Saturday, April 28, 2012
A dentist pulled out all her ex-boyfriend’s teeth after he dumped her for another woman – who has now left him because he is toothless.
Anna Mackowiak, 34, is facing jail after taking her revenge on 45-year-old Marek Olszewski when he turned up at her surgery with toothache just days after breaking up with her.
She gave him a heavy dose of anaesthetic and plucked his teeth out...
Friday, April 27, 2012
Jedi-mind tricks apparently weren't enough to keep Obiwan Kenobi out of the Placer County Jail.
Roseville police said that over the weekend they arrested a 37-year-old with the same name as the Star Wars character on suspicion of hit-and-run causing injury. Kenobi was also wanted on an unrelated charge of petty theft, authorities said.
Kenobi was arrested in connection with a five-vehicle crash that took place March 19 at Fairway and Rosehall drives...
The civil suit, filed in the Superior Court of California in San Francisco, alleges the plaintiff, Henry Wolf, developed a severe case of priapism after a long ride on a 1993 BMW motorcycle. Priapism is a medical condition where a penis becomes erect and does not return to a flaccid state.
Wolf claims he rode the motorcycle on a four-hour trip – two hours each way – on May 1, 2010. Soon after, the man claims, he developed a case of priapism. He blames the condition on the motorcycle seat which is describes as “ridge-like”.
The man claims the condition caused emotional distress..
“The fire hydrant smells like blood and urine,” Jason Magwier paused, “this is the mark of the vampire.”
Thursday, April 26, 2012
The Nick Of Time (and other abrasions)
Al Bruno III
There were many things Lorelei Miller wanted to see; Stonehenge, the Las Vegas strip and the Secret Grave of Harley Warren were just the top three of a long and eclectic catalog of sights and experiences.
Watching Jack Diamond get undressed was nowhere on that wonderful list, but here she was anyway. This was the man that had beaten her to a pulp, nearly raped her best friend and blown up Magwier's old apartment.
“...Lorelei my sweet, I want you to ....keep an eye out for Jack Diamond,” Magwier had said. “Make sure he stays safe.”
It was a request as cruel as it was comical but Lorelei had done as she was asked. It was easy enough to sneak in to the Sallow Sultan. It had been even easier to knock out one of Mustard’s tantric masseuses.
The girl’s name had been Pam and Lorelei had stolen her clothes and mask, then left her trussed up in a storage closet.
Lorelei hated wearing Pam’s uniform, she hated the feeling of being encased in plastic and rubber. She hated the clammy sensation of the other woman’s sweat drying against her skin even more. The featureless mask was suffocating and the stiletto heeled boots made her feel as though she might topple over at any moment.
How does anyone walk in these things? Lorelei wondered. I hope I don’t have to run anywhere.
Jack Diamond unbuttoned his stained silk shirt and tossed it aside to reveal a physique with less scars and more flab than she had expected. His hand went to the holster in his belt, the pistol it held was comically huge. He noticed her staring. “It’s called 'a Desert Eagle’. 50 cal baby,” he winked, “you heard I kept a cannon down my pants little lady? The truth is I have two.”
The room was lit by candelabras. There was a massage table in the middle of the room, beside it was a cart stocked with exotic oils and lotions. Lorelei could feel him watching her as he shucked off his pants. She said, “Lie down.”
“I like the sound of that-” he paused for emphasis and let his boxers drop to the floor, “Polythene Pam.”
At first Lorelei was so distracted by the realization one of the most vile and powerful men in Olathoe wore Scooby Doo boxer shorts that his nudity didn’t even register with her.
Then it did and her gasp made Jack Diamond literally swell with pride.
Oh my Goddess!
There were words Lorelei had learned in school, words beautiful and archaic, words that had fallen out of use or never truly found their way into the modern vernacular.
One of those words was cyclopean and Lorelei assumed that, if she survived this lunatic night, cyclopean would be the only word she would be able to use to describe Jack Diamond’s cock.
“Please,” she said again, “lie down.”
He lay face down on the massage table. The skin of his back was covered with an elaborate tattoo of the Monkey King. The image was ugly and distended, Lorelei wondered if the artist that had applied it even knew what a monkey looked like.
She grabbed one of the plastic lotion containers, it reminded her of the ketchup bottles you found at roadside diners. When she squeezed it she was rewarded with a glob of reddish oil and a loud comical farting sound-
A sharp smell, cloying yet sweet, wafted up from the glob of goo in her hand. She sniffed at it tentatively. What the Hell is this stuff?
She looked at the plastic bottle, the label read 'Professor Blackwell's Extra Potent Erotic Lubricant (Now In Mint Flavor!)'.
“So,” Jack Diamond said, “what was it that turned you into such a little slut?”
Grimacing Lorelei decided to turn the question back at him, “What do you think?”
“What do I think? I think you started spreading your legs as soon as you knew it was a good way to get back at your bitch of a mother.”
Suddenly Jack Diamond was on his feet and his pistol was in his hand. He shoved Lorelei backwards sending her tumbling over the cart of lotions and oils. She hit the floor hard. The wind was knocked from her.
He yanked the mask from her face, “I knew it. I knew it! Who else would be killing off my relatives and making the same motherfucking Beatles songs play through my head all damn day?”
“Just a minute there donkey dick! This isn't what you think,” Lorelei pressed her back against the wall and tried to stand up but a punch in the gut put her back down again.
“What I think?” his grin was shark-like, “What I think is that you’re going to tell me what you’re up to. Then we’re gonna have us a little party and once I’m done with you I’ll separate your head from your body and leave it on Magwier’s doorstep.”
“Good luck with that,” she gasped. “You blew up his apartment remember?”
He laughed, both his legendary cannons pointed at her, “Same old Lorelei, too stupid to keep her mouth shut. Too stupid to live. Too stupid to be a whore for that matter.”
“You sure about that?” She said, “I’ve got some great tricks.”
The plastic bottle was still in her right hand. She aimed the nozzle at his face and sent an arc of 'Professor Blackwell's Extra Potent Erotic Lubricant (Now In Mint Flavor!)' squirting into his eyes.
Jack Diamond staggered in place firing the Desert Eagle every which way, emptying it into the walls, floor, ceiling and massage table.
But the room was already empty. Lorelei found it wasn’t so hard to in stiletto-heeled boots after all.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Someone made a Doctor Who-themed dildo, but at least they made a very clever one... it's actually the time vortex, with a tiny TARDIS inside...
Police said the two cars were driving north on Interstate 93 toward Bow when 18-year-old Nicholas Richer pointed a flare gun out of the window at the other driver. Investigators said Richer fired the flare into his own car as he was pulling the gun back in the window.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
...it takes the ideas of cold cosmic dread that Lovecraft pioneered and implements them masterfully without falling into the dreaded pit of pastiche. Nor does it just toss in some tentacles and goopy critters and call it good. Oh and don’t look for blasphemous big books o’ evil to be found here, either. Most of the usual tropes that have become shorthand for “Lovecraftian” in movies and even books are absent here, and this film is all the stronger for it by focusing on what really matters; atmosphere, dread, and inescapable horror. I cannot recommend this movie high enough...
THE COLD INSIDE
By AL BRUNO III
Tuesday November 8, 1994
Tristam found himself swirling idly above his body, and rising higher. The Sophmore Class seemed pretty insignificant when seen from above, just a few dozen nobodies in blue sweaters, gray slacks and khaki skirts. How could they possibly do him any harm? They couldn’t even see him right now. He floated down to Kenny Wurman until they were face to face.
“Statistics prove again and again,” The speaker droned on, “that the death penalty is not a deterrent. If anything it raises the stakes, making criminals more likely to kill their victims and less likely to surrender peacefully to law enforcement officers. The only method that has actually lowered the crime rate is a consistent program of rehabilitation and education. If we turned our prisons into schools more than half of these so-called hardened criminals wouldn’t return to their lives of crime. Unfortunately politicians on both sides of the political spectrum lack the moral backbone to take such a stand.”
You were my friend once. Tristam glared at Kenny’s slack-jawed expression, I let you stash your pot in my room when your parents got suspicious of you. You had dinner at my house. Two weeks ago you yanked down my gym shorts in front of the whole class. You don’t think that somehow I’m going to find a way to pay you back?
With that Tristam turned and zipped straight up through the ceiling. The campus shrank beneath him, dwindling to model train HO scale; a cluster of mismatched buildings veined with blacktop roads, cobblestone walkways and dirt paths. Drifting further up he began to see Blessed Heart as a diorama. There were the sports fields that bordered the easternmost side of the campus and over there the solitary old chapel and its cemetery. A well maintained iron fence and clusters of tall evergreen trees bordered the campus on every side.
Tristam grinned, Maybe Butterfield is right. It is all a matter of perspective.
Holding a semi-opaque hand out in front of him he blotted out the school. He wondered what it would be like, to be so tall, to be able to cast the entire campus in darkness. To be able to bring his fist down and with that simple gesture destroy everything.
The fantasy of his tormentors screaming and pointing up at him was so powerful. He could almost imagine the expressions on their faces. He could see his fist descending in a slow arc, the ground shattering, the buildings collapsing like toys, the helpless human figures thrown every which way by the force of the impact.
A sharp pang of guilt startled him, I really shouldn’t be thinking about stuff like that.
From where he was he could see the athletic fields, the upperclassmen had already suffered through the guest speaker, leaving them free to take their final classes. It looked to be a girls’ gym class below so Tristam glided in for a closer look. He couldn’t believe that Coach Franke was making her gym classes go outside. Sure it might be a little warmer than it was last week but it was still almost fifty degrees
Hovering above the field he watched the senior girls kicking a soccer ball back and forth. Pam was down there, playing hard and working up a sweat.
Gotta keep that cheerleader bod somehow I guess.
While his sister might be in good shape, Tristam found Linda Kaspary’s shape much more pleasing to the eye. Rumor had it that her nose and ample bustline had been sweet sixteen presents from her Dad. Linda denied any such thing. They may have operated on her nose but it was for a deviated septum, not for cosmetic reasons. And as for her increasing two bra sizes over the summer? She was a late bloomer that was all.
Yeah right. That rack would fit right in at the Booby Hatch.
He was so busy staring at Linda that he didn’t even notice his sister stumble and collide with another girl. All he saw was a cloud of dust and then Pam was lying on her back in the dirt clutching her lower leg. The game stopped and the coach knelt to examine an ankle that was already swelling.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Price Breaks and Heartaches
A journal of retail and failed romance
Still Not Quite What They’re Looking For
My sister left home again but this time it was to get married. She was awfully young for marriage but the family begrudgingly accepted it. I had always thought I would be the first to leave home- well actually thrown out is the word I would have used. With her gone the house felt empty, it was just me and my mother and stepfather now.
And my brother.
And my grandmother.
And my great-grandmother.
And the up to 12 shih tzu puppies that were wandering the house at any time.
See? It was a ghost town without her.
But we still shared Sunday dinners whenever we could, or at least the different factions of the family that were speaking that week did. In fact in most cases it was a good Sunday dinner that made everyone change sides for a while. This week’s combatants were myself, my mother, stepfather, grandmother, great grandmother, brother, sister and my shiny new brother in law Lloyd.
Everyone was busy serving themselves and as I waited for the plates to come around I tried to get to know my new brother-in-law a little better. I started with the basics asking him what he did for a living.
"Blacktopping mostly." He said, "Car detailing too."
"I see. I don’t know much about either, is there good money in it?" The potatoes had reached me I figured one scoop was the best way to go considering the number of guests at dinner and the number of belt loops I was using.
"I have no complaints," Lloyd said.
My grandmother asked, "Can you afford a house?"
"It depends on the kind of a house."
"An apartment is a nice way to start." I said, "Maybe you should try a condo."
Lloyd gave me a funny look, "She’s on the pill not that its any of your business."
Thankfully the plate brimming with ham steak reached me and I kept busy with that.
"Take more." My great grandmother said, "You need to eat."
My brother Phil laughed at that, "No he doesn’t."
"Everyone is so concerned with my well being." I said.
My mother explained, "We worry about you. You haven’t been the same since your girlfriend broke up with you."
"That which does not destroy me only makes me stronger right?" I tried to sound chipper but I kept my eyes on the gravy boat, "And considering my soul has been crushed I must be doing awesome."
My stepfather said, "I think you’re being a little dramatic."
Actually the real drama was the night of the breakup but thankfully no one had seen me tearing at my clothes and then shut myself in the closet so I could scream into my fist.
Phil said, "He was gonna marry her. Heck he thought she was pregnant."
A collective gasp went up from the table. I blushed, "I was going to marry her anyway."
"Married?" My grandmother said, "You’re still a baby with milk in your mouth."
"You shouldn’t be in such a hurry to get married." My mother said, "I married your father when I was too young and look what happened."
"Uhm." I said. That was all I dared say. My Dad’s version of the story was very different but it was not the kind of thing to bring up there, especially not when the peas hadn’t reached me yet. My sister Greta looked a little uncomfortable with the whole getting married too young subject.
"You should join the army." My stepfather said, "It would help you grow up."
I answered honestly, "I’m not sure if that’s the right choice for me."
"Besides," my brother said, "the army doesn’t take retards."
"Yes they do," My stepfather corrected. "It’s called officers school."
Ah humor in uniform.
"So." I deftly changed the subject, "Blacktopping huh? Sounds pretty seasonal."
"Actually..." Lloyd explained, "In the off season you can do a lot of work patching driveways. That road salt is a bitch."
My mother gave my arm a good slap, "I can't believe you almost got a girl pregnant."
"Mom!" I said, "We're talking about blacktopping now."
"You better be careful," My grandmother cautioned.
"Yeah." Lloyd said, "And wear a condo."
There was a brief pause in the conversation while I tried not to choke to death on a mouthful of mashed potatoes. Once my air tubes had cleared and the spots had gone from my eyes I said, "You don't need to worry about me."
"We worry about you a lot." My mother said, "You're moody, you started playing those stupid role-playing games again and you're spending so much money on pornography."
At the time I remember thinking to myself that if there truly was a loving God with a plan for my life then 'pornography' was just my mother's sarcastic way of referring to my small fortune of Doctor Who related merchandise.
"Your mother has a point," my stepfather said, "how many stroke mags does one guy need?"
At the time I remember thinking Screw you God. The feeling may have been mutual.
"How do you guys know this?" I asked. After all I wouldn't have a blog for over two decade yet.
With that my brother got up and went into my room and I already knew that he was looking behind the dresser in the old book bag. He brought a pile of dirty magazines roughly the size of a toaster right to the dinner table. "Look at this." Phil said, "Five bucks... Six bucks... Holy shit- twelve dollars!"
"Ah," I tried to explain, "that one is a collectors' edition."