snap, and the day that I do, I guarantee the following morning that the streets of our city will be ten to twenty non-driving parasites safer.


13 January 2007

Winter's Chill

Here Now, for your Reading Pleasure - Susan from Random Thoughts

My breath seemed to cling and hang in the air. What is normally clear takes on the color of the snow that’s stuck to my long hair. I was far away, though, very far away somewhere warm and happy. At that place I’m standing, the breeze caressing my lightly tanned skin as the sun blazes down on me. I lift my face towards it, feeling the healing rays kiss my skin. I smile.

I’ve faded so far into this fantasy that the harsh smack to my face barely stings. It’s the second strike that leaves the real mark, knocking me to the ground. I try to push myself back up when I feel the foot slam into my stomach. A sound escaped my throat that I didn’t even recognize. Did that come from me? Was it a scream or protest? A word of some sort that didn’t truly develop before the next assault on my body begins? The first couple of kicks come from him with no words or expression. I try to roll away, try to get up but I’m repeatedly pushed down and the kicks continue. For one moment, the kicks stop as I rest my face against the ground. Oddly, it isn’t as cold as I expected. For the snow to be piling up I expected the ground to be icy to touch. Instead, it has a sort of warmth to it. A comforting warmth. I wish upon wish I could just sink into its arms and make the pain stop.

“Whose is it? Don’t you dare say mine, you bitch. I’ve know you’ve been screwing around on me for months.”

My mouth barely opens before a foot slams into it. I heard a crack. It echoed. Was that the sound of my neck snapping? My jaw breaking? I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and pull my knees to my chest, trying to protect the life I’d told him a few moments before had just begun to exist inside me. I remembered smiling, gushing with excitement about the family we were about to start. I had expected him, the man who said he loved me more than anything, the one who had called me his angel and made plans for us to be a family, to embrace me and run around telling everyone the news. I hadn’t expected this…the next kick landed across the left side of my head, more a stomp than a kick. The darkness rushed up around me and I welcomed it.

My eyes opened slowly. I was in bed. His arms were wrapped around me. It had been 3 months since I’d told him the news. Things had simmered down until tonight when I’d woke to him beating me with a wooden coat hanger until it broke, then his steel toe boot. The pain was so horrible I tasted bile in my mouth immediately. I fought back against him, nails digging at his eyes and flesh, screaming no but my screams fell on deaf ears. Now, though, the pain was worse. So much worse. I could barely move, let alone walk to the bathroom. God why did it feel like the insides were being ripped out of me? I started throwing up, I didn’t even notice him standing there, pointing out the pool that was seeping from me. “Good riddance” he mumbled as he left me there. Alone. On the cold floor. Bleeding.

I woke up, a scream ripping across the lips. Both of the cats went running from the room as I jumped out of bed, arms wrapped tightly around my stomach. The pain was back, though only a memory of it. I ran to the bathroom, throwing up until my body shook from weakness. After a few moments I managed to drag myself to my feet. It was cold in the house, I could see my breath. The tears rolling down my cheeks were warm and I stared at myself in the mirror. My arms still stayed wrapped around my midsection protectively. As the tears became a sob, I let my arms drop and stared at my flat stomach. The cold of the house crept inside me, causing the tears to stop and coaxing me back into my bed.

I was far away, though, very far away somewhere warm and happy. At that place I’m standing, the breeze caressing my lightly tanned skin as the sun blazes down on me. I lift my face towards it, feeling the healing rays kiss my skin. I smile.


ps. Thanks for the opportunity to guest blog, Michael.

12 January 2007

Have a Bice Day

First I would like to thank Michael for allowing me to guest post today here at Cardiac Fantasies™. I consider it an honor to be asked and this is a extra special day seeing as how this is my first ever guest post anywhere.

I am a relatively new voice on the blogging horizon as my site has only been in operation for just a little over a month. I write satire and social criticism. Which is a nice way of saying I ridicule everything. This post is no exception.

There is so much going on in the world that is ridicule-worthy that it's really hard to know where to begin. It has become too easy as most stories already seem like punch lines just waiting for the joke to be written. Here are just a few to ponder.

There's the story of the short reign of
Warsaw's new archbishop Stanislaw Wielgus who was revealed as a cold-war spy for the Polish secret police. The Vatican issued this brief press release in response, "Hey! At least he wasn't a pedophile!"

A little over three years post-invasion
President Bush is wrapping up his planning stage for his new strategy in Iraq. Rumor has it this strategy could possibly involve a new American military tactic called 'winning'. However, this could just be political buzz.

Britney Spears admitted on her website that she has been far from perfect but tells fans that she looks forward to coming back this year bigger and better than ever. However, her underwear would neither confirm nor deny it's plans for a comeback.

And last, but certainly not least, is the story of the Atlanta woman, Debbie Bingham, who was visiting family in St. Petersburg, FL, on New Years Eve when a bullet that had been shot into the air came down and struck her in the left shoulder.

The bullet lodged in the bra strap and was cut out by doctors.
Ms. Bingham received five stitches. No word on whether the bra survived. So the next time you're heading out ladies remember your bra does more than lift and support... it protects!


11 January 2007


OTHERLAND – otherwise known as IRL, in real life, etc. etc. ad nauseum. Otherland is a funny place, with its own rules. Unlike the real world here in the Innernets, 0therland is a place of pain and suffering, with the occasional happy high so you can tell the difference. In Otherland, your looks, your income, the dollar value of your wardrobe, and any other materialistic thing that you can think of is suddenly more important than your personality, your sense of humor, and your ability to express yourself through words. I firmly believe that meeting a Sigo on the internet has a much better chance of lasting awhile, if you are getting to know them there. It takes most of the materialistic things out. It takes looks out of the equation, if you do it right. Why not get to know someone here? We all put up faces, whether in Otherland or here in the real world online. Yes, you know that the real world is here online. You wouldn’t spend so much time here if you didn’t. The unfortunate fact of life in Otherland is that, these days, you are basically putting your life on the line when you start seeing someone, as it only takes one date to become the prize target of the latest whack job or serial killer. Online, you can take as long as you need to get to know them, or to at least catch them out in the inconsistencies of a real fake. You also have an intermediate step, the phone. After you get to know them online, you can take your time getting to know them better on the phone, allowing you to further catch out any inconsistencies in their persona. Then finally, if and when, you can actually meet them. So at least you’ve had a couple of different ways to screen beforehand. And if you are looking for something long term, it’s the person you want to get to know, not the skin that wraps them. It’s a much stronger basis for a relationship. Sure, if you are materialistic enough, you might be disappointed in their looks when you finally meet them. In reality, how many couples do you see everyday, the plain jane couples, that are walking around happier and with more healthy relationships than those shallow get togethers based first and foremost on looks? Last, if you are looking to simply get laid, then Otherland is the place for you. But if you want to take that warping issue out of the mix, online here in the real world is the place to do it. It removes that fake front for instant gratification motive from the picture entirely (the exception being those sites that are strictly for meeting folks in your area with similar sexual tastes for exactly that – instant gratification. There are those who will believe completely 180 degrees on this. And please, put your two cents in, so that anyone who doesn’t have a firm opinion will have two explained sides to consider when developing their own ideas about it.

And now, for the other spiel I have to get in here. I was conversing with one of the regular readers and participants. Otherland and this next one are two new buzzwords that I’m coining. And I have to get them in now as she, yes she, is already rushing to the computer to take credit for them. Heh heh heh.

So here’s the other deal. Without knowing it, without planning it, and basically by some random lucky or fated chance, there are about eight or ten of us in this area of blogland that have developed into the Star Chamber. Yes, if something happens here, you can bet that the Star Chamber has planned it, executed it, and cleaned up on the profits and benefits. If you truly have to ask whether you belong to the Star Chamber, you obviously don’t. But if you are observant, and smart, and look around through the blog rings (the fact that you are reading this means there are clues to be found here), then it doesn’t take much to riddle out the members. The are running things here. They are in control. Big Brother and Wise Sister are watching over us all. So never fear, you are protected. But if you mean harm to any of them, they’ll space you out the damn airlock less pressure suit with little thought and less guilt in a heart beat. So there it is. The clues are there. For those that are curious, follow the clues and make your guesses. One of them might even tell you if you are right. And ultimately, one of them might give you the personal invite that will get you in to the Chamber. It’s all up to you.


10 January 2007

Humor Break 10JAN2007


A man was sitting on the edge of the bed, observing his wife turning back and forth, looking at herself in the mirror. Since her birthday was not far off, he asked what she'd like to have for her Birthday.
I'd like to be six again,
she replied, still looking in the mirror.
On the morning of her Birthday, he arose early, made her a nice big bowl of Lucky Charms, and then took her to Six Flags theme park. What a day ! He put her on every ride in the park; the Death Slide, the Wall of Fear, the Screaming Monster Roller Coaster...everything there was. Five hours Later they staggered out of the theme park. Her head was reeling and her stomach felt upside down. He then took her to a
McDonald's where he ordered her a Happy Meal with extra fries and a chocolate shake. Then it was off to a movie, popcorn, a soda pop, and her favorite candy, M&M's. What a fabulous adventure! Finally she wobbled home with her husband and collapsed into bed exhausted.
He leaned over his wife with a big smile and lovingly asked, Well Dear, what was it like being six again ??
Her eyes slowly opened and her expression suddenly changed.

I meant my Dress Size, you dumb ass!!

Ever get that feeling that we just can’t win, even when we DO listen to them? Anyone else caught hell even though you spent a lot of extra time and extra effort doing something for your Sigo that you thought they really wanted? Go Figure.

Luck of the Draw

There are times in our lives that we find ourselves unreasonably wishing that we could trade places with someone else, or exchange our problems for another set. Like any other thing in life, wishing isn’t going to make it happen, but that fact won’t stop the longing or the desire. In some cases, those with steel and willpower, and the heart to follow through are able to work and to gain that thing that they want so much in life, or out of life. There are far too many instances, however, that trading things away is not physically possible without the aid of technology not invented yet, or an omnipotent being that is actually capable of 1) acknowledging the problem on an individual basis, one person’s problems against that of five plus billion people on this globe and 2) actually cares enough on an individual basis to actually do something about it. Without bashing anyone’s beliefs, let us all for the moment operate under the premise that new technology and omnipotent entities are unavailable at present.

At times in my life, I would trade this anxiety, paranoia, social ineptitude, depression, and chemical imbalance for practically any other illness or disease. I’ve gotten good use out of my legs, and the other items below the waist aren’t getting any play any more, either. So at times, I find myself believing that I would gladly be paralyzed from the waist down than to spend my whole life opening my mouth at all the wrong times only to say the wrong thing, or the thing guaranteed to annoy and offend. I wish that I was crazy enough for them to commit me to an asylum, so I could get away from this, be drugged into complacency and apathy about the world around me to keep me quiet, and shuffled into a little room with crayons and plenty of paper to record what’s left of my thought and shattered brainwaves for posterity. To be finally free of all of the responsibilities that I’m so not cut out for, and that keep dragging me into the dirt at every opportunity. To crawl away, hide, and eventually die in a place safe from all of the internal horrors that this world causes me. Yes, so now I’ve managed to piss off all of the handicapped people in wheelchairs that who will never have the opportunity to walk again, and who now feel that I’ve picked them out as a problem group, and sold them down the River.

But we don’t get to trade, nor do we get to pick out what our problems will be in life. We roll the dice, hope its not snake eyes, and then turn and try to muddle forward and make the best of it.

So it goes. Dream True.


Fortune Cookie Wednesday

Please note that there are two more Guest Bloggers lined up. As everyone knows, the Cardiac ER has become the David Letterman Show of the blogosphere, the place to Guest Blog, the Oprah Show for starting your Blog’s fame and fortune. Those Blog agents are beating down the doors to get their clients on the Schedule. Please, everyone. Tell your agents that I have to actually READ a blog before you get an invite. And I don’t have much time for that with the home comp down. Sorry. Don’t call us, we’ll call you.

It’s Fortune Cookie Wednesday. While the Chinese restaurant I haunt twice a week hasn’t come up with any really “wow” fortunes this week, we’re going to make do, because if this thing works out well, we might make it a weekly. So the Fortune Cookie of the day (whose cookie was possibly the most stale piece of petrified propylene glycol and sodium benzoate that I’ve had the dubious pleasure of consuming in a while) states:

Someone with blue eyes admires you. (hey people, this is the material they give me to work with. Wadderya gonna do?)

For starters, I know these things are supposed to be general, but you couldn’t have thrown the sex of the person in there? Now I have to run around looking staring into the eyes of Every passerby and co worker that I see, looking for blue eyes and that little “admiring” twinkle?

Aw, come on now. “Admires”. That’s a good one. Does this individual look up to me as a mentor, do they respect my work (possible), my choice in wardrobe(Ain’t happenin’ folks), or are they flat out creaming their jeans for me? Enquiring minds want to know, damn it all! Well at least they got specific enough with the “you”. At least specific enough that I know that it refers to at least one of my split personalities. I mean, the whole thing relies on chance, right? You eat with 5 people, and “your” fortune cookie is supposed to gravitate into your hand. Pick up the wrong one? Those fortune cookie makers are really good with electronics. If I reach for the wrong one, the little teleporter inside materializes my correct fortune in the cookie I’m reaching for. We aren’t dealing with amateurs, here. But does do they really know which personality is in charge when I open it?

But onward to the best part. The unwritten (you didn’t see me type this) rule of fortune cookie opening is that you must read it aloud and add the words “in bed” to the end of it. “Someone with blue eyes admires you in bed.” Now we’re getting somewhere. We’re cooking with gas. It definitely limits the number of people that I have to stare at, looking for that little twinkle. But wait a sec. I may be getting old, but I can’t remember the last time I was in bed with someone with blue eyes. They must have been admiring me for a long time. Did I miss a good possibility somewhere back down the line? Did I miss the road not taken?

Feel Free to add your last fortune in the comments.


05 January 2007

It's not the fall, its the sudden stop at the bottom......

First off, Mist has a great post today.  Check that one out when you get the chance.

I’ve invited another Guest Blogger.  She should probably have been on the list in the first place, but hey, I can’t get everything right or you folks wouldn’t have something to bitch about.


So before we get too far into the New Year, I really must get some input.  I made it an established goal to take myself less seriously this year.  So does that mean I can’t post serious items?  Hmmm, I need a referee judgment here.


There is a method of rappelling that I was taught while serving on the Special Reaction Team in the Military Police (Equivalent to a Civvy SWAT team).  The Aussies started the trend, and claimed the title.  Going “Aussie” on a rappel was developed as a way to run down very very steep, long hills, face first, rather than facing inward like a normal repel.  It’s in essence a long, barely controlled run face first down a mountain.  Then there is the “Spider”.  This involves starting a traditional rappel and then flipping completely upside down.  Once you adjust, you are basically inching downward with one hand free and one hand holding the brake on the line.  “Aussie” was never intended for a direct vertical with minimal foot touches.  Spider was never meant to be done quickly.  It was used as a way to inch down the outside of a building, and peek through the TOP of a window to spot the bad guys.  SWAT guys are nuts.  SRT guys are more nuts, because they get used a whole lot less, and therefore have to create their own fun. 

Here’s where the mix hits the fan.  We used to train on an old Jet Engine Testing tower.  The bottom of this tower rested over a carved out indentation in a mountain.  The tower itself was structural steel, and therefore had no “Flat Faces” to do a normal rappel from.  The tower was 60’ tall, the free fall to the ground below that was another 60’, making the whole thing 120’ of adrenaline pumping madness.  When you rig your rope around a d-ring, or a figure 8, you can do a double wrap, which increases the friction, gives you more time to react to problems, and a slower, smoother ride.  Or you can do a single wrap, which is the least friction and by far the fastest. 

The one idea behind the following is this – getting from the roof to an opening in a face of the building and popping the bad guy before he does a hostage.  You can spider slowly and do recon, but that’s not what we’re talking here.  We’re talking at a point where the situation went bad, no warning, and only an instant entry will save the people you are there to save.  Combining Aussie with an instant flip into spider position is the result of experienced troops, trained for a job, and bored to death looking for the rush, since the jobs are few and far between. 

We practiced this from the top of the tower.  You crawl over the top rail, the leap out into space.  This is free fall, now.  Like bungee jumping without the slow bounce at the bottom.  Mr. Gravity is now in full effect.  You start to brake, and immediately you are headed back toward the building, facing the ground.  As you stop, your legs hook the rope, and your face pivots directly toward the building, and you end up hanging upside down, facing the building.  If you have it down, you can end your fall within a couple of feet of the window, and lower yourself into position in a second and a half.  Elapsed time, depending on how far you have to go down, is about 5-6 seconds, during which time you are trying hard to concentrate on the job at hand and not about your life flashing before your eyes.  Your blood is boiling, and you feel like your heart is about to explode from the sudden Adrenaline flux. 

Does it work?  Hell yes.  Is it a true abortion of a real rappel?  Hell yes.  Were there problems while training on that tower?  Two examples – the guy who flipped to spider just as his face wrapped itself around the top rail of a floor.  Then the guy that was just practicing the Aussie part.  Stopping every floor or so to push off.  Until he misjudged a push off point.  Swung inside the tower.  With one leg on either side of a steel column when he hit. 

Now THAT’S funny.  I don’t care WHO you are!




PS:  This whole non serious thing is sucking the creative juices from my body.  And lose that dirty thought, Kristy.



04 January 2007

The Email is Slower than Snail Mail at Christmas

I email posted 24 hours ago. It should be posting to the blog any day now. Post Purgatory, is what we're talking here. It's a conspiracy. They are out there. Intentionally delaying my posts. Gremlins!

02 January 2007

Note to Self

Note to Self – Do not format main disk drive with new operating system prior to finding ALL 5 year old CD’s with the correct drivers on them, especially when going back to Windows 2000 from XP.

Note to Self – Give credit where credit is due. I was reading my prior post. Something about the style looked familiar. Then I figured it out. I hijacked Mist’s writing style. There’s your credit, girlfriend. So no more nasty mail from your lawyers.

Note to Self – The Fringes Law – No matter how many posts you read in a day, Fringes will always write 1 more than you can read. You will Always be behind. Get over it.

New Year, 2007! Far be it from me to tell you what kind of New Year to have, happy or otherwise.