Friday, May 28, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
THE SCRAPYARD DIARIES
Al Bruno III
The desert heat pressed down on us, making every footstep a misery. We kept glancing up in the hope of seeing a town or a gas station beginning to resolve itself in the distance but all we saw was the asphalt of the interstate cutting a straight line to the wavering horizon. I was glad to have someone to walk with on this Hellish trip but I rarely spoke, the man I walked with was the regional sales manager for a software company named Spaulding and he talked enough for the both of us.
“All I know is someone's getting sued. I don't give a crap if the car is a rental, this is lost wages and time,” he said, “did you see those potholes? It's a wonder they don't have a wreck every week and twice on Sundays!”
Both our cars had been damaged by potholes so wide they had almost cut across the road yet neither I or Spaulding had seen them until it was too late. We had been heading in opposite directions but ended up having to pull over to our respective sides of the road within a few yards of each other.
“And this is an interstate! With all the money we pay on taxes they should be taking better care of these roads, they're the arteries of the nation. Shipping and commerce, you know what I mean?”
I nodded in agreement. Spaulding had tried to call a towing service and the police but his cellphone couldn't find a signal; I, on the other hand, had no cell phone, no credit cards and even my car wasn't properly registered. Every since I quit my job I had been living a ghost like existence.
“How long do you think we have been walking for?” Spaulding said, “Must have been hours and not a single car has come by. There's a new off-ramp near Eden's Corners, I bet it's funneling off all the traffic. Not that it's any kind of excuse for this kind of shoddy up keep. I mean look at all those potholes! It never ends.”
While none of the dents in the asphalt passing us now were as deep as the one that damaged our cars, there was a jagged quality to them I found singularly unpleasant. Each hole in the blacktop gaped like the mouth of a lamprey. I made sure to walk on the uneven, litter-strewn side of the road.
Spaulding pointed ahead, “I know the town up ahead, not much of a town really. The only business making any money is a scrapyard. They've got a store that used to be a Woolworth's but it's owned by some old fart, he runs it by himself and you can tell. His daughter runs the lunch counter and she's not a bad cook. Just stay away from the pork chops.”
Wherever this town was there was still no sign of it, and the sun was beginning its downward descent. I did not want to have to walk this stretch of desert at night, there was too much emptiness here. The desolation left my stomach churning. I couldn't wait to reach the town my companion was talking about but I suspected it would be some time before I could leave. There was no way I could pay for the kind of repairs my car would need.
“There are no kids, it's like some kind of a retirement community. Everyone's my age or older, heck even the town whore is pushing fifty,” he gave me a mischievous nudge, “but she knows what she's doing so who cares?”
Another ninety minutes of walking and pointless conversation and it was dusk. I had heard about how cold it could get in the desert at night and I didn’t want to think of how dark it would get. I wondered quietly if we would see the lights from the town soon and I worried that this was all some waking nightmare I could never escape.
My bladder groaned, I excused myself and headed for a nearby roadsign. Spaulding called after me, “Don’t shake it more than twice buddy!”
As I relived myself I thought again of the circumstances that had brought me here, not just the potholes or the dwindling funds, I considered everything. There were times when I worried about my sanity. It wasn’t so long ago that I had entertained such lofty aspirations but now all I hoped for was to sleep through an entire night and awaken feeling safe.
The sun had almost set and the sky had turned a murky share of purple. I could barely read the print on the weathered old sign- ‘BURMA SHAVE’. I chuckled at the thought this was more of a relic than an advertisement. A sound reached my ears. At first I took it to be the sound of wind moving through trees but there were no trees, only solitary cactus and half-dead bushes. Then I thought it might be the sound of an evening tide but in a desert that was an even more ridiculous idea. Finally I decided that it must be an approaching vehicle and I quickly finished and ran to the roadside.
I found myself alone, there was no sign of my companion anywhere. I called his name but there was no answer. A faint slithering sound caused me to turn around just in time to see something pale disappear into the blacktop.
The gloomy dusk left me uncertain of what I had seen but sometimes I’m certain what I had seen was a human hand slipping away as though it was being swallowed by oily liquid.
Spaulding had called these roads the arteries of a nation but what might happen if those arteries became starved for blood?
As the last light of the day faded into darkness I began to run, keeping my every footfall far onto the soft shoulder.
Leaves sprouted from his fingers and his feet had taken root to the ground when he woke up in his recliner. However, Rufus Bent was not alarmed. Though his family argued that he was too old and feeble to live alone anymore, he always knew he would stay on the land that once belonged to his granddaddy...
Throughout the 1950's Abner Deggent protected America's interests from Communist spies, mad scientists and cannibal beatniks.
At long last Magwier had possession of the legendary and mystical Maker of Moons- he was surprised to find it had a hand crank.
The Mathmagician user her powers to divide up the most of the villains but someone else would have to deal with the remainder.
He said zombies were a metaphor for the plight of the underclass, that didn't save him from the undead feasting on his testicles.
She had studied Ancient Egyptian erotica for years and it was always about the mummy shot.
Commander Infinity was the most powerful superhero on Earth but he had one weakness- asphalt.
By now Lorelei was so jaded that when the monster appeared her first thought was that now her term paper was going to be late.
Abner Deggent bragged he could deal with those pornographers with one arm tied behind his back.
Outraged mimes took to the streets of River City; it literally was a quiet riot.
He stole coffee and sugar successfully but they caught him creaming in his jeans.
She had been in a twenty-year relationship but then tragically LAW & ORDER was canceled.
She wanted fame but they rejected her novel, her demo tapes and her every audition; when they rejected her sex tape she gave up.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
BERVARD COUNTY, Fla. -- The Brevard County doctor who was arrested for groping a woman while dressed as Captain America with a burrito in his pants will not go to jail...
Monday, May 24, 2010
Lady Cruella preferred to use soap on a rope so she could have self-cleaning submissives.
Judy liked going down on her boyfriend but she refused to swallow, she didn't think vegans were technically allowed to.
From then on he always prefaced "I could eat a horse." with "I'm so hungry" and he was never accused of bestiality again.
The Local Heroes crossed paths with The Brotherhood of Evil Janitors and things got really messy.
Using the dark arts they summoned a pan-dimensional being from outside time; but even it couldn't explain the LOST season finale.
People had been saying things were worse than Hitler for so long that when Hitler did come back no one knew what to say.
Abner Deggent wasn't the sort of man to hit a woman- not when a choke hold was so much more effective.
The strange barbarians spent so much time working out and oiling their bodies that they rarely had time to rape or pillage.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Mama was putting clothes on the line when they came to tell us that Pa had killed himself. I remember the wind whipping past, snapping Lily's bloomers and petticoats and my union suits. The windmill was going like tomorrow would never come...
Can it be thirty years since we first learned
A hungry man can live on yellow dots?
How many million quarters have been burned
To hear the waka waka? Must be lots!
I ever was a duffer at this game;
One only was there in my little town
And that where I dared not go, to my shame --
The high school kids were scary, hangin' down
At the convenience store, when it was new.
Now where the arcade games were, you will find
A low-rent humidor of cigarettes.
I wasn't totally deprived, though, mind:
I too wasted much time with no regrets.
I had to go to Rawlins, that was all
And play at Roller City. 'Twas a ball.
Why did this shit always happen after midnight? Garcia never had to deal with this crap. Todd reached for the distress button, but paused. Maybe it was just a drifter looking for a warm, dry place to bed down during the thunderstorm. Since the craze of super villains in trashy trench coats started, it was hard to tell them apart from the bums...
Making a sequel is one thing, but creating a film series is something entirely different. Most films stumble with their sophomore effort, and by the time it gets around to the third installment both the audience's interest and the creative imperative have waned. Sure there are a few exceptions, Nightmare on Elm Street 3 springs to mind, but I could list dozens of films that never needed a third movie. Take for example The Howling III: The Marsupials or Superman III, did anyone really need those films to be made?
your nearness gives pleasure to the senses..it makes a plateau ..a golden hue.
embracing me and you...a stable condition on my feelings...
a range of emotional excitation..interjecting a beautiful view.
like when the sun is about to set..
.....my body stops.. I cease to exist..
like the sun ceases..at that moment projecting beautiful rays.
feelings inter my existence.as when you inter my embrace..
enclosing a love..
a grace of...something far above..
.. leaving just a trace .. .
as a delicate..and lovely melody.. dances inside my mind..
as if I was intertwined in the flash of those you left behind..
when I think of you...as if your touch is real..in my imagination is what I feel.
when you leave..is like when the melody ends..the sonatas...the voices of the arias....gone from the voices that were there.
tears so vast..so great that interrupts the rain..
like the grains of send..in a river-bed...moving like the blood in my veins..
disturbing your en brace.
tears that disturb the beauty that was there..
just before I feel your touch....once more it's just my imagination .. .
it is therapy..it's the sadness part of my voice..
my imagination..becomes excitation once agar....once again..
stabilizing a culture in my heart..stabilizing the purity..
the purity of love.....
That has been left......afar-
It was the year our community leaders made a Big Deal of reading The Maltese Falcon for The Big Read. They liked doing things together: reading books, presenting scholarships, honoring cops, going to church. They gave me a scholarship that year, despite the fact that I did not go to their church. My friends told me it was a matter of time before they took it back. I couldn't decide if it was a lucky break or if it was a case of mistaken identity, but I didn't question it. I was a senior in high school and I had to think of my future...